Fortune of the Witch
Date: 2024-01-30 00:00:00+00:00
Description: Medium Harlow Thane has given up her life as a celebrity paranormal investigator. After her life was turned upside down by a devious and illusive ghost, all she wants is to settle down in Keating Hollow, running the new pub in town. Unfortunately for her, no matter how much she wants to give up ghost hunting, the ghosts won't quit her. Neither will her ex Cash Moses. With a ghost hounding her to help solve a decades old mystery and her ex hell-bent on righting the past, it looks like Harlow's plan for a quiet life isn't in the cards. Cash Moses wants two things: revenge against the ghost who s
Publisher: Bayou Moon Press LLC
Rights: Psychic Storm: Ten Dangerously Sexy Tales of Psychic Witches, Vampires, Mediums, Empaths and Seers ~ Copyright 2015 by White Sun Press

PSYCHIC STORM

Ten Dangerously Sexy Tales of Psychic Witches, Vampires, Mediums, Empaths and Seers

Including works by ~

C.J. ELLISSON

DEANNA CHASE

DALE MAYER

HEATHER TOPHAM WOOD

HAZEL HUNTER

JESI LEA RYAN

JC ANDRIJESKI

APRIL AASHEIM

MORGAN HANNAH MACDONALD

JORDAN CASTILLO PRICE

PSYCHIC STORM Multi-Author Bundle copyright 2015 by White Sun Press. All titles copyrighted by the individual authors. Published February 2015 by WHITE SUN PRESS.

Cover Art Design 2014 by Damonza.com

All rights reserved.

Kindle Edition

PSYCHIC STORM

Ten Dangerously Sexy Tales of Psychic Witches, Vampires, Mediums, Empaths and Seers

Ten books. Ten internationally bestselling authors. Ten different tales of sexy psychics, empaths and seers who solve crimes, fall in love, make magic and fight to save the world.

Over 2,000 pages of extrasensory reading await, with three brand new, original novels and over 1,400 5-Star Reviews for the rest!

From Bestselling Author, HEATHER TOPHAM WOOD, NEW REVELATIONS –– Life should’ve been perfect. Kate Edwards won the heart of police detective Jared Corbett and is coming to terms with her psychic ability. Things are blissful—until the day she meets Declan Brayden. Kate doesn’t trust the damaged and arrogant seer, but knows combining their abilities would allow her to help more people. When visions of a missing fitness instructor turn into a race against time to save her life, Kate might have no choice. HEAT LEVEL: 2

From Bestselling author, APRIL AASHEIM, ARMAND ––  "Never trust a warlock..." Before Maggie Maddock and her sisters returned to Dark Root, Oregon, a generation of witches and warlocks reigned over The Council – 13 men and women devoted to holding back the dark they believed would eventually end the world. This is the origin story of Dark Root's most notorious warlock: Armand. HEAT LEVEL: 2

From USA TODAY bestselling author, DALE MAYER, TUESDAY’S CHILD –– What she doesn't want...is exactly what he needs. Shunned and ridiculed all her life for something she can't control, Samantha Blair hides her psychic abilities and lives on the fringes of society. Against her will, however, she's tapped into a killer–or rather, his victims. Sam knows she must go to the authorities, but will the rugged, no-nonsense detective in charge of tracking down the killer believe her? HEAT LEVEL: 3

From bestselling author, JESI LEA RYAN, JUST A LITTLE NUDGE –– Marley Sexton never aspired to be a stripper. But it’s the only job that puts a dent in her mother’s medical bills. It’s also the only job where she feels justified using a little talent she calls nudging. But JC Moreno figures out Marley may have taken the nudge too far. Marley’s not big on trusting people, especially a man with a gun, a badge, and a story that doesn’t add up, but maybe they can work together to both get what they want…if they don’t end up dead. HEAT LEVEL: 3

From NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY bestselling author DEANNA CHASE, HAUNTED ON BOURBON STREET –– Jade loves her new apartment—until a ghost joins her in the shower. When empath Jade Calhoun moves into an apartment above a strip bar on Bourbon Street, she expects life to get interesting. What she doesn't count on is making friends with an exotic dancer, attracting a powerful spirit, and developing feelings for Kane, her sexy landlord. But when the ghost moves from spooking Jade to terrorizing Pyper, the dancer, it's up to Jade to use her unique ability as an empath to save her. HEAT LEVEL: 4

From bestselling author, MORGAN HANNAH MACDONALD, SPIRITS AMONG US –– WHAT HE SEES WOULD SCARE YOU TO DEATH. Cajun bad boy and ex-FBI profiler Jon-Luc Boudreaux is in Paris hunting a serial killer. That's nothing new, neither is being haunted by the victims, but watching the murders through the killer’s eyes, now that's something new entirely. Jon-Luc is on the hunt for the most diabolical killer he's ever encountered, and Angela Henderson, fashion designer, is next on the killer's list. HEAT LEVEL: 4

From bestselling author, JC ANDRIJESKI, LONDON –– If there was ever a race-traitor job, this was definitely it. Revik arrives in London with a new job, a new home…and new people watching him, seemingly more than he has helping him watch the Bridge, a holy warrior hidden among humans to keep her safe from dark Seers called the Rooks. Meanwhile, in San Francisco, Allie has no idea that she’s the Bridge…or even that she’s a Seer. Then she meets Jaden. HEAT LEVEL: 4

From bestselling author, JORDAN CASTILLO PRICE, AMONG THE LIVING –– Victor Bayne, the psychic half of a PsyCop team, is a gay medium more concerned with flying under the radar than making waves. He hooks up with handsome Jacob Marks, a non-psychic from an adjacent precinct at his ex-partner’s retirement party and it seems his luck has taken a turn for the better. But then a serial killer with a gruesome M.O. surfaces–and no one agrees what he looks like. HEAT LEVEL: 5

From NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY bestselling author, C.J. ELLISSON, VAMPIRE VACATION –– Meet Vivian. She's a 580-year-old vampire who exudes sex, has a talent for drama, and is passionate about two things: her human husband, Rafe, and their resort for the undead. Her ability to project physical illusions creates the perfect vacation spot—a dark, isolated Alaskan hideaway where visitors can have their wildest fantasies come true. The powerful vamp is put to the test when she discovers a corpse in a locked guest room minutes before the next arrivals. HEAT LEVEL: 5

From bestselling author, HAZEL HUNTER, TOUCHED –– In the world of Isabelle de Grey, eyesight isn’t the only way to see. When she touches objects and people, she looks into their past. But her gift is equal parts curse. She has yet to find the lover who can accept the brutal truth of what she sees. Isolated and rejected, she is ready to leave Los Angeles and abandon her career when she meets FBI profiler Gavin “Mac” MacMillan. Thrown together when the daughter of a mutual friend is abducted, Isabelle discovers that Mac could be the man who won’t push her away. HEAT LEVEL: 5

NEW REVELATIONS

Second Sight Book Two

BY HEATHER TOPHAM WOOD

Life should’ve been perfect. Kate Edwards had won the heart of police detective Jared Corbett and was coming to terms with her psychic ability. Things were blissful—until the day she met Declan Brayden.

Declan also has psychic visions and wants to work alongside Kate. Kate doesn’t trust the damaged and arrogant seer, but she knows combining their abilities would allow her to help more people. This becomes vital when visions of a missing fitness instructor turn into a race against time to save the girl’s life.

Heat Level: 2

Dedication

To Grandma,

My inspiration—

A day doesn’t go by when I don’t miss you.

Prologue

Blood blanketed Kate’s body. It soaked through her tank top and turned the formerly tan shirt a deep shade of crimson. She had lost consciousness for an undetermined amount of time and knew she probably only had minutes left until she blacked out again.

Panic was setting in, she pushed it away. Her chest wound was bleeding the most. She attempted to use her hands to put pressure on it. Maybe if she could slow down the bleeding, she would have half a chance. She tried not to think about the possibility of her attacker returning to make sure the job was finished. Kate hoped the sound of the car pulling into the driveway had scared him off.

The car door. Someone had arrived at the house before she passed out, she realized with a start. She had thought it was her mother, but she would have found Kate by now. As she tried to focus on her surroundings, she could barely make out a muffled voice calling her name from outside of the house.

Kate tried to respond, tears from the pain ran down her cheeks. The fear of death seemed to be holding her frozen. Her screams sounded like whimpers and there would be no way the sound would travel to her potential savior from her huddled form on the kitchen floor all the way through the front door. Her own blood was choking her and the hopelessness of her situation threatened her grip on sanity. Kate was a pop culture fanatic—she knew that in the movies blood gushing out of the mouth usually meant the character was a goner.

Kate summoned the last of the strength in her broken body and attempted to crawl through the darkness towards the front of the house. The kitchen floor was sticky with a mixture of blood and the Diet Coke she had dropped earlier. Her entire body cried out with each movement she made, but she forced herself to go farther. It felt like miles as she traveled only inches and she prayed that whoever was knocking at the door would not give up and leave.

Kate made it as far as the doorway separating the hallway and kitchen. Her body collapsed and she whined as she realized that she was only a few feet from the front door. The doorbell rang again and the injustice of her predicament set in. She was going to bleed out all over her mother’s Persian carpet and wait alone while the life slowly seeped out of her. Help was within reach, but still so far away. This was never the way she imagined she would die.

Chapter One

Kate Edwards looked at her boyfriend Jared Corbett across the table as he silently devoured the Thai food she brought over. Boyfriend, she almost giggled at the distinction. Who would have thought the weird psychic girl who could easily spend days on end in her pajamas would be dating a gorgeous detective seven years older than she?

It had been four weeks since the ill-fated night of her cousin Jessica’s wedding. The novelty of being together still hadn’t worn off and Kate knew she was falling hard for Jared. She loved spending time with him and was shocked at the fact that he seemed to reciprocate the feeling. Her trust issues were still there, clawing at the edges of her psyche, but Jared seemed intent on pacifying her fear of being hurt. He was living and breathing proof that good guys actually existed and weren’t mythical creatures found only in fairy tales.

Since the Cori Preston abduction case was over and done with, Jared returned to his normal detective duties and she started the fall semester at her local community college. Since her resolution to try and have a normal social life last month, she had enrolled in classes held on campus instead of continuing to take courses online.

When Jared wasn’t working, they usually spent time at his apartment. A typical night might involve them watching a movie and her praying she didn’t stain his white leather couch while snacking on chocolate ice cream. Jared actually enjoyed eating dinner at her house as well, but Kate preferred to forgo her mother’s prying eyes in case she was in the mood to get romantic with her new boyfriend. There was just one thing standing in the way of Kate’s perpetual blissful state.

“Kate, why are you staring at me? You have a glazed look in your eyes and to be honest, it’s kind of creeping me out.” Jared’s gray eyes locked onto her from across his kitchen table. Unconsciously, she wiped at her mouth, hoping he hadn’t caught her drooling.

“Nothing, I was just thinking about the surprise I have for you.” She tried her hand at her most seductive sounding voice. She was new to this whole dating thing and hoped she didn’t sound like she was trying too hard.

A slight smile played on his lips. “I’m hoping it’s not like the last surprise you had for me.”

The smug look on his handsome face made her want to throw her plate of food at him. She visualized lo mein noodles becoming tangled in his inky black hair. “Do you have to keep bringing that up?” Kate demanded. “When I brought the kitten back, the people at the shelter were looking at me as though I were mentally incompetent.”

A pet adoption stand had been set up at her campus a couple of weeks ago. Seeing the adorable kittens and puppies inspired her to adopt one for Jared. Jared was her first boyfriend in two years and she wanted to buy him a present that would hint at the fact she hoped they would be together for a long time. Her mother would never allow any kind of pet in her impeccable colonial home, but she figured Jared would be keen to give a little kitten a home. He was all by himself and she could help him care for it. How was she supposed to know he was allergic to cats?

Her light brown waves fell across her eyes as she shook her thoughts away. Kate pretended he hadn’t mentioned it. “Anyway, I’ll get my bag and show you.”

While Jared watched her across the room, Kate hurriedly grabbed her handbag from the couch in the living room and made her way back into the kitchen. Pulling out her toothbrush from the bowels of her pocketbook, she called, “Surprise!”

He tapped a finger against his sexy lips. “You bought me a new toothbrush? I haven’t heard any bad breath complaints from you.”

“Very funny. I figured we could have a sleepover—I brought some very cute PJs too,” she said enthusiastically. Noticing his grimace, she groaned and collapsed back into her chair. Her hazel eyes glanced sideways towards him. “Why do you not seem enthused?”

“Kate, we talked about this…” his deep baritone trailed off as he gave her an indulgent look.

Cringing at his tone, she sighed heavily. Jared’s damn nobility made her want to strangle him at times. His parents had died when Jared was seven and he was raised by his aunt. Although she appreciated his Aunt Lizzie teaching him to treat women with respect, she wouldn’t mind him losing control now and again. Their kisses were passionate and filled her with longing. She had tried to tempt him more than once to whisk her off to the master bedroom at the rear of the apartment. Each time, Jared had suggested they hold off from getting intimate until the time was right.

“I know, but we’ve been dating for almost a month. Shouldn’t you be spending every free moment you have trying to get into my pants? Not warding off my sexual advances,” she retorted.

He pushed away his plate of food and rested his elbows on the table. He leaned towards her as he spoke. “I’m tempted constantly, believe me. But how can I drop you off at your mother’s house the next morning? She likes me and I want to keep it that way.”

“Jared, I’m not a teenager. I’m twenty-one and I just happen to still live at home. But if it’s that big of a deal, I don’t have to sleep over. We’re alone right now, what’s stopping you?” Kate challenged.

If she was truly honest with herself, she was exaggerating her sexual bravery. The thought of sleeping with him both excited and terrified Kate. Her one sexual experience had been less than stellar and then ended with the guy dumping her the next day. A few months later, she was in a coma and awoke as the town freak. Even if she had wanted to date, she doubted anyone would’ve wanted to be seen in public with her.

“You’ve been telling me how much you hated your one and only time and how you wanted the next time to be special,” he reminded her. If Jared continued to listen to half the nonsense she was prone to spewing, Kate thought, she was going to definitely be more careful about what she said around him. His eyes were stormy as he demanded, “What? Am I going to have my way with you and then kick you out afterwards?”

Kate felt a little fluttery at his suggestion of having his way with her and decided to ignore the rest of his commentary. Jared looked particularly attractive that evening with his black t-shirt perfectly molded to his muscular form and his boxers poking out of his low-rise jeans. As she imagined the many different ways she’d like him to have his way with her, she felt a blush creep to her face. Her hormones were definitely spinning out of control and she was getting frustrated that her super hot boyfriend was not willing to do anything about it. Looking up at him, she gave into a sly smile. The desire was clear on his face.

Jared’s tall frame lifted out of the chair and he momentarily turned away from her. Taking a deep breath, he faced her. “You’re testing my self-control here, Kate. Each time you give me that look, it gets harder for me to keep my hands off of you.”

“Then why are we waiting? It will be special this time because it will be with you, Jared,” she said softly and walked over to him. She had worn her flats over to his apartment which made him a good head taller than her. One of the things she liked about Jared is that his tall and muscular build pretty much guaranteed he would always outweigh her. Even on the days after she went on a fast food bender and had to break out the fat jeans.

He reached out his hand and cupped her cheek gently. “When the time is right, it’ll happen,” he promised. “It’s not only about logistics. I did just get out of a three year relationship with Nikki.”

The mere mention of his ex-girlfriend’s name enraged her. Nikki had made Kate’s life hell after she suspected something could be going on between her and Jared. “You have the nerve to mention that she-devil in my presence,” she breathed. Nikki’s name was like a cool balm to the heat she had been feelings towards Jared. Kate wanted to be mature when he spoke about his ex and show that she didn’t feel threatened. However, she didn’t only dislike the girl, but had a deep-seated fear that Jared would one day return to her manicured clutches.

Kate removed his hand from her cheek. “You know what? I just lost my appetite. If you don’t mind—I’d like you to take me home.” The fact that he had driven her over didn’t allow her the privilege to storm out on him.

Jared reached for her, but she jerked away. He flinched at her reaction. “Don’t get angry with me. Let’s just talk about this…”

She cut him off, “Are you going to drive me or am I walking home?”

After a long sigh, he grabbed his keys and followed her out of his apartment. Entering his black BMW, she restrained herself from slamming his car door. She understood some of the points Jared was making, but she didn’t like how his rejection made her feel. Now she was embarrassed for throwing herself at him when he clearly didn’t want to take things to that level.

Their disagreement made Kate further question whether he really wanted to be with her or not. They had been thrown into an extreme situation together last month and maybe the intensity of the kidnapping case was what drew them together. Now that the adrenaline rush was over, maybe a relationship between them was destined to fail.

Jared remained silent as she stewed on the ride home. Franklin was small enough that it only took five minutes to travel between their homes. Living in the New Jersey suburbs also promised little traffic which Kate was thankful for at the moment. The sooner she could get some time to herself and sort out her mixed emotions, the better.

As he parked in front of her house, Kate reached for the door handle. He put a firm grip on her wrist to prevent her from leaving. She turned to face him and looked at him with irritation. She was about to protest, but the words became lodged in her throat at his contrite expression.

“Listen, I wanted it to be a surprise,” he emphasized before continuing, “but I actually have something planned.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been arranging a special night for us,” he explained. “You mean a lot to me and I want our first time together to be amazing.”

As Jared spoke, he used his fingers to trace small circles on her hand. It was strangely sensual and she felt hypnotized by his touch.

Kate loved Jared’s sweet side and instantly felt bad for overreacting. If he wanted to show her an amazing time, who was she to protest? “What kind of night? Is it soon?” she questioned eagerly.

He laughed and exited the car. Opening the passenger door, he lifted her up into a warm embrace. He had the ability to make her feel very feminine when he showered her with affection. Relaxing against his muscular chest, she tilted her head up to gaze at him. Moving her light brown locks away from her face with a sweep of his callused fingers, he peered down at her.

“I’d like to keep it a surprise if you don’t mind,” Jared said with a slight smirk playing at the edges of his lips. “And yes, it’s very soon. I’m not a saint, Kate.”

Kate gave a solemn nod and summoned up her most somber expression. “Ok, I accept your terms. But I’m warning you, all this build-up may end up blowing up in our face. I don’t have a tendency to do well under pressure.”

“Good thing we’ll have the whole night to try again and again until we get it right,” he whispered and then nibbled on her ear. She tried not to swoon as he moved his mouth to hers. He didn’t hold back on the intensity of the kiss as she concentrated on not letting her knees buckle out from under her. If he was able to do everything else as good as he kissed, Kate had no worries about their first time together.

It was agonizing to break away from the kiss. From his labored breathing, Kate presumed he was feeling the same way. Waiting until this romantic evening was going to be torture. She’d have to stay distracted in the meantime. Luckily, she had made it a priority to work on honing her psychic skills.

Kate leaned against him and wrapped her arms around his waist. The fight was already forgotten in her mind. She didn’t need sex to solidify her relationship with Jared. She had to just let go of her neuroses and take a more laidback approach to things. It seemed likely that Jared sympathized with her inexperience and was only making sure she didn’t have any regrets.

“Ok, you better go inside before I say to hell with it and throw you over my shoulder and bring you back to my place,” he grunted.

Kate chuckled. “Fine. But after that kiss I’m sure I’ll be having a vision about you this evening.” Preferably unclothed, she thought silently.

Chapter Two

The next afternoon Kate was enjoying a turkey sandwich at one of the outside tables at her college. The September weather had been gorgeous lately and sundresses and shorts were still worn on a daily basis. The sunshine soaked into her delicate skin. Kate hoped being outdoors would help her maintain the tan she had held onto since Labor Day. Kate had spent the weekend at the shore with her father, Robert, who had moved about an hour away last year after her parents’ divorce. On the final day of their trip, he arranged a dinner for her to meet his girlfriend, Carly.

Surprisingly, Carly was a lot nicer than she expected. She didn’t come across as a dumb floozy who was the catalyst for the demise of her parents’ marriage. Although it pained her to be friendly to the woman due to loyalty to her mother, she couldn’t find a major fault with her. At the very least, maybe she could mellow her father out a little bit.

Focusing back on the present, Kate looked over the notes she had taken from her American Literature class. After a couple minutes of studying, she felt her mind wander. It was hard to concentrate while she was still in this new relationship stage with Jared. She couldn’t wait to head over to his apartment again tonight to see him. Maybe she would even attempt to cook for him to make up for last night.

Taking a highlighter to her notes, Kate stiffened as she felt eyes bore into her back. Slowly, turning around in her chair, she locked her gaze with a pair of dark unfamiliar eyes. In the few seconds that she allowed herself to stare back, Kate did a quick inventory of the man. He wore his brown hair very short and had it spiked in a sort of messy style that required lots of hair product. His hand grazed over the small amount of scruff he had growing on his chin. The movement lifted his arm and made visible to Kate the corner of a tattoo on his bicep.

The guy was about her age, but Kate did not recognize him from any of her classes. He seemed amused at something as he looked at her unabashedly. His stare did not waver when she turned to face him. Deciding to ignore him, she spun back around. Gathering up her things, she dumped out her trash without another glance in his direction and headed towards the parking lot. The papers had done a lot of coverage on her during the Cori Preston case and he probably recognized her from one of the photos that accompanied the articles. Her cell phone rang as she made the long trek across campus. Her best friend Julie Mitchell’s name appeared on screen.

“Perfect timing, there was this scruffy looking guy staring me down as I ate lunch,” Kate said in greeting.

“Scruffy creepy or scruffy hot?” Julie inquired.

“There’s a difference?”

“Of course there is,” she retorted with a derisive snort. “Scruffy creepy makes me think of the hobo that stands outside of the McDonald’s on Third Avenue flashing high schoolers. Scruffy hot is more like Ryan Gosling in The Notebook.”

“I guess scruffy hot,” she admitted. Kate clutched her books tighter to her chest and picked up the pace to her car. “It made me very uncomfortable the way he was looking at me. It seemed like he knew me although I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

“Kate, I know you’ve been a shut-in for awhile, so I’ll bring you up to speed on a few things. Guys like to check out pretty girls. He was probably just trying to work up the nerve to talk to you,” Julie impatiently explained.

She let out a long sigh. “I guess you’re right. So, what’s going on?”

“Nothing much, finished class for the day and now I’m waiting on Gage so we can head to the movies. I haven’t talked to you in a couple of days and wanted to see how things were going with the hottie boyfriend.”

“Everything’s good. I’m heading there for dinner again tonight and maybe to watch a movie.”

“So…are you going to make me ask? Did he seal the deal?”

Kate remained silent for an uncomfortable moment. She wondered if it had been a good idea to have confided in Julie about how slow things were moving with Jared. Julie had provided her with several suggestions on how to speed things up. “We actually had an argument about it last night. He wants us to wait for a special night before we take things to that level.”

“When? Like your wedding night?” Julie asked incredulously.

“Nothing that extreme. He wants it to be romantic, so he’s planning something,” Kate explained. Unlocking her Toyota, she did a quick check of the backseat before entering. She wanted to make sure the scruffy guy wasn’t back there with a knife ready to slash her throat.

“You’re certain that’s the only reason? I mean you’ve been dating a month…” Julie trailed off before questioning, “You don’t think he has a problem with his equipment, do you?”

“No, we’ve gotten to third base…”

Julie cut her off with a snort. “Third base? What, are we in middle school?”

“Anyway,” Kate continued, “my point was that his equipment is in perfect working condition.”

“Well, I hate to say it, Kate, but it’s your fault things haven’t gotten as far as you want them to.”

Kate countered incredulously, “My fault? Why do you say that?”

“Because you probably gave him your whole born again virgin spiel about how you only had sex one time and it was the worst experience of your life,” Julie chided.

“Well…I may have mentioned it,” she said as she pulled out of the college parking lot. She had a few hours to kill before Jared got home from work, so she headed to her house.

“It’s actually kind of sweet if you think about it. He wants to erase the memory of your first time and give you a night that will knock that god-awful memory of Pete completely out of your head.” Julie paused before continuing, “I don’t know why you even bring that loser up. After you broke up, I heard a rumor that he collects his own belly button lint in a jar.”

“Julie, you spread that rumor,” Kate reminded her matter-of-factly.

“Anyway,” she said pointedly, “you normally have terrible taste in men. I think you should appreciate the fact that Jared cares enough about you that he wants your first time together to be incredible.”

“I hope that’s his intention. I’m just concerned that maybe he’s not really ready to jump into something serious again after breaking up with Nikki. Maybe he’s just not into me,” she wondered aloud.

“Believe me, he’s way into you,” Julie emphasized each word. “Remember when I met him? I had totally awesome cleavage going on and he didn’t sneak a peek once. He could barely tear his eyes off of you.”

Kate smiled to herself. Jared and Julie had met briefly a couple of weeks ago when he met the friends for coffee. Thankfully, Julie’s boyfriend Gage hadn’t been around to scare Jared off with his potent blend of extreme obnoxiousness and boorish manners.

“I am not used to these boyfriend problems,” Kate confessed. “Thanks Julie for letting me vent.”

“No prob—I do really miss our girl talks. Now that we both have boyfriends, I feel like we hardly see each other,” Julie complained.

Kate pulled into her driveway and noted that her mother’s car was parked outside. She must have finished up dropping off her orders. Her mom sold beauty products and had a pretty successful business going. Along with the money from the divorce settlement, it allowed her mother to keep them in the house Kate grew up in.

“Let’s make plans, I miss you too,” she replied to Julie.

“Why don’t we go on a double date? Maybe the boys will become best buds and we can hang out all the time,” Julie enthused.

Kate would have to dump Jared immediately if he and Gage got along like long lost best friends. Despite this, she said, “Sounds good. I’ll see when Jared is off of work and we’ll all have dinner together.”

“Great, can’t wait! Me and Gage need to have more couple friends,” she replied. “Speaking of Gage, have you had any visions about him?”

Kate groaned. Julie had been asking her for weeks to use her psychic powers to spy on Gage. For some reason, Julie had suspicions that Gage was seeing other girls on the sly. Since her best friend had been accepting about Kate keeping secrets from her in the past, she felt like she owed it to Julie to comply.

“I really wish you would stop asking me to get into his head,” she pleaded. “I did in fact have a vision of him the other night. It was at some party and he was participating in a rousing game of naked mattress riding.”

Kate almost gagged at the memory. Gage was tall and blonde, but Kate thought of him more as an inbred moron than an attractive human being. Kate didn’t have guilt over these thoughts since she knew the feeling was mutual. “I could have lived without that visual, thank you very much. You know I can’t control what visions I have,” she complained.

Julie couldn’t contain her laughter. “Jeez Kate, you have some lame psychic powers, but thanks for trying. I actually was there that night and he was too stinking drunk to even stand up, no less get it on with another girl.”

“I promise if I happen to see anything inappropriate, I’ll let you know. I’d rather focus on my boyfriend when I lay in bed at night sexually frustrated, if it’s all the same to you,” Kate said before entering the hallway to her house. She shut the door behind her. “I actually just got home, so let me call you back later.”

“Ok, bye and let me know when we can plan our date night.”

Kate disconnected the call and tossed her keys on the end table. Walking into the house, she made out the outline of her mother sitting at the dining room table. Kate studied her for a moment before entering the room. Darlene Edwards had the exact same hair coloring and eyes as Kate. In happier times, her father used to joke that they could be sisters. Her tawny hair was now pulled back tightly in a bun and she had on a pair of reading glasses that she was usually too self-conscious to wear.

As Kate moved closer, she realized tears were streaming down her mother’s face as she clutched a letter she held in her hands. Hearing Kate enter the room, she shot her a forlorn expression. Panicked, Kate rushed over. “Mom, what’s the matter?”

Darlene took off the glasses and wiped at the tears glistening on her cheeks. “I’m sorry, honey. I was cleaning and I saw this letter open on your desk. I shouldn’t have pried.”

Kate swallowed hard and fidgeted with the hem of her tank top. “It’s ok, Mom. I would’ve told you about it, but it’s pretty depressing. I haven’t had any visions about him so I’m really worried that something horrible happened to him.”

The past week she had been trying to connect with a little boy missing from Blaine, a town in Washington State. The five-year-old boy named Max was taken two weeks earlier while out shopping at the mall with his grandmother. There had been no witnesses that came forward and no surveillance footage that showed what happened to him. His mother had sent Kate the most heartfelt letter begging for any help she could offer.

Before Kate had gone to sleep each night this week, she had looked at Max’s picture and tried to concentrate on getting into his mind. When she woke up each morning, she had been disappointed that Max had not been in any of her visions. Alarmingly, one of the patterns she had noticed concerning her psychic gift was that she never had a vision of someone who had died. It made her fear the worse for the little boy’s life.

She sank down in the chair next to her mother. “I wish I could do more. I’ve been reading a lot of books trying to understand more about psychic phenomenon. I haven’t found anything useful yet about how to control my visions.”

Focusing on someone before she went to bed seemed to be the most helpful thing, but it was still no guarantee she’d see a vision of the person. Plus, the visions could be a random memory from their past, not always something useful. After she had found Matt Spencer two years ago, people from all over the country had sent her letters asking for her help in finding their lost loved ones. Many also sent her letters asking her to predict the future—something she was thankfully unable to do. She would never want to give anyone dire news about their future.

Her mom covered her hand with hers. “You’ll learn more about your power as you go through life, honey. It may take you a long time to find the right book or talk to the right person.”

Kate leaned back into the upholstery of the chair and gave her mother a quizzical look. “While I try to figure everything out, I still want to help people. I’m just not sure how to go about it, you know? Should I just search for cases online? Or only help those who want my assistance and contact me?”

“I’m not sure, honey, what’s the right answer to that question. Have you talked to Jared about it?”

“He actually doesn’t think it’s the greatest idea to go around and chase abduction cases. He’s worried it may be too dangerous and I could end up in another situation like last time.”

“That makes sense. Obviously, it’s a concern that you would make yourself a target again.” Her mother nodded in agreement. “You should probably try to remain anonymous if you do offer any help.”

“Well, we know how well my anonymity was protected last time,” Kate replied dryly. Remaining silent for a minute, Kate then gave her mother an earnest expression. “It’s really great we can talk about the psychic thing now. It’s nice no longer being alone and trying to deal with all this craziness.”

“You can talk to me about anything, Katie,” her mother assured. After a second’s hesitation, she gave her daughter a thoughtful look. She ran her fingertips over her pearl necklace before she continued. “Speaking of having a talk…I was wondering how things were going between you and Jared.”

“Good,” Kate answered before adding, “It still feels kind of unreal. Like I keep waiting for him to realize what a weirdo I am and move on to greener pastures.”

Her mother shot her a scornful look. “Katie, don’t talk that way. I know I raised a more confident daughter than that.”

“I know you’re right. I just believe I’ve been an open book with him while it’s hard to tell how he feels about me,” she divulged.

“Although most of my experiences with men come from my time with your father, it seems to me that men are less inclined to discuss their feelings. Every time I tried to get your father to talk about his emotions, he would tell me I’d been watching too many movies on Lifetime,” her mother chuckled.

“Wow, didn’t know Dad could be so sexist,” Kate retorted. “Anyway, it doesn’t even have to be words though—Jared could show me that he cared about me.”

Her mother cleared her throat. “I just hope there isn’t too much showing going on,” she said pointedly.

Her face flushed and she felt momentarily tongue tied. Kate pretended to have a sudden and intense interest in her split ends as she mumbled, “Um…no worries there, Mom.”

“You’re an adult and I trust your judgment,” her mother assured her. “And I like Jared a lot. I have a good feeling about the two of you.”

Kate laughed and squinted at her mom. “I hope you’re right. People do say that everyone has a little bit of psychic power inside of them.”

“So, what are your plans for tonight?”

“I was thinking of cooking dinner for Jared,” Kate responded. “Any menu suggestions?”

“How about making him my red pepper sauce with tortellini?”

“Yes! Great idea, thanks Mom.”

Kate reached over and gave her a spontaneous hug. Although they had always been close, the past couple of months had really bonded them. Without the psychic secret hanging over their head, Kate really felt like she could talk to her mother about anything. With her newfound desire to help the missing, Kate understood she’d need her more than ever.

Chapter Three

“What kind of person doesn’t have any basil or olive oil in their home?” Kate questioned Jared later that evening with her hands on her hips. She glared at him as she stood in front of his stove.

Jared gave her an amused look. “You make it sound like a crime.”

“It should be! I picked up all of the other ingredients from the store, but figured you would at least have the basics. We need to start cooking here more. Do you know how much weight I’ve gained with all of our takeout dinners?”

“No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” he teased.

“It’s not funny! I’m already planning to do a fast as it is.”

“A fast?”

She shrugged her shoulders and turned back towards the range to give the pasta a stir. “Apparently you eat nothing but maple syrup and cayenne pepper for a few days and lose like ten pounds.”

“That sounds disgusting. You better not do that or I’ll be mad at you,” he warned.

Jared came up from behind her and pulled her towards him. While still holding the wooden spoon, she ended up sitting on his lap as he returned to his chair at the kitchen table. He nuzzled her neck. “I like you just the way you are. You look particularly cute in that apron.” Over her tank top and shorts, she was wearing her mother’s ‘Shitake Happens’ apron.

Her grin was unabashed. “You’re not so bad yourself.” Kate gestured to the laptop that sat in front of him. “What are you working on?”

“Just a report for work.”

“What’s the case? Maybe I can use my psychic skills to help?” she asked hopefully.

“No, I’m good, but thanks for the offer.”

“Jared, you really should be taking advantage of the fact that you’re dating a psychic. You could be, like, the head of the department!” She threw up her arms for emphasis. “I could be your own personal Cliffs Notes—give you all of the answers without you having to do any of the grunt work.”

“Having a child kidnapped was not a normal thing to happen in Franklin,” Jared emphasized. “If something like that happens again, I promise you’ll be the first person I call for help. The fact is, most of my cases aren’t that important,” he said lightly.

Pulling her eyebrows together, Kate said in a shocked voice, “What a mean thing to say! I’m sure the victims feel that their case is important!” She pulled the laptop closer and began reading his report. “Mr. Melville must really need...” she trailed off before finishing, “to find out who wrote those bad checks. Ok, maybe that’s not exactly a life or death situation.”

“Welcome to the glamorous life of a small town police detective,” he said wryly.

Hoping off his lap, Kate hurried over to the stovetop and gave the sauce a quick stir. She hoped the butter and oregano she substituted would still keep her mom’s recipe delicious. Peeking over her shoulder at him, she gave him a long look. “Hey, are you able to get self defense stuff from the department?”

An eyebrow shot up as he asked her inquisitively, “What type of self defense stuff?”

“Brass knuckles? Mace? A stun gun?”

Jared’s tone was weary. “Do I even want to know why you’re asking me that?”

“There was this weird guy at the college watching me. I thought I should carry around something to protect myself,” she explained.

Taking the boiling pot off the stove, Kate decided to bite her tongue when she realized he didn’t have a colander either. So annoying, she thought, and vowed to forward on any hospital bills if she developed second degree burns from using a plate to drain the pasta.

When Jared didn’t answer, she turned to face him. Instead of the concern she expected written all over his face, he looked rather undisturbed. “Don’t you think I should be worried?”

“Not overly.” He continued quickly, “You’re a beautiful girl, Kate. I’m not surprised somebody was staring at you. But if you’re nervous, I’ll get you a can of pepper spray you can carry in your purse. It’s probably a good idea anyway, if you’re walking alone in the parking lot,” he explained. She didn’t respond because she couldn’t put into words what about the boy had bothered her. His look hadn’t conveyed he was attracted to her. Instead, his gaze was predatory.

She found herself in an unfamiliar kitchen sitting at a small table cluttered with soda cans and candy wrappers. The air was stale and the temperature stifling. Parts of the floral wallpaper were peeling off the walls and the paint was yellowed with age. From a distance, she could hear someone softly humming, but could not recognize the tune. In her hands, she could see a forest green crayon broken in half and the picture of a cluster of trees in front of her. Except they weren’t her hands she was seeing. They were small with a few miniscule scratches on top.

The humming came to a stop and a middle-aged woman entered the room. Her hair was held back with a red bandana, but a few frizzy blond strands peeked out of the back. Her eyes were wild and her panicked gaze darted everywhere as if she expected someone to jump out of the shadows. Taking a deep breath, she finally focused on the picture on the table. “What are you drawing Max?”

As soon as she said the name, Kate felt alarm shoot through her. When she first entered his head, his thoughts were completely jumbled. She decided that this was the reason she initially had no idea whose memories they were. Since it had been days since he disappeared, Kate had assumed Max had been killed. Stopping her own inner monologue, she tried to concentrate on the scene taking place in front of her and glean as much information as possible.

Max was uncertain about the woman, but not scared. She seemed to sense his reluctance to speak with her as he mumbled, “The park.”

She clapped her hands together. “How wonderful! I love the park!” Max winced at her enthusiasm and a hurt look passed over her face.

Max replied, “Can we go there?”

His heart sank as she frowned at him. She gave him a stern look before speaking. “Max, I explained this to you over and over again. It’s not safe for you! The bad guys who killed your parents are still looking for you! We must stay here and be very quiet until the police catch them.” She chewed on a thumbnail before continuing, “I could never live with myself if you were hurt.”

“But what about my grandma? Can’t I stay with her?”

“They know where she lives, Max. She told me to take care of you until it’s safe again,” the woman assured him.

Tears filled his eyes, but he gave a small nod. He couldn’t believe his mommy and daddy were really gone and he would only get to see them again in heaven.

Max thought back to the first time he met the woman. The woman had come up behind him while he was trying to shake a gumball out of the machine at the mall. She let him know that his mommy and daddy were in trouble and he had to go with her right away. He didn’t see his grandma and figured he better go with her to stop anything bad from happening to them. When they drove away from the mall, she let him know the truth. His mommy and daddy were dead and they asked her to take care of him. She asked him to call her mommy, but he told her no way. Instead, she made him call her ma’am.

“It’s almost time for bed, sweetheart. Finish up your picture and I’ll be in to read you a story,” she said in a singsong voice. The humming began again and a distant look entered her eyes. As the woman turned away, Kate felt the vision dissolve around her….

Her heart was pounding as she opened her eyes. It was pitch black in her room. Looking at the clock, she saw it was barely after three in the morning. Kate swore under her breath as she knocked over a glass of water while reaching for the lamp. In the drawer of her nightstand she stored her hot pink leather journal. It helped to have the book nearby in order to jot down her visions as soon as she woke up. Immediately, recording the things she saw while sleeping helped her remember as many details as possible.

After Kate was finished writing down Max’s memory, she exhaled slowly as a way to get some of the tension to leave her body. No one seemed to understand how much she abhorred her gift. The reason was because most of the time the visions left her with more questions than answers.

The good news was she could tell Max’s parents that their son was alive. The bad news was she had no idea where he could be. It wasn’t like the woman had handed over her address to Max. Kate only wished she could get the information she needed instead of seeing these random glimpses into memories.

Kate planned to give the police the description of the woman, but didn’t have high hopes this would lead to Max’s recovery. Although she had the woman’s facial features memorized, her hair and body type would be hard to describe because of the bandanna and oversized clothes. Also, police departments didn’t always put much manpower into tips called in by psychics. The key reason her visions about Cori were taken seriously was because of Jared’s involvement with the case.

Kate tried to quell the sadness threatening to overtake her. The poor boy thought his parents were dead while some crazy lady held him hostage in her home. She couldn’t really get a feel on the woman’s motives, but knew Max was unharmed at the time of the vision. However, the woman was psycho enough to snatch him from a shopping mall, so Kate knew it was imperative he was returned to his parents as soon as possible. Her erratic attitude made it seem possible the woman could snap any minute.

Recognizing she wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep, Kate hopped out of bed and slipped on a pair of fluffy slippers. Maybe a few hours of online research would lead her in the right direction and Kate could unearth the identity of Max’s abductor. After Cori’s kidnapping, Kate had vowed to no longer be a casual observer. She would do whatever it took to help the people in her visions.

Chapter Four

Later that week, Kate sat in her Rhetoric course unable to keep her eyes open. Every couple of minutes she had to give herself a hard pinch to wake up. One time, the pinch was hard enough for her to yelp out a startled “Ow!” It wasn’t a surprise that from that point on, her classmates kept sending her looks that translated into how much they deemed her a mental case.

The week had worn on without another vision of Max. Instead, Kate’s brain had been overcrowded with memories from Jared’s past. She would never tell him this, but one of the challenges lately was not having visions of him. She guessed it was from the excitement and infatuation that came with starting a new relationship.

In other circumstances when she wasn’t trying to find an abducted child, Jared’s memories would be fascinating to her. Not many girls were basically able to view a biography of the guy they were dating. It allowed Kate to learn much about him without having to grill him about his past.

She enjoyed watching him grow up and it was sort of shocking to see Jared as a sullen loner in high school. Kate had early on categorized Jared as a super stud and she had never bought his tales of being an outcast growing up. Although it sucked he had a rough childhood, it definitely reduced his god-like status in her mind. Feeling like an outsider was something she could easily relate to and if anything, his past made her feel more drawn to him.

It was a relief when the professor finally dismissed the class. Once Kate arrived at the campus café, she planned to order an extra large coffee with boatloads of sugar to help wake her up. Tonight, she had plans with Jared to go out to a hibachi restaurant with Julie and Gage. Normally, Kate would be nervous about going on a double date with Julie and her Neanderthal boyfriend, but Max had consumed her every waking thought. Although she handed over the information to the Blaine police department, Max was still missing. Max’s mother had provided her number in the letter she had sent Kate. She had phoned Farrah to pass on the vision of Max. After her initial excitement over the possibility that Max was most likely unharmed, the conversation had become strained.

Her online searches yielded no more information and Max’s mother did not seem to know the woman based off of Kate’s description. It had been difficult to explain to Farrah that she couldn’t just hone in on his location. Since Max didn’t know where he was, Kate couldn’t find him without seeing a clue from subsequent visions.

After ordering her coffee, she took a long sip and sighed at her inner musings. Getting stressed about a lost boy thousands of miles away wouldn’t get him home any sooner. There was no guarantee she would have another vision of him, so her best hope would be to center her attention on him each night. Meanwhile, it was comforting to know the investigation was still ongoing and there was the potential police could find Max.

As she made her way across campus towards her car, Kate paused to grab her keys from her purse. As her body was turning, her heart momentarily stopped. Less than twenty feet behind her was the scruffy looking guy she had spotted earlier in the week. He was walking slowly while looking down at his smartphone. However, Kate had a feeling the sudden fascination with his phone was all for show. As she was grabbing her keys, she noted he kept glancing up to watch her movements. Holy crap, she thought, and tried to avoid hyperventilation. Calling out for help seemed a little premature—it was easy to imagine her humiliation over falsely accusing someone of following her. Her best bet at the moment would be to continue to her car without causing a scene. However, her sense of self-preservation motivated her to slip the pepper spray Jared had given her two nights ago into her palm.

The campus crowds thinned out as she moved closer to the parking lot. Her dawdling had left plenty of time for students to get to their next class or head to their cars. The closest figure appeared too far away to hear her in case she needed to cry out for help. With a quick look over her shoulder, Kate almost cursed aloud when she saw the guy was still tailing her. His phone was still in his hands and he would look down at it each time she glanced behind her.

The thought of being a victim again forced her to quicken her pace. Turning the corner as she passed the last academic building, Kate sprinted towards the tree-lined area next to the parking lot. She pressed her body against one of the larger elm trees and tried to stay as still as possible. This was easier said than done given that her body quaked with fear. Gripping the pepper spray in her hand, Kate didn’t have to wait long until she heard quick and urgent steps close by. Without a second’s hesitation, she jumped out from behind the tree and held out the can in front of her body. Her face contorted into a menacing mask as a way to disguise her trepidation.

“Whoa! Hold on there! I swear I’m not trying to hurt you!” the boy shouted with obvious alarm as his eyes connected with the pepper spray. His phone dropped out of his hands and smashed to the ground.

“You have ten seconds to explain why the hell you’re following me before I scream rape and give you a mouthful of mace,” Kate threatened. Her breathing came out ragged and she could not stop trembling as she gripped the container.

The boy frowned and did not meet her eyes. “I’m so sorry I scared you. I guess I went about this whole thing the wrong way,” he mumbled.

Kate looked him over while still keeping her finger on the trigger. He was definitely rough around the edges and she felt she had just cause to be alarmed. A few scars were visible on his neck along with one at the edge of his full lips. Besides a tribal band on his left bicep, she noted a scorpion tattoo on his forearm. He was super muscular and she guessed he could easily knock her out before she even had the chance to think about making a run for it. She hated to judge a book by its cover, but this dude looked like he should be serving ten to twenty at the state pen.

“What the hell are you talking about?” she demanded when he didn’t elaborate on his statement.

“I’ve been following you.”

Kate fought down the urge to vomit when he uttered those words. What the hell were the chances she’d end up being targeted by another nut job in a month’s time? Did being psychic send out a mix of pheromones that attracted all the crazies in the Franklin area?

Before she could demand more answers, he continued, “It’s not as bad as it sounds. I’m like you.” Relaxing his stance and placing his hands in his pockets, he shot her a sheepish smile. It was crooked and certainly had the effect of reducing his threat level in her mind.

Her hazel eyes locked with his onyx eyes. “What do you mean you’re like me? You’re also obsessed with The Bachelor and have a fear of public restrooms?”

He let out a low chuckle. “No Kate, I’m psychic.”

Her stomach starting doing flip flops and she wasn’t sure if it was from him knowing her name or his claim to be psychic. Unconsciously, she lowered the pepper spray and stared at him with shock. “How the hell…”

He cut her off. “I’ve been researching you. I live almost an hour from here in South River and heard about Cori Preston. When I read about a psychic being involved in the case, I wanted to see if you were the real deal.”

He broke out his crooked grin again. This time it was decidedly less charming. She felt rankled over this complete stranger admitting he was basically stalking her. “And you are?”

“Yeah, right, sorry; guess I should have introduced myself,” he said awkwardly before adding, “You know the whole threat of mace in my face must have thrown me off. My name’s Declan Brayden.” He gave her an expectant look.

Knitting her eyebrows together, Kate questioned, “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

Her response shook his confidence momentarily. “Well, not to boast, but I am pretty well-known in psychic circles.”

“So, say you are a psychic…” she paused and gave him a pointed look. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re following me.”

“I told you I was trying to scope you out,” he responded quickly. His tone of voice was deep with a raspy quality. As he spoke, he kept waving his hands for emphasis. His over eagerness cast doubts on his believability. “I had to see if you were an actual psychic or just another scam artist. I’ve got in touch with others like us in the past. You wouldn’t believe how many supposed ‘psychics,’” he said using air quotes, “are actually full of horse shit.”

“And what did you gain by following me?”

“Well, first of all you live a pretty boring life,” he said deadpan. He let out a nervous laugh, but stopped when he saw her scowl. “Anyway, you seem pretty normal. The only places you seem to go are school, work and home. Oh, and that detective’s apartment.”

Declan paused as a couple of students made their way down the pathway. Stepping out of their way, he moved closer to her. “I haven’t figured out what you could possibly achieve from claiming to be psychic. Most fake psychics run scams to extort money from people and that doesn’t seem to be your M.O.”

Kate shuddered as she imagined him watching her undetected. The school had been the only place she noticed him. She had never seen him at her job or around her house. The thought of him lurking outside of Jared’s apartment building set her on edge again. Declan didn’t exactly blend into the background which meant he must’ve put in a lot of effort into keeping his identity concealed. Kate hid her discomfort with disdain.

“Ever hear of calling someone or e-mailing?” she demanded. “It would’ve been a hell of a lot less creepy than stalking.”

“Again I apologize, but I wanted to know more about you before we met,” Declan stated flatly and shrugged indifferently. It was startling how unashamed he was after admitting he tracked her movements around town.

“So, what do you want?”

“Huh?”

“Well, now that you believe I’m a real psychic, what do you want from me? I’m assuming you didn’t travel almost an hour away simply for my autograph…” Declan was making her nervous and her usual defense when placed in uncomfortable situations was to let Snarky Kate come out to play.

“Well, aren’t you curious about meeting other people like us? Have you talked to other psychics? Want to swap stories?”

“No actually. I kind of assumed I was one of a kind. That’s what you want from me—to swap stories?” She knew the disbelief rang through her tone. “Not to mention, you checked me out, but how do I even know you’re a legitimate psychic? You could be an undercover reporter trying to prove I’m a fake.”

Declan nodded in assent. “True, I see your point. I just thought we could maybe help each other. It’s hard to come by another psychic and I’m curious to see what it’s been like for you.”

Mulling over his words, she suddenly felt a sliver of hope. What if Declan was legit and she was able to use his visions to locate Max? She wasn’t having any luck, but maybe he could tap into the boy’s mind. He hadn’t elaborated on his own second sight, but if he found a way to connect with Max before Kate did, the boy could be back home with his parents in no time.

He appeared to take her silence as further dissention and took a business card and pen out of his jeans pocket. He scribbled down his phone number. “Look, I know this is a lot to take in. Why don’t you go home and check me out online?” Declan suggested. “I’ve been involved in a lot of cases over the years, so you’ll see I’m not trying to pull one over on you. When you’re ready to talk again—give me a call.”

As Declan handed her the card, Kate glanced over it before shooting him a tentative look. “What is it?” he questioned noticing her expression.

Kate gestured to the front of the card which was a sub shop rewards card. “You have nine hoagie stamps—that’s a big accomplishment. You only have one more until you get a free sandwich, you’re just gonna hand this over to me?”

Declan chuckled. “Well, you’ll just have to give it back to me when I see you again.” He kneeled down and picked his phone off the ground. After examining it and seemingly satisfied it wasn’t broken from the fall, he placed it in his pocket.

“You seem awfully confident that you’ll hear from me?” She placed a hand on her hip and cocked her head to the side.

His conceit was irritating. “Well, once you get past all of my fan club websites, you’ll realize I’m the answer to all of your problems.”

Rolling her eyes, Kate adjusted her purse. It was time for her to leave and gather her thoughts. “We’ll see about that. I may just end up keeping the card and treating myself to a free hoagie on your behalf.”

Declan smiled. “Can I walk you to your car?”

“No thanks, if it’s all the same to you,” she said and turned her body away from him. Kate warned him, “And don’t ever follow me again. I won’t hesitate the next time to use the mace.”

“Nice to meet you too, Kate,” he said with an arrogant laugh. Kate hoped this piece of work wouldn’t be the only one able to help her gain control over her second sight. Something about Declan seemed off and she didn’t buy his story that he sought her out only to connect with another psychic.

Turning on her heels, she spun around and headed away from Declan’s unsettling presence. Although she was trying to move forward after everything she had been through, her trust issues were still firmly ingrained into her persona. She had a very small circle of friends and family whom she let down her guard with. Even Jared—probably the most honest and open person she ever met—had been on the receiving end of her mistrust in the weeks following their fateful first meeting.

Entering her car, she pivoted to see Declan watching her from the lot’s edge with a bemused look on his face. Something in his expression made her feel exposed and she had to restrain herself from lashing out and giving him the finger. Instead, Kate nodded curtly in his direction before pulling her car out of the parking lot.

Who was this kid? The anticipation was killing her and she couldn’t wait to go home and try to uncover as much about his background as possible. Her emotions swirled as she raced through the streets. Part of her was optimistic that Declan was telling the truth and they would work together to unearth Max’s location. However, her skeptical side couldn’t be silenced. It questioned Declan’s true motivations, but she couldn’t figure out what his angle might be. With any luck, investigating him as thoroughly as possible would help her avoid opening up to someone who turned out to be bad news.

Chapter Five

After she sifted through article after article on Declan Brayden, Kate leaned back into her desk chair and exhaled. With an enormous backlog of missing persons cases he’d been consulted on, it was hard not to believe the psychic’s legitimacy. In newspaper interviews, he provided the reporters with his back story. Four years ago when Declan was eighteen, he’d been in a near fatal ski accident while vacationing in Vermont. Like Kate, he’d been in a coma before awaking with psychic powers. However, unlike Kate, he craved the spotlight. Besides a massive number of television and radio appearances over the years, there were rumors of a potential six figure book deal headed his way.

Picking up her phone, she dialed Julie’s number. Julie answered on the first ring. “You’re not freaking out over what to wear tonight, are you?” she questioned in lieu of a greeting.

“No, I’ve been sidelined by a run-in with that scruffy guy I told you about before. Turns out that he’s also psychically blessed,” Kate explained as she simultaneously stalked his Facebook page.

“Get out!” Julie squealed. Gaining her composure, she continued, “I mean…this could be a good thing, right?”

“I guess so. He was sort of sketchy, but it probably would be good to know another psychic,” Kate replied.

“How was he sketchy? How did he introduce himself?” Julie asked in a rush.

As Kate relayed the story, she couldn’t help but faux gag as she concurrently read the comments on Declan’s Facebook page. His cocksureness shone through by how self-congratulatory he was after helping others out (Who likes their own status updates?). People lavished praise on him and he ate it up.

Kate wondered what Jared would make of him. She guessed he would have the same suspicions and wonder why Declan would go to such lengths to seek her out. She may have to play down the part about Declan following her around town. Jared could end up insisting she take out a restraining order against him and Kate wouldn’t get the chance to ask the psychic for assistance in finding Max.

After Kate revealed his name, Julie logged on her computer to check him out too. A minute later, her friend’s cackle erupted through the phone line. “Holy shit! I think I need to tap into some psychic energy. Especially if being psychic involves attracting every hot guy in a fifty mile radius.”

Kate faked a yawn. “So not my type. Not to mention, I have Jared,” Kate subtlety reminded her.

Julie broke out into a fit of giggles. “Looking over his pictures, he does come off as a tool. When your Facebook profile is public, you just don’t put that many pictures of yourself shirtless at the beach. I would have loved to been there when you almost pepper sprayed him. It probably shocked the hell out of him since he seems used to girls throwing themselves at him.”

Kate peered at more pictures of Declan hamming it up for the camera with his arms wrapped around a different girl in almost every one. Her heart sank over the thought that this could be the only one who could help her. On the other hand, she didn’t want to rush to judgment. Maybe deep down inside—beneath the spray tan and bleached teeth—was a psychic with a heart of gold who would do anything to help those who were lost.

Julie broke into her thoughts. “Not to abruptly change the subject, but I’m so excited for dinner tonight! I bet the guys are going to get on like a house on fire.”

More likely Gage would try to embarrass her and she’d threaten to set him on fire, but Kate decided to not burst Julie’s optimistic bubble. Instead she tried to change the subject. “What a strange expression, don’t you think? Who really wants to get on like a house on fire?”

“You sound nervous. Don’t be! We’re going to have so much fun!” Julie enthused and Kate could picture her friend bouncing up and down with excitement. When Kate didn’t reply, Julie continued in a much more subdued tone, “Plus, I made Gage pledge on his Boy Scout’s honor that he’d be on his best behavior. He’s only joking, you know? He tortures you because you make yourself an easy target.”

“You’re right,” Kate conceded. “I have to grow up if I’m going to be in a mature adult relationship with an older guy. I’ll try to refrain from throwing food if he promises to not make any fart jokes.”

“Not to cut you off, but it’s getting late. Time to get beautiful. We’ll see you at the restaurant at seven.” Kate hung up the phone still distracted.

After one last look at her computer screen, she decided to file Declan for later. Instead of hashing things out with Jared tonight, she planned to have a fun night that did not feature obsessing over annoying psychics and missing kids.

When Kate walked down the stairs hours later to greet Jared, she couldn’t help, but take a moment to gawk at him. Her body never reacted to anyone the way it did to his. Instantly, her mouth became dry and butterflies exploded in her stomach. Did he have to look that irresistible after probably only ten minutes of preparation? His ebony hair was still damp from the shower and his polo shirt looked new without a single wrinkle in sight. A small amount of stubble had grown on his chin and she wondered how it would feel later against her mouth when he kissed her. Two hours of primping guaranteed he’d feel a little breathless at the sight of her as well, she thought taking another minute to stare undetected at him.

Her mom and Jared were chatting away as usual. Jared was gazing intently at Darlene while his back leaned against the bar counter. Her mother was telling a story with so much animation she almost dropped the wine glass she held in her hands. It amazed Kate that the two of them got along so well. It wouldn’t seem as though a middle-aged divorcee and a young detective would have much in common. On the other hand, she would’ve never guessed a psychic college student with few social skills would be a great match for a genial police officer either.

Although Kate would never admit it, it secretly pleased her that her mother liked Jared so much. Sauntering over to Jared, she bumped her hip to his and said lightly, “Were you going to let me know you were here? Or should I worry you prefer my mom’s company to mine?”

Jared wrapped his arm around her and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “Your mom was just telling me how you were talking about becoming a police officer?” He raised an eyebrow in her direction. She could tell he was desperately trying to keep a neutral expression on his face. Darting a peek at her mother, Kate noticed her covering her mouth with her hand and looking down at the floor.

As Kate looked at both of their faces, she couldn’t help but feel irritated. Did they have to both act like it was the funniest thing they ever heard? It wasn’t as if she actually planned to be a cop, it was just something she had mentioned while thinking aloud in front of her mother. Her mom should know Kate had a tendency to speak first and think later.

She untangled herself from Jared’s arms and gave him a frosty smile. “Why is that funny?” she demanded and glared at him. “Afraid of a little competition? I might end up being your boss once I get in the department and start solving all the cases. The only thing you’ll have left to do is go on coffee and doughnut runs for me.”

He visibly shuddered. “That’s not funny.” His gray eyes quickly scanned her body. Before he spoke, his mouth broke out into a teasing grin. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Kate, but you’re not exactly athletic. Your body is put through hell during the police academy.”

“I will take that the wrong way. Why would you say I wasn’t athletic?”

Kate looked at her mother for affirmation. Darlene sighed and walked into the living room without a word to either of them. Probably figured it would be better to not get in the middle of their argument and instead go somewhere peaceful to enjoy her wine.

“Without any paraphrasing, you have told me before you feel it is fundamentally wrong to run anywhere unless you’re being chased. How are you going to run for miles and miles daily—only stopping to do pushups?”

Damn, Kate thought, she had said that. At least, it was nice to know Jared listened to the nonsense she was prone to spout out. She shrugged and gave him a condescending smirk. “Consider yourself lucky that I’m allergic to exercise. Otherwise, you might be out of a job.”

Jared’s gray eyes locked onto hers and he flashed a bright smile. Any irritation with him instantly disintegrated as his gaze drunk her in. A flush sprang to her cheeks and Kate had to make a conscious effort to not start fanning herself in front of him.

“Not to change the subject, but have I told you yet how beautiful you look?” he asked hoarsely.

The unseasonably hot weather had allowed her to wear a summer dress that had been hanging in her closet with the store tags still attached. With a peach A-line pleated chiffon skirt and white scoop neck top, it made her look very feminine. Moreover, the forgiving fabric was comfortable enough that her waistline wouldn’t feel restrained after dinner.

Her features softened and Kate returned his smile. “Have I told you how handsome you look?”

She ran a finger along his neckline which had the effect of skewing his collar. As she pressed herself closer to him, she heard his breath catch. Her heart was pounding and she met his gaze shyly. It was reassuring to see the desire in his gaze, but not exactly the perfect timing. The news program her mother had turned on after heading into the living room could clearly be heard. Not the best time for sexual tension to be running rampant between them. Clearing her throat, she took an uncertain step backward.

“Guess, we should head out,” Kate suggested. “We’re supposed to meet Julie and Gage at the restaurant soon.”

Jared bit down on his bottom lip to silence whatever he was about to say. After a few seconds, he nodded and took her hand. After saying a brief goodbye to her mom, they headed to his BMW parked outside. She loved Jared’s car. It had all of the gadgets she craved but didn’t have in her decade old Toyota. The air conditioning in her car no longer worked and she had to buy a portable fan to plug into the cigarette lighter. Since Kate didn’t have enough money to buy a new car, she was going to have to stick it out with the old beater until she ran it into the ground.

As Jared rested his hand on her leg, she marveled at how wonderful it felt to be near him. He had this astounding ability to help her forget about anything else. Despite money problems, sinister psychics and missing children, Kate sensed that everything was going to be all right as long as Jared cared about her.

Although she really wanted to discuss Max and divulge meeting Declan to Jared, Kate wanted to keep the mood light to enjoy their night out. The intensity of how they met had prevented any fun during the first few weeks of their relationship. Giving statements to police about Cori’s kidnapping along with media interviews and post-traumatic stress psych sessions left little time for more pleasurable pursuits.

“So, is Gage as bad as you say he is?” Jared questioned. He had been drumming on her knee for the past couple of minutes in tune with the song playing over his radio.

Kate gave a dramatic shudder. “Worse. But Julie thinks the two of you will be fast friends. So who knows? Maybe his charms are only lost on me.” She gave him a serious look. “Is this weird for you? Going out on a date with a bunch of college kids?”

“No, but I feel old now,” Jared chided. “I never went to college, so school does seem far away to me since I graduated ten years ago.”

“I’m lucky that I’m totally mature enough to date someone seven years older than me.”

He shot her a mock serious look. “I love when you make comments that make me feel like a dirty old man.”

Kate giggled and again appreciated Jared’s silly side. Most guys may have been put off by her sarcasm, but Jared could dish it out as well as he could take it. As much as she had tried to scare him off in the beginning, he had persisted and their friendship had grown.

Living at home and steering clear of social situations since her coma had the affect of stunting her emotionally. However, the past couple of months had helped her grow immensely. The old Kate would’ve never gone out of her way to use her gift to help out as many people as possible. The old Kate would’ve worried about being labeled the town freak. The new Kate was ready to let her freak flag wave high if it meant getting the missing back home.

Gage and Julie were easy to spot when they arrived at the restaurant. Although Julie’s hulking he-man of a boyfriend was nearby, it didn’t stop many of the men seated at the bar from shooting the attractive brunette appreciative glances. Julie’s black dress was skintight with a peephole back. With a tall and willowy frame and gorgeous coffee colored hair that looked straight out of a shampoo commercial, Julie was model gorgeous. Instead of gazing adoringly at his beautiful girlfriend and thanking his lucky stars she would even stop to give him the time, Gage was chugging down a beer.

“Katie!” Gage bellowed upon seeing her. As heads turned towards her to see what the rumpus was about, Kate stopped in her tracks and shot Jared a helpless look. Jared gave her a quick squeeze before urging her forward. The bar was fairly busy and they had to elbow their way through the crowd to reach her friends.

Walking up to them, she said hello to Julie and gave her a long hug. Once they disengaged, she turned to her friend’s boyfriend. “Gage,” she said as greeting and gave him a terse smile.

Gage rolled his eyes at her greeting and fluffed her hair. After Kate pushed his hand away, Gage stuck his hand out to Jared and the guys shook hands vigorously. Jared’s pleasant expression never left his face as he genuinely smiled at Gage. Immediately the boys launched into small talk.

Julie pivoted her body to face Kate and handed her a drink. Kate strived to smooth out the mess Gage had made out of her mahogany mane. Julie whispered, “I ordered you a vodka and tonic. Barely any calories and it will calm your nerves.”

Kate took a sip and screwed up her face in disgust. She preferred the fruitier drinks with tons of calories. Also, the heat from the hibachi grills was make the temperature unbearable and Kate needed a beverage to quickly guzzle down. “That drink is gross. I’ll see if Jared wants it. Order me a fruit drink instead, maybe a Mai Tai?”

Julie pursed her lips and shook her head, but flagged down the bartender and ordered Kate’s drink. After she handed over the concoction, she questioned Kate, “So anymore information on boy wonder?”

Kate tried to send her friend a look to silence her, but of course her detective boyfriend picked up on the sudden tension in her. Jared stopped his conversation with Gage and met her eyes. “Who’s boy wonder?” he asked flippantly.

Kate chose her words carefully. “I was going to tell you about it later because I didn’t want to ruin our date. But remember that guy I mentioned from last week that creeped me out?” At his nod, she continued, “Turns out he’s another psychic.”

After a beat, he asked, “Really?”

“Yes, guess he was watching me around the campus to decide if I was a true psychic or not. Definitely a lame way to go about it—but us psychics are known for our eccentric ways,” Kate said and shrugged as she felt his stare on her face.

His expression remained attentive and Jared didn’t seem to buy into her frantic attempt to blow the whole thing off. “What did he want?”

“Well, he didn’t say he was interested in starting up a psychic support group, so I’m not exactly sure,” Kate quipped. “He told me to contact him after and I quote ‘realize he’s the real deal,’” she said and rolled her eyes for added effect. Jared didn’t look amused in the slightest and she decided to change the subject as quickly as possible. “Let’s talk about normal things tonight, please? Can we table the paranormal nonsense just for the evening?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Julie said sensing Kate’s discomfort. Jared hesitantly nodded and stuck his hands in the pockets of his dress pants.

“Well then…” Gage started breaking the uncomfortable silence. After an awkward moment, he gave Kate a long look. “How’s thirteenth grade going at the community college?” he asked with a chuckle.

Before Kate could unleash a string of expletives, Julie intervened by pinching Gage’s arm hard. “Stop being a jerk.”

Jared shifted from side to side and cleared his throat. “I think the waitress is signaling us that our table is ready.”

The foursome moved towards the hibachi table with seating for ten and Kate hoped they wouldn’t be stuck with any of Franklin’s degenerates. She once got stuck next to this guy with the worst body odor ever. Luckily, when they arrived at the table they only saw a couple who seemed too busy making googly eyes at each other to be too much of an annoyance. Gage went for the end seat, but Kate elbowed him out of the way to score it first. From the gleam in his eye, she guessed he was contemplating his payback. Jared sat next to her while Julie and Gage sat parallel.

After the waitress took their orders, Gage turned to her and Jared with a patronizing grin. “I’m glad to finally meet you, dude. Katie isn’t exactly one to date.”

“Gage…” Julie began in a warning tone. Julie gripped his arm, but Gage’s expression never wavered.

“I’m just saying, Kate will probably be a lot less uptight now that she has a man around,” he said with a smile. His emerald eyes scanned the menu with practiced nonchalance.

“I’m not uptight, I just have a low tolerance for general douchieness,” Kate replied in a sickeningly sweet voice.

Gage leaned back in a chair and let out a guffaw. He put down the menu and studied her. “You still seem tightly wound,” he addressed her before turning to Jared. “You’re making sure our Katie is satisfied, right?”

Jared looked momentarily flustered and opened his mouth to reply, but Kate beat him to it. “Only you, Gage, would think my sex life is appropriate dinner conversation.”

“Sorry Katie, but I can smell your sexual frustration from a mile away,” he laughed.

Throwing down her palm hard against the table, she noted the whole table jump. The couple across the way had to pick their jaws off the floor as they began to take note of the interaction. Picking up her chopsticks, she pointed them maniacally at Gage. “One more word and I swear I’ll shove these chopsticks so far up your…”

Jared turned to Julie who had a far away look in her eyes. “Are they always like this?” he questioned in an alarmed tone. Jared shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked on the verge of bolting for the nearest exit.

Shaking her head, Julie gave him a faraway smile. “Sorry, I didn’t notice if they were still at it. I usually tune them out when they’re fighting and replay old episodes of The Vampire Diaries in my head.”

Kate took a deep breath and lowered the chopsticks. She figured it was best to calm down. It was hard not to notice the alarmed look on the faces of the couple across the way. The man seemed to be signaling the waitress about switching tables. Gage slapped Jared heartily on the back. “Dude, I was totally kidding. I just get a kick turning Kate into a complete spaz.”

Jared gave him a tight smile and turned to her. He clutched her hand and shot a full blown grin her way. Any tension she felt was relieved as she began to giggle at the silliness of the situation. Maybe Gage was right and she was sexually frustrated. It was absurd that a few off color remarks had sent her in a tizzy.

The rest of the dinner went surprisingly well. Their hibachi chef was hysterical and he was generous with the saki. After a few shots of the alcohol, she was even finding Gage tolerable and actually laughed at a few of his jokes. Before they parted ways, Kate was in high spirits and suggested they make this a regular thing and make plans to all go out together soon.

Kate leaned contently into Jared as they walked to his car. “Are you being affectionate or am I helping you stay vertical?” he laughed looking down at her. At least he had no problem being her designated driver for the night.

“You smell delicious,” she sighed into his shirt.

Jared laughed loudly before helping her get into his car. He lingered in front of her after buckling her seatbelt. “Remember the last time you were drunk and I drove you home? Same rules apply.”

“Does that mean you’re going to take me to get coffee again and refuse my advances? It’ll be just like old times,” she said flippantly. He shook his head and closed her car door.

After settling into his seat, Jared tilted towards her. “When I do take advantage of you, I’d like you to be fully conscious.” He pecked her on the lips before throwing the car in reverse. “We’ll stop for that coffee though. I thought we could maybe take a ride somewhere if you’re up to it.”

“I’m up for anything, baby,” she said huskily followed by a fit of laughter. Tucking a loose wave behind her ear, she thought about how she made a horrible seductress. “You probably have serious doubts after tonight about dating someone like me.”

“No doubts at all,” he said and she could tell he honestly meant it. The time she got to spend with Jared made her irrationally happy. Not only was he kind and handsome, but he put up with her immaturity and quirky sense of humor. Plus, she thought as he handed her a warm cup after stopping at Dunkin Donuts, he knew exactly how she took her coffee without being prompted.

Kate knew that what she felt towards Jared was strong and her life had completely changed since the moment he rang her doorbell months ago. She understood that the smart thing would be to take things slow. Kate hadn’t dated anyone since high school and Jared had just gotten out of a long-term relationship. Yet to tone down the intensity of her emotions was impossible.

Kate hadn’t noticed where they were headed until he parked the car. It was dark, but a few spotlights shone on the walkways and the parking lot. After a couple of seconds, Kate recognized the local park where Jared had taken her last month when they worked together to find Cori.

“Our lake!” she cried hopping out of the car and running towards the path. She almost tripped, but luckily her boyfriend had quick reflexes and caught her. His arm wrapped around her waist and he embraced her in a way that left her faint.

“Slow down there champ. Remember the geese weren’t the biggest fan of you last time,” Jared said dryly. It was his favorite thing to joke about.

He took her hand and led her towards the lake’s edge. She had never been inside the park at night. Long shadows were cast from the trees and the bugs created a loud symphony of chirps and rattles. It was equally parts romantic and creepy. “You didn’t take me out here to kill me, did you? I hope you’re not that furious over not mentioning the other psychic sooner.”

He put a finger to her lips to silence her. She was about to come up with a witty retort to the condescending gesture, but decided against it when she noted the seductive gleam in his eyes. As flattered as she was over his intense stare, Kate hoped this wasn’t the special night he had talked about. She imagined her mortification if a park ranger caught them getting it on. Looking around, she guessed they could always get friendly with each other in the gazebo. But that didn’t exactly scream romance. Plus, who knows what kind of crawly things made their home in that thing at night? Feeling pressure on her mouth, Jared’s kiss silenced her inner monologue.

His hand worked his way through the soft waves of her hair. Pulling her into his body, she could feel the firmness of his muscles. Kissing him back, she ran her fingers through his hair and sighed into his mouth. Breaking the kiss, Jared let out a little laugh. “I love when you do things like that.”

“What?” Tilting her head, she gave him an inquisitive look.

His hand rested on her cheek as he looked deep into her hazel eyes. “Sigh when you’re kissing me. It makes it hard for me to ever be upset with you.”

“Good to know. I’ll have to keep that in mind if I end up doing anything that really will make you mad,” Kate teased.

“About the whole new psychic thing…”

She interrupted him. “You’re not going to say anything that ruins our happy place, are you?”

“No, but I want you to realize you can talk to me about the psychic stuff. Things are getting hectic at work, but that doesn’t mean I won’t have time for you.” He paused and said thoughtfully, “That vision of Max must still be bothering you.”

The mention of Max was instantly sobering. Closing her eyes, she could envision the boy’s tortured brown eyes as Max listened to the woman say his parents were dead. “It’s been tough,” she conceded. “But I’ve seen nothing else since that one night. I’m hanging my hopes partially on this other psychic. He didn’t elaborate, but he hinted that he could help me with my visions.”

Jared didn’t reply which encouraged her to continue talking about Declan. “His caseload was impressive. I can’t imagine he’s gotten this successful without having some way to control his gift,” Kate said thoughtfully.

He hugged her and gave a quick kiss on the top of her head. “It wouldn’t hurt hearing him out. We should’ve figured there were more actual psychics out there. Just be careful,” Jared cautioned. “People are bound to try and take advantage of you.”

“Like Franklin’s best-looking detective?”

“You know it.”

Chapter Six

Max didn’t like this place. He missed his mommy, daddy and his dog Molly. He didn’t like the weird lady who kept asking him to call her mommy. Even if his mommy was in heaven now, she wasn’t his mommy. She could be so nice to him, but then be really mean too. She hit him hard twice already for not listening to her rules. She spanked his bottom hard enough that he cried for hours afterward when he sat down. His mommy and daddy never hit him, even after the time he poured all the red paint on Molly.

She now sat across from him at the kitchen table staring off in space. Sometimes she would mumble words Max could barely make out. He pushed around the cereal in his bowl and worked up the nerve to ask her to call his grandma. She explained the bad guys wouldn’t let him see her, but why couldn’t he talk to her on the phone? Maybe if he could just talk to his grandma for a minute, Max could tell her that she had to come get him. Everyone knew his grandma was one of the nicest people in the whole world. She would never let him stay here if she found out what the mean lady had done to him.

“Can I call Grandma today?” he asked in a small voice.

It took the woman a moment to snap out of her daze and answer him. “No.”

“But why?” He heard the whine in his voice, but none of her rules made any sense to him.

“I don’t have her phone number,” she barked and narrowed her eyes at him. This was usually a sign she was going to lose her temper. Max imagined he could still feel the sting of her slap the last time when she got mad.

“Maybe you could call my house? I know my number by heart and she might be there taking care of my doggy,” he pleaded and tried to keep from crying. The world had turned upside down for him overnight. If this woman was supposed to take care of him, then why would she keep him from talking to his grandma?

“I said NO!” A primal scream came out and her movements became wild. In a rage, she grabbed the cereal bowl in front of him and smashed it against the wall. The glass shattered and soggy cereal mixed with milk slithered down the wall. Max cowered under the table and began to sob. Why would his mommy and daddy leave him with this nasty lady?

Kate woke up in a tangle of sheets with sweat dripping off of her. Her heart was racing and she fumbled for the light switch. She was tempted to call out for her mother or dial Jared’s number, but this wouldn’t bring Max home from his nightmare. The woman who took him was unbalanced and she would probably end up seriously injuring the boy if Max didn’t get away from her soon. With resolute steps, she fished the sub shop card out of her purse along with her cell phone. Not even bothering to look at the time, Kate dialed the number.

“Hello.” After several rings, a sleepy voice finally answered.

“It’s Kate…Kate Edwards, we met yesterday?” she prompted.

Her head began to pound the more she gained consciousness. In hindsight, those saki shots were a huge mistake and she desperately hoped the rolling nausea from the vision wouldn’t lead to a full scale vomit fest. She sat on the side of her bed and held her head in her hands while waiting for Declan to reply.

“Yes, Psychic Kate, I do remember and why…” he paused and she heard some shuffling and possibly the sound of an aggravated female groan, “exactly are you calling me at four in the morning?”

“I need your help finding a little boy. He’s in trouble and I can’t figure out where he is,” she explained in a rush.

No need to beat around the bush. If he wasn’t able to help her Kate would have to move on and figure out on her own how to get Max home. The woman was deranged and could end up killing him. Her twisted features appeared in Kate’s mind. She planned to do another sketch and send it to the police department working on Max’s case. Nonetheless, the woman could be anywhere with Max and there were probably thousands of women who looked similar to the abductor.

Declan’s dry tone interrupted her thoughts. “Guess what you found out online was pretty enlightening. I’m trying to rank as the number one searched psychic on the web.”

“Yes and going on the web is a much more normal way to research someone than following them around. Anyway, are you able to meet or what?” Her fuse was short. A hangover and unsettling vision didn’t make for a happy Kate.

“Now? Well, I’m sort of indisposed at the moment,” he sniggered and female laughter rang clearer through the line. Great, the one psychic she meets is a conceited cretin. Before she could give a retort, Declan continued, “How about you meet me later at Jersey Mike’s? I’ll treat you to lunch and we can talk?”

“Whatever, that’s fine. There’s one in town on Bath Avenue. I’ll see you there at noon.” She fell back onto her bed and closed her eyes. By rubbing her temples, she hoped it would ease her headache.

“Sounds like a plan,” Declan agreed. After she didn’t reply, he continued, “Oh and Kate?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t forget to bring my free sub card.”

Declan gave her an arrogant grin as she walked over to the entrance Jersey Mike’s later that afternoon. Leaning against the building, he perfected the look of casual cool. His hair was spiked in several different directions and he wore a t-shirt of some band she was not hip enough to have ever heard of. A couple of teenage girls laughed nervously as they walked by. They looked ready to swoon when he winked at them. He held out his hand as she approached.

Kate questioned sardonically, “What do you want? Me to give you five?”

“Ha-ha, hand over the sub card, sweetheart and I’ll let you live,” he joked.

She slapped the card into the palm of his hand. “I’ll take an Italian hoagie with no onions and roasted red peppers.”

When they entered the sub shop, it was quickly filling up with the lunch crowd. Kate explained to Declan that she would snag a table while he did the ordering. Agreeing, he headed towards the counter while she sat near the back of the restaurant. It was hard to not fidget as she waited for him to return with their sandwiches. A million questions were running through her head. It had never occurred to her that she would ever actually meet a legitimate psychic. His appearance in her life made her feel foolish for never considering the possibility of looking for others like her. The only major research she had done was read a few books from well-known psychics. Their stories were so dissimilar from hers that she figured maybe her case was unique.

A few minutes later Declan took the seat across from her. As he arranged the sandwiches, she did a quick study of him. He was good looking, but not classically handsome. Between the scars and the multiple tattoos, Kate speculated that many people would find him intimidating. Declan was not what she would picture as a psychic—more like someone who would end up crushing skulls in a MMA match. However, when he met her eyes, his smile was disarming—a direct contradiction of his bad ass exterior.

Kate spoke first, “Thanks for meeting me. Sorry about the late night call, I had a vision and it freaked me out.”

Before taking a bite of his sandwich he started, “So, you’re working on a new case?”

She nodded and launched into a detailed explanation. “I’m not sure what you know about me or even if your gift works the same as mine. My visions usually only happen at night when I’m dreaming. I never really know who I’ll end up seeing, but sometimes if I concentrate on a person before bed, the vision will be about them. Occasionally it will be a recent memory while other times it will be a vision from the person’s past.

“Anyway, a mother in Washington sent me a letter about her missing son last week. He was taken from a mall while out shopping with his grandmother. His name is Max and I already had two visions about him. This psycho lady is keeping him in her house and feeding him all of this B.S. about how his parents were killed and she was asked to look after him. She’s growing more and more abusive…” she trailed off.

Her throat constricted and Kate took a shaky breath before carrying on with her story. “I gave the police department in Blaine the woman’s description, but Max has no idea where he’s being kept.” She paused and dug a photograph out of her purse. Sliding it across the table she stated, “Here’s a recent picture. If there’s anything you can do to help…”

Declan didn’t let her finish. “I could tell you your first mistake right off the bat.”

She sat back in her chair, startled at his tone. “Come again?”

He pointed to the picture of Max that sat between them. “You’re trying to get in the wrong person’s head. Now that you saw his abductor, you should be working on her. It’s not likely she’s going to just blurt out her address to him.”

Her head bobbed up and down in agreement. “You do have a point, but it’s not like I can automatically read her thoughts even if I have a vision of her. I was inside Max’s head, but that’s not always the case. Sometimes I’m just observing the scene, kind of like watching a movie.”

“That’s how it is for me too,” Declan assured her before asking, “But have you noticed any consistencies with your visions?”

“I never see a memory from someone who has died. Otherwise everything else seems kind of random,” she said with a shrug.

Kate’s sandwich remained untouched on her plate. It was surreal to be sitting here with another psychic and having a seemingly normal conversation about the weirdness that had surrounded her life for the past two years. It was comical to imagine what other diners would think about the two of them if they eavesdropped on their conversation.

Although she was pretty open with Jared, it was different talking to someone who had the same experiences as she did. Their personalities may not exactly mesh, but the potential of a friendship with another psychic was growing more appealing by the second.

Declan spoke, “I’m not sure what you read about me, but I’m guessing you found out my visions started four years ago after my accident?” He posed it as a question and waited for a sign of agreement. After she nodded, Declan stated, “So, I’ve had more time to notice things about the visions. I’ve come to realize the type of vision I have depends on the person.”

“What do you mean?”

“Adults have these mental defenses in place that children don’t. So, I usually will see into the head of a child where I may just witness a memory that an adult has.”

Doing a quick inventory in her head, she determined for the most part it was true for her too. When she had visions of Jared, her parents and Julie, they played more like a movie. She was able to see what happened to them at the moment in her vision, but never experienced their thoughts and feelings at the time. However, during a couple of cases in the past she had been in the head of the adult involved.

“I do see that now, but I remember a few cases where I saw into the mind of someone who wasn’t a kid,” Kate responded.

“Besides kids, it’s easier to see the thoughts of someone who’s not mentally all there. That’s why I’m telling you to try to get into the abductor’s head. She sounds like a nutter which means you may be able to find out where she lives.”

Looking at her watch, she swore under her breath. “I have a shift today at the doctor’s office,” she explained and then continued, “Well, you probably already knew that, stalker.”

He laughed. “It’s fine. Take your sandwich with you and text me when you’re free again. We have a lot more to talk about.”

“Don’t you have a job or go to school? Why do you have the time to come and hang out in Franklin every day?” Her suspicions took over again as she fired question after question at him.

“Being psychic is my job,” he deadpanned. As she opened her mouth to speak, he put up his hand to stop her. “Get to work—I’ll explain more when I see you again.”

“Fine,” she said not able to keep the huffiness out of her voice. “Before then, please let me know if you see anything that could help Max.”

“Cross my heart,” Declan replied and she snorted. “If you have a tough time connecting with the woman, give me a call. I know a few tips on how to block out everyone else and get into a target’s head.”

Kate leaned forward and knew her hazel eyes were eager as she questioned, “Do you mean you can control your visions?” Before he had a chance to reply, she implored, “Please tell me that’s a possibility.”

“It’s not a perfect science, but yes, I’ve found ways to usually see what I want to. That’s why I told you I could help you when we first met.” She waited in anticipation as he took a long sip from his soda, “I read in an interview you gave after Cori’s disappearance that you have no control over your visions and that’s the reason you weren’t able to give her exact location.”

It was hard to digest how much Declan knew about her. It made it difficult to trust him and she recognized that was the reason she was coming off as standoffish. There had to be other psychics around, probably even more experienced ones, so what was the reason he had such an intense interest in her? A natural curiosity was one thing, but going to the trouble to follow her and read past news stories about other cases she has been involved in was another. Despite her reservations, she was eager to learn as much as possible about what it meant to be psychic.

“Can you show me how you control the visions?”

“Sure, why don’t we meet the day after tomorrow? Do you want to come by my place?” It was awkward to say, but she wasn’t sure how keen she was going alone to his house. She was positive Jared probably wouldn’t care, but Kate was always wary of permitting anyone new into her life. He sensed her hesitation and continued, “Would you feel more comfortable at your house?”

“If you don’t mind,” she said uncertainly. Her mother was usually home and Kate could give a heads up to her mom to act as chaperone. He hadn’t sent out any major signals that he was romantically interested in her, but a nagging feeling led her to believe Declan had an underlying motive for seeking her out. After she thanked him for the sandwich, she left the sub shop to head to her part-time medical receptionist job. As Declan’s words tumbled around in her head, she wished her instincts were wrong and Declan’s helpfulness was completely altruistic.

Chapter Seven

“Honey, I’m home!” Kate called as she entered Jared’s apartment. He had texted her ten minutes earlier to explain that he would be taking a shower and he’d  leave the door unlocked for her. After first reading the text, she went into a panic thinking it was a possible invitation to join him. However, considering she hadn’t shaved her legs that day, she wasn’t prepared to head down that road with him just yet.

As she went to throw her purse on the white leather couch, she felt alarmed when she noticed it wasn’t there. Confused, she spun around in a half circle and saw that the majority of the furniture was gone. This included his couch, love seat, end tables and kitchen table. All that remained was the large screen TV and a few folding chairs that she had never seen before scattered around the living room. Hearing Jared in his bedroom, she yelled out to him. “Jar, I think you better come out here! I think you’ve been robbed!”

Jared strolled out of his bedroom wearing only a pair of jeans and a tight smile. She felt slightly annoyed at the pang of lust that surfaced. He should be dressed in a snowsuit twenty-four hours a day if he was planning to make her wait to be intimate. Water glistening off his skin highlighting his perfect body was not helping with libido control.

“I meant to warn you, but Nikki kind of blindsided me today. She called this morning to say she found an apartment and was picking up her furniture. I was working non-stop and I didn’t get a chance to let you know,” Jared explained and stretched lazily.

Kate rested her hands on her hips. “So, she was here?”

“Yeah, she just left about half an hour ago.”

She took a deep breath for dramatic effect before speaking. “Please tell me, Jared, that there’s an innocent reason you were taking a shower right after your ex left her former apartment.”

Jared laughed as if her suspicions were the craziest thing he ever heard. Coming up to her, he pressed a gentle kiss against her lips. “You have nothing to worry about. I didn’t want to be a sweaty mess for you after helping move all of the furniture.”

She rolled her eyes. “Your niceness is completely ridiculous sometimes. I would’ve totally let her move her own damn furniture.”

“Yes I know—there’s no love loss between the two of you. But I can’t be a dick to her simply because things didn’t work out.”

His words made total sense, but she continued to seethe. Jared and Nikki had been together for three years while they’d only dated a little more than a month. She couldn’t help but feel threatened over their history. Nikki’s true colors seemed to come out towards the end of their relationship, but Kate fretted over the possibility that Jared may still think often about the gorgeous blonde.

“Did she mention me?” Kate asked evenly.

“Mention you?” he parroted her question back with a quizzical expression.

“Yes, you know…ask if we were together, curse our firstborn, that sort of thing?”

“No. To be honest, we didn’t talk that much. I asked about her family and she said everyone is doing well…”

She cut him off. “Did she say if Cori liked the fruit basket I sent?”

“No, she didn’t say.”

Another reason Kate disliked Nikki. Sending fruits and chocolates to Cori was the least Kate felt she could do after everything that happened. She hadn’t received a thank you card or any acknowledgement of the gift from the Prestons. When she complained to Jared, he guessed that maybe they were trying to put the whole ordeal behind them and she was too much of a reminder of the horrors Cori had gone through. It had hurt Kate to hear that. Because despite her horned sister, she would’ve liked to keep in contact with Cori.

“Well, what are we going to do about this?” Kate asked and gestured to the empty spaces around his apartment.

He exhaled noisily. “Luckily, the bedroom set was mine, so I still have something to sleep on…”

“Well, thank goodness for that.” She knew she answered too heartily by the amused expression on his face. How did he keep his cool when she felt her emotions were all over the place every time she was in his presence?

Jared smiled and continued, “But I’m not sure when I’m going to find time to furniture shop. My caseload has seemed to triple this week.”

“I’ll help you! I’m Darlene Edwards’ daughter, so you know I would find furniture shopping to be fun!” she enthused.

“Do you know anything about furniture?” he asked skeptically.

“What’s there to know? You sit on it,” she retorted.

“Well, that’s enough expertise for me. Why don’t we plan to go the next Saturday or Sunday when we’re both off?” Jared suggested.

Kate agreed, but couldn’t help and think of what a guy move it was for him to put it off. If it was her apartment, she’d be at the phone that night and ordering furnishings for next day delivery. Since sitting in front of the TV on a pair of folding chairs didn’t appeal to either of them, they decided to go for a walk to the nearby coffee shop. Excusing himself, he went back into his bedroom to finish getting dressed. Jared reappeared after putting on a t-shirt and a pair of sneakers.

As they made their way down the street outside of his apartment, Jared held tightly onto her hand. At least with all of the craziness going on around her, Jared felt like something solid to keep her grounded. Kate leaned into him as they walked and marveled in the happiness of the moment. Knowing it couldn’t last forever, Kate decided to tell him about Declan and their meeting together. Jared was silent as she summarized everything the psychic had revealed to her.

He seemed intrigued over the idea that the type of visions depended on the person. “I know it’s awkward for you to talk about, so I never brought it up. But I’ve had a lot of questions about your visions.”

Kate felt her body tense as she wondered where Jared’s line of questioning was heading. Although most of her visions about him were fantastic, there were a few that would be uncomfortable to share. Afterwards, she’d wake up and feel guilty when she saw a deeply personal moment from his past. It felt as though she was unintentionally violating his privacy. “Go ahead, shoot.”

“You’re brave saying that to a cop,” he joked trying to lighten the mood. Jared had the uncanny ability to always pick up on how she was feeling. Her posture relaxed as he asked, “Do you see inside my head? Or are you just witnessing my memories?”

“I’ve never known your thoughts during a vision. I’ve always been an outside observer,” she confessed.

His question was a relief. Kate wouldn’t lie to him if Jared asked her to describe all of the visions she had about him. Still, it would be an embarrassment if she had to divulge the frequency with which she had them.

Typically, at least two or three of her visions each week would be about her new boyfriend. Only a few short days ago, Kate had a vision of the first time they met. It had been such a strange feeling to see herself in his memories. It felt like watching an old home movie and cringing over every little thing said and done. Kate understood her good fortune that Jared decided to give her a chance after their less than pleasant first meeting.

“Why do you ask if I see inside your head?” Kate inquired after collecting her thoughts.

“I get the sense that you’re unsure about my feelings towards you.” He stopped walking and turned to face her. Taking both of her hands in his, he gave them a gentle squeeze. “And I think if you knew my thoughts you wouldn’t feel that way.”

It was such an unexpected compliment that she felt speechless for a moment. Mistakenly, Kate had thought he was going to give her the third degree over what past memories of his she had witnessed. Kate prayed that one day his honesty and self-assuredness would rub off on her and help her insecurities fade away. After a soft kiss on her cheek, he resumed their walk. Deliriously happy, Kate beamed at his back. Maybe even a snarky psychic could get her happily ever after.

“I feel like an idiot!”

“Stop complaining and try to get into it. It works, but we could try my other method if you’re interested…” Declan’s voice trailed off. She smacked his leg hard in reply.

He had told her about his other method of tapping into his psychic energy. Declan claimed taking certain drugs would help relax the mind enough to get into another person’s memories. Since Kate belonged firmly in the “Just say no” camp, that wasn’t an option. She just hoped her mother hadn’t overheard before she headed outside to work in the garden.

As it was, her mom had seemed guarded when she had introduced Declan to her. Her mother was up in arms when people came over and didn’t use a coaster. A boy who followed her daughter around with no discernable reason wasn’t exactly a welcome presence in her home.

Declan and Kate sat cross-legged in her living room with the lighting low and a candle between them. The goal was to get her into a meditative state and let any visions from Max or his abductor flow freely to her. Her new psychic friend claimed that often he would even have visions in this state without the need to be asleep. It sounded like a lot of hokey bullshit to her, but a captive boy was enough motivation to try anything. Yet, an hour of meditation had done nothing except make her crave a nap.

“Do you know why we have most of our visions while we’re sleeping?” Declan asked her softly. The more on edge she got, the gentler tone he used.

“Not a clue,” she responded honestly.

Declan made her feel like a bad student for being ignorant over their gifts. She blamed it on keeping her powers a secret for so long, but in all honesty she should’ve tried to learn more since the two years she found Matt Spencer. Her focus had been more on repressing her gifts during that period. Her time would’ve been better spent trying to hone her powers.

Declan launched into his explanation, “Although we’re sleeping, our brain is still very active, especially when we enter the REM phase. I’ve read studies and they say that this period is almost like a heightened level of consciousness and the time when you’re likely to have the most vivid dreams. This is the time when we’re most likely to have a vision—especially since our minds have shut out anything else that may be going on.

“Basically what you’re doing now is trying to shut everything else out. Keep your mind and body relaxed and simply breathe in and out. Don’t focus fully on Max or his kidnapper. Instead, concentrate on becoming an empty vessel and getting into a higher state of consciousness.”

Kate decided to give it her best. Declan was very patient with her, even as her cynical side threatened to tell him there was no way this would actually help her get more control over her visions. Declan obviously had a couple of extra years of experience over her, so why shouldn’t she trust he knew what he was talking about?

Letting her mind go quiet took longer than she expected. She kept hearing the noises from outdoors, Declan’s steady breathing next to her and her own heartbeat as she thought about Max alone with that crazy woman. To get rid of her thoughts, she tried to imagine them as bubbles floating away from her. She closed her eyes and just focused on taking long and cleansing breaths. In and out, in and out…

“No, you’re lying! He can’t be gone!”

She beat her fist against the chest of her ex-husband. She hated him at that minute more than it was possible to despise anyone else in this entire universe. He was the one to utter the words that would destroy her world and her already fragile hold on her sanity. They stood in the corridor of the hospital and she could care less about the uncomfortable stares being shot their way.

“Ally, I’m so sorry. It was an accident, a horrible accident…” Lincoln moaned to her. He did not bother to conceal his pain. His blue eyes filled with unshed tears and his mouth twisted into an expression of extreme sorrow. Ally had no sympathy for him and only wished his suffering could be increased a thousand-fold. If a butcher knife had suddenly appeared in front of her, she would have no problem grabbing it and shoving it into his gut. The dream of watching him bleed out like a stuck pig would probably be the only thing that could ever bring her any sort of happiness for the rest of her lifetime.

“This is your fault! He doesn’t know how to swim! Who brings a child to a party with a pool and doesn’t watch him? You’ll burn in hell for this, Lincoln,” she spat at him. Lincoln turned his back on her and started to march away from her. “Don’t you dare walk away from me, you son-of-a-bitch!”

A nurse hurried over to her and attempted to diffuse the situation. The petite redhead rested her hand gently on Ally’s arm and spoke in a soothing voice. “Ms. Seldon, let me take you somewhere. We can go to a private room and have a doctor give you something to calm down.”

Ally was having none of it. She welcomed the pain, relished it. A sedative would only make her numb to her hatred and need for retribution. The thought of Zachary lying dead in the hospital tore at her. She just saw her five-year-old boy alive and well this morning before his scheduled visit with Lincoln. With a quick kiss, he had bounded off to his father’s SUV with his favorite Thomas the Train firmly grasped in his hand. As they had driven off, Zachary waved from the window. She blew him a kiss which he caught in his hand. Ally had no idea that as they turned the corner, it would be the last moment she saw her son alive.

Her beloved son was taken away from her too soon and she swore she would somehow find a way to be with him again…

It was bewildering to come out of a vision in this way. The brief time inside of Ally’s brain had Kate’s heart racing and her head spinning. Kate recognized Ally immediately as the abductor from Max’s memories. It was disconcerting to expect to see the cold sterility of a hospital and instead be transported back to her living room with a candle burning and a boy she barely knew staring at her with concern. He went to reach for her, but seemed to think better of it and left his hand at his side.

“It worked,” Kate whispered with reverence.

It seemed impossible to believe that the meditative exercise actually offered her the opportunity to have a vision without being asleep. Her mind had traveled to another place while her body remained in the sanctity of her own living room. Although the vision didn’t let her know Max’s exact location, it did give her the name of the kidnapper. Along with information about her losing a son in a drowning, Kate was certain the police would now be able to locate Ally Seldon.

Blowing out the candle, Kate hopped to her feet and opened the blinds to let more light into the room. Turning to Declan, she quickly relayed what she’d seen during the vision. Declan was pleased with the results of his tutelage and encouraged her to keep practicing in order to have better control over when and where she had the visions.

“What else can you do?” Kate asked. The success of the session made Kate imagine Declan as her wise sensei and she the eager pupil.

Kate didn’t expect the psychic to look shifty after she posed the question. His brown eyes wouldn’t meet hers and his body language became closed off. His lack of reply made her nervous and she had a feeling the other shoe was about to drop. After a long moment, he opened his mouth to reply, but quickly shut it. As the silence echoed through the room, Kate noted the tightening in his jaw.

Edging closer to him, she asked, “Declan, what’s going on? What are you keeping from me?”

“Kate, I think we covered a lot today. I don’t think you’re ready to know everything just yet,” Declan said guiltily.

“That isn’t for you to decide. Just spit it out already,” she commanded crossing her arms in front of her.

“You probably won’t believe me, so it’s kind of pointless for me to mention it,” he said and shrugged. He was chewing on his bottom lip which led Kate to believe he was conflicted. A little pushing and prodding would urge him to reveal whatever secret he was keeping.

If Declan didn’t want her to uncover the truth, he should’ve simply lied and said there was nothing more to show her. Now, Kate planned to relentlessly harass him until he finally confessed. She wasn’t the seventh grade champion debater for nothing.

“Declan, you better tell me or else whatever you want from me, you’re definitely not getting.” She leaned against the chocolate armchair and tried to paint on a patient expression.

“Kate, I never said I wanted anything from you…”

Kate interrupted and shook her head. “Give me a break. You don’t go to all of the trouble to investigate someone if you simply want to show them some parlor tricks.”

His resigned sigh told her she had won and she waited as he seemed to gather his nerve to speak. When he met her eyes again, they seemed to burn through her. It was as if he was trying to will her to believe whatever he was about to tell her. “I’ve had visions of the future.”

“What are you talking about?” she sputtered. Jumping off of her perch on the armchair, she banged her knee into the coffee table. After a mumbled curse, she sank back into the chair and rubbed at the delicate skin.

Declan waited for her to quiet. “It hasn’t happened often. But ever since I worked on strengthening my gifts, I’ve received these glimpses,” he revealed. “Kate, each vision came true,” he added solemnly.

As he spoke, Kate tried to figure out this boy who stood before her. He was as contradictory as she was and it made it difficult to understand his motives. His muscular build and tattooed arms came across as a direct contrast to the Zen Master who sat on the floor across her earlier and lectured her on becoming an empty vessel. Why would he lie about seeing the future? What would he gain from it?

The idea of seeing the future was as foreign a concept to her as people who ordered salads from McDonald’s. After her coma, Kate had accepted her visions would always be of something that happened in the past tense. It negated her of responsibility in a way. Since the events already took place, she was powerless to do anything to stop it. If she could see the future, this would be a complete game changer.

“I know it’s hard to understand and sounds far-fetched. But I would imagine you have the potential to do the same thing.” He launched into a more detailed explanation without waiting for her to respond to his declaration. “I didn’t understand it was a prophecy the first time it happened. While I was sleeping, I saw a vision of my next door neighbor getting run down by a car while riding her bicycle. It happened a few days later and she was hospitalized for weeks from her injuries.”

Kate rose from her chair with care and winced at the pain in her sore knee. Her hazel eyes met his and she replied decidedly, “I don’t believe it.”

“Well, that’s a big surprise,” he said sarcastically and threw out his arms in frustration. Kate hoped he didn’t plan to punch anything—namely her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re so god damn stubborn! I’m trying to help you and you keep putting up this wall. If you don’t want to learn anything, then we’re done here.”

It was odd to see him livid. Even when she held the pepper spray within inches of his face, Declan had remained cool and collected. He now paced in front of her like a caged tiger that needed only the slightest provocation to pounce. It would’ve been the perfect time for her mother to take a break from her gardening and interrupt them.

“Fine. Then tell me another future vision,” she challenged.

“Okay, you want to know? It was you and me…together,” he sneered.

She shot out a bark of humorless laughter. “Is that some kind of lame psychic pick up line? Because sorry buddy, you’re cute and all, but why would something happen between us when I have a super hot boyfriend?”

His eyes narrowed. “God, you’re the most annoying person I ever met.”

Honestly, it was a relief to hear him say that. Hopefully, he would find her unappealing and get any romantic notions out of his head. Actually, his present expression looked like he was more prone to clobber her than have any desire to kiss her.

Kate sighed. “Look, I’m going to call the police department in Blaine and give them the information from the vision. I think you were right about calling it a day,” she stated flatly. He didn’t answer and she decided to head upstairs to the privacy of her bedroom to put distance between them and make the call.

Twenty minutes later as Kate headed back downstairs, she was surprised to hear Declan’s deep laugh carry across the room. She’d been certain he would’ve been long gone by now. It had taken her awhile to reach an available detective at the police department and provide the tip about Ally Seldon being the name of Max’s abductor. The officer she spoke to didn’t seem to put much merit into the description of her vision. This encouraged Kate to leave a message on Farrah’s cell phone. Farrah had a strong faith in psychic phenomenon and Kate knew she would ensure that the authorities would put in an effort to locate the woman from her vision.

She was surprised to see Gage, Julie and her mom yukking it up with Declan. The boys were talking about football which she guessed came about when Declan saw Gage’s Giants jersey. Julie and her mom were discussing different punch recipes Julie could experiment with for her upcoming weekend party. The record scratch was almost audible as Kate walked into the kitchen.

Julie broke the silence first. “Hey! Did you forget we were coming by to borrow those platters and the pitchers from your mom?”

“I did,” she admitted. “Sorry I’ve had a lot going on this week.”

“That’s okay,” Julie said. Kate didn’t miss Julie’s meaningful glance in Declan’s direction. “But you’re still able to come on Friday, right?”

Julie and Gage had been planning a sort of back to school blowout at his house for a few weeks now. Since it was the couple’s senior year of college, they wanted it to be one of their last hoorays before real life decided to interrupt. Gage lived in a large house off campus with three other guys and a party ready basement. Kate had usually made up a lame excuse to get out of going, but since meeting Jared, she was attempting to stave off her fears of social awkwardness.

“Of course. Jared will be able to make it too,” she said pointedly and purposely kept her eyes averted from Declan. “Let me know if you need help setting up anything.”

Gage turned to Declan and she listened in horror as he nonchalantly said, “You should come too.”

When Declan turned to her, she managed to keep her expression disinterested. As he turned back to Gage, she mouthed a panicked “No!” to Julie. Julie shrugged as if to say it was out of her hands now.

“Sure, I’ll stop by,” Declan agreed and she felt nauseous at the thought of him in the same room as Jared.

Why did he have to ruin a perfectly good psychic friendship with this nonsensical talk about them hooking up in the future? Her future vision was married to Jared, a picket fence and maybe seven or eight kids. She wouldn’t continue spending time with Declan if he threatened their happiness in anyway. No matter how much she wanted better control over her second sight.

Chapter Eight

Jared wasn’t able to make the party. Kate knew her disappointment was clear in her voice as they spoke briefly on the phone a couple of hours before she was set to head to Gage’s house. It wasn’t as if she blamed him for not being able to make it. His job as a detective didn’t always have regular hours and lately his cases had made their time alone scarce. Couldn’t the citizens of Franklin behave themselves so she could have time with her boyfriend?

“You sound like you’re pouting. I really would make it if I could,” Jared said to her over the line as he drove to the station.

“You’re just saying that now because you can’t make it. I’m sure even if you weren’t working, going to a party with a bunch of sweaty college kids in a basement that’s probably brimming with hepatitis doesn’t sound appealing,” she countered.

“Working on a Friday night in a basement with a bunch of sweaty detectives isn’t exactly my idea of fun.”

“Good point.”

“Call me when you leave, so I know you’re getting home safely,” he said softly.

Kate felt a little choked up at his words. She’d been looking forward to tonight for the sole reason of catching up with him. Their conversations had been short and far between over the last few days. Jared only knew that Kate had a vision about Max’s abductor and she hadn’t heard yet if the boy had been located.

Farrah had called her briefly the night of the vision to confirm the woman’s name and discuss any other details Kate could recall. Ally’s mental instability had luckily awarded Kate the opportunity to see into her head. Kate had picked up the phone a dozen times over the past couple of days to call Max’s mother again, but didn’t want to bother the poor woman in case he wasn’t found. She assumed Farrah would call her if there was any news to report.

Kate had used Declan’s meditative techniques again and received another vision from Ally Seldon. This memory went further back to when her son Zachary had still been alive. They were flying kites in the park on a warm summer day. Being inside Ally’s head again permitted Kate to feel the mixture of joy and raw pain over the memory. It almost made the woman sympathetic. She squashed those feelings fast by focusing on the horrifying abduction and treatment of Max. No matter how great the anguish, it gave the woman no right to bring pain to another mother and an innocent child. Max couldn’t be Ally’s replacement after losing Zachary.

Kate was unsure whether or not to confess Declan’s assertion over seeing the future to Jared. It seemed unlikely that there was any truth to it. However, she was convinced Jared wouldn’t feel comfortable if she developed a friendship with someone who had romantic notions about her. Kate specifically hadn’t asked Declan to elaborate about his vision of them “together.” She had no idea what that meant exactly and only hoped it wasn’t a vision of her sleeping with him.

Although Kate was unenthusiastic about spending a lot of time with Declan, she had to admit he had helped her see Max’s abductor. She wanted to know more about their powers, but not at the cost of risking her relationship with Jared. Thankfully, she hadn’t heard from the fellow psychic in days. It gave her time to try to wrap her head around everything he had said.

Jared’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Kate, are you there?”

“Sorry. Of course, I’ll call you…Stay safe too while you solve the case of the murdered hooker,” she replied.

“It’s actually a stolen car case, but I appreciate your concern,” he laughed before she disconnected the call.

In a way Kate was relieved to be off of the phone with him. Any longer and she would start driveling on about how needy she was feeling. Kate imagined that nothing could be more of a turnoff than a new girlfriend begging her boyfriend to make her troubles go away. She was definitely keeping an eye on her alcohol intake tonight. She didn’t want to drunk dial him later and make him consider permanently changing his number.

An hour later, Kate frowned at her reflection in the mirror. Now that Jared wasn’t coming to the party, she wasn’t sure what to wear. In this heat wave, the number of bodies in the basement would make the temperature feel stifling. However, wearing a short skirt without her boyfriend around to shoot anyone who tried to cop a feel might be asking for trouble. She settled on a pair of denim shorts and a tribal printed tank top. It was a party in a basement, so it wasn’t like she could be accused of under-dressing. She decided not to straighten her hair since the humidity would likely end up turning it into a frizzy mess in a couple of hours anyway.

As she drove over to Gage’s house, Kate couldn’t help but feel anxious over thoughts of Declan. While he may have claimed to have had a future vision of them together, she didn’t feel as if that was his true purpose behind seeking her out. A few times she had caught a predatory look as he watched her. There hadn’t been affection in his eyes, but something different. Kate speculated he had only told her the vision of them together to prevent her from finding out his true motivation behind helping her.

When she walked into Gage’s house, she saw that a swarm of people had already arrived. Kate guessed she wouldn’t know too many of her former Thompson College classmates considering the fact she had been a hermit until last month. She had an uncomfortable date with Gage’s friend Sebastian right before she got together with Jared. However, Julie had assuaged Kate’s dread over running into him by letting her know he wasn’t able to make the party. Social gatherings still gave Kate anxiety, but she decided the best defense against awkward questions about her gift was to play it coy.

Since Julie was a good head taller than Kate, it wasn’t hard to spot her in the kitchen mixing up drinks. Gage was standing behind his girlfriend with his head resting on her shoulder. Gage looked as though he had participated in a few pre-game drinks judging by his red face and unfocused stare.

“Hi,” she chirped to Julie and handed her a tray. “My mother and I baked some cookies for tonight.”

Before Julie could slap his hand away, Gage reached inside and grabbed a handful. “God, these look awesome!” With his mouth filled with food, he questioned, “But where’s the rest? It looks like someone already ate half the tray.”

Kate looked down at her top to see if she had left any residual cookie crumbs. “Sorry I got hungry on the way here. I’m trying to stock up before my fast begins tomorrow.”

“Kate, you’ve been saying that you’re going to stop eating for weeks now and it’s always after a major food binge. I told you that you didn’t need to lose any weight, you look fabulous,” Julie said. Julie was tall and thin which afforded her the opportunity to be generous with the compliments.

Gage was looking at her with an appraising eye. Only he could make her feel like a calf up for auction. “I wouldn’t go that far, Jul. She could probably stand to lose five to ten pounds.”

“You’re such an animal, Gage,” she hissed and left the kitchen despite Julie’s protests. After a quick loop around the main floor, Kate decided to head downstairs to the basement. There was always the possibility she would recognize someone and not be stuck standing in a corner all alone.

Most of the partygoers were from Thompson College which Julie and Gage still attended. Kate had dropped out her freshman year after contracting meningitis. It hadn’t been really enough time to make any lasting friendships with anyone besides her roommate Julie. Her high school friends were freaked out over the hubbub around her psychic visions and she was no longer in contact with them. If she ran into someone around town, they would exchange small talk for a few minutes. However, after noting their darting glances, Kate guessed they probably wouldn’t want to be caught dead hanging out with the psychic freak.

Kate saw Lauren, a girl she remembered from her freshman English Comp class. Luckily, Lauren recognized her too and she had someone to talk with until she found Julie again. Catching up with her was a nice distraction and actually fooled her into believing she still fit in with other college kids her age. After fifteen minutes, Lauren turned to her. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Yes, but he couldn’t make it tonight…” she trailed off and felt the pang of missing Jared once again.

“Oh, okay…because this really hot guy has been checking you out from across the room,” Lauren whispered with a giggle.

The slick move would’ve been to nonchalantly glance over, but Kate instead whirled her head to look behind her. Sure enough, Declan was leaning against the wall with a plastic cup in his hand and an unsettling stare. Grudgingly, she had to admit he looked pretty good in a plaid button down and a pair of jeans. His facial hair had grown out more in the couple of days since she last him and it made him appear simultaneously rough and sexy. He looked like every mother’s worse nightmare and every girl’s erotic fantasy.

Lauren was still talking to her. “Wow, does he go to school here? Trish looks way into him.”

A very cute girl Kate didn’t recognize stood a few inches in front of Declan. If it was Kate standing there, she would’ve clocked him for paying so little attention to what she was saying. Trish’s straight red hair fell past her shoulders and complemented her perfect creamy complexion. Every few seconds, she would move slightly closer and get a little friendlier with her hands.

Kate could acknowledge that things were tense after their last meeting. However, Declan should’ve at least made an effort to say hello before finding some poor girl to pet his ego.

“He’s actually a friend…” Kate paused at the word since she wasn’t sure how to categorize Declan. Maybe a colleague would be a more appropriate term. “I guess I should say hi to him.”

Lauren laughed at her tone. “You don’t sound happy about it.”

“It’s sort of a complicated friendship. It was great to catch up though,” she said sincerely and smiled. “Are you hanging out for awhile? I could find you in a bit.”

Lauren headed to play beer pong while Kate cautiously made her way over to Declan. By this time, Trish had completely flattened her body against his despite it not being crowded in the basement. Although Kate gave her a friendly smile, Trish shot her daggers upon her approach. The girl definitely didn’t want an unknown girl trying to interrupt their flirting.

“Hey,” Declan addressed her. Without warning, he shifted towards her. Although he just moved in for a kiss on the cheek, Kate stiffened. His scruff grazed her skin and his lips were soft as they brushed against her cheek. Declan lingered for a second too long and grinned at her flustered expression when he pulled away.

“Can we talk?” she asked and decided to silence her inner spaz and tackle the weirdness with Declan head on. Setting some ground rules could get rid of the awkwardness and allow them to continue looking for Max together.

“Sure thing,” he answered and turned to Trish. “I’ll look for you later.”

Trish did not look happy about being dismissed and although she gave Declan a charming smile, she shot Kate a murderous look when Declan turned his face away from them both.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” she purred into his ear and Kate refrained from gagging.

Kate should’ve been encouraging a rendezvous between the two of them, but she needed to get a few things off her chest first. If the embarrassment lingered, there would be no possible way she would enjoy the rest of the party. As Trish sauntered off, Kate could practically smell the lust that still lingered in the air.

Barely meeting his gaze, Kate commented, “I thought you had a girlfriend.”

“What made you think that?”

“I heard a girl with you the night I called you to meet me at the sub shop,” she replied.

“Well, if you ever bothered to ask me anything about myself, you would know I’m single,” Declan said with an edge. With a lighter tone, he added, “She was just one of my many adoring groupies.”

His statement felt true and Kate felt guilt plague her. In the short time they’d known each other she realized that she never did ask him about himself. She knew nothing about his family or any of his past visions. However, he basically just admitted to being a womanizer which made her decidedly less regretful.

Instead of pointing out his many faults in life, Kate took the high road. “Sorry, I’ve had sort of tunnel vision lately and have only been concerned with finding Max.” She paused. “So…what should I know about you? What is your family like? What do you like to do when you’re not seducing the masses and saving the abducted?”

Declan fiddled with his watch. “Kate, we don’t have to make small talk.”

Kate blew out a long sigh. “Thank god because I seriously suck at it.”

“Why don’t you instead tell me about your visions? Did you see anything more about Max?”

Quickly, she gave him the lowdown on her visions about Ally. Neither vision had featured Max which made her wonder how she was treating the boy. The more he resisted being her replacement for Zachary, the more violent she might get. Kate relayed how she had called with her tip, but hadn’t heard if Max had been located or not.

“I mean it would have to be in the news—right?” she questioned rhetorically. “I can’t understand why they haven’t found either of them yet. Without drawing a road map, I feel like I provided as much information as possible to determine where she’s keeping Max,” she sighed.

He shrugged. “Who knows? She may be using an alias or has gone into hiding since taking him. Just keeping working on it to see if you find out anything else to tell the cops.” He added, “I had a vision of Max, but it took place before the kidnapping. It was Christmas morning and his parents gave him a puppy as a gift. It was cute—made me feel for the little guy. I only wish I could’ve helped some more.”

They stood side by side against the basement wall as the party gained momentum. The music had been turned up and they had started to yell in order to be heard over the hip hop tracks. Kate almost started cracking up as she imagined Jared taking in the scene. She didn’t picture him drinking cheap beer out of the keg or trying to grope her in one of the darker corners of the basement.

Turning to face her, Declan gave her a solemn look. He leaned in close to guarantee she was able to hear him clearly. “I’ve wanted to call you. I owe you an apology about the other day.” Shoving his hands in his pockets he said with an uncertain tremor in his voice, “I should’ve never said those things about seeing us hooking up. You’ve made it very clear that you’re happy with your boyfriend. I crossed a line and I’m sorry.”

His words made the tension she had been feeling fade away and she grinned with relief. “Good because I want us to be friends. Besides the fact that I can count the number of friends I have on one hand, you would be my first psychic buddy.”

“It is nice to talk to someone who knows what it’s like,” he agreed.

“Why do you think it happened to us? I mean people almost die everyday, what made us so special to come back from the dead with these powers?”

It was an intense conversation to have in the middle of a party, but it was something that had always plagued her. Did she have a higher purpose? Who gave them their second sight?

“I wish I knew. It was hard to not have an existential crisis when I woke up like this. Do you remember anything from when you were in the coma?”

Kate shook her head. “No, the only thing I recall is the vision of Matt Spencer. What about you? I read they put you in a medically induced coma because of your injuries from the ski accident.”

“Not a thing. A few days after I came to I began having visions of my family. I thought they were just really vivid dreams until I realized I was in their head. Everyone obviously thought I had lost my freaking mind when I told them.”

She digested this information and felt a sudden kinship to Declan. Although he was egotistical and shifty about his motives, Kate realized they had a lot in common. The main difference seemed to be that he was comfortable with his psychic abilities while she still struggled with her gifts. She had hated being psychic because it made her feel like an outsider. Her new perspective was to stop caring about what others thought and try to use her abilities to make a difference in the world.

Kate sent him a sideways glance. “Do you ever have your own dreams anymore?”

“No, do you?”

“No, I miss them sometimes. It would be great to get lost in my own imagination instead of having to relive other peoples’ memories night after night,” she revealed.

As she felt Declan’s stare on her face, she decided it would be best to mingle instead of spending time with his unnerving presence. “You should probably go and find Trish. I don’t want to make a new enemy.”

“Don’t worry about her. She’ll forget all about you when she’s screaming my name later,” he joked.

“You pig!” She smacked his arm and then sent a wave as she walked away.

Kate didn’t dare glance backwards as she headed upstairs to find Julie. Declan’s hot and cold moods confused her and put doubts in her mind about their budding friendship. She had questions for the psychic, but wasn’t sure how much she’d like his answers.

By midnight, the party was wild enough to make her expect the police to come by and bust it up any minute. Gage and Julie had a large circle of friends and those friends seemed to invite even more people. The upstairs and basement were crammed full of warm bodies—making it practically impossible to not feel sexually violated if you attempted to walk around. Julie had accompanied her for awhile, but her hostess duties prevented her from spending too much time actually enjoying her own party. Out of boredom, Kate ended up drinking more than she intended. She had switched to water and figured she’d have to stay at the party for a couple more hours to sober up enough to drive home.

Declan had made himself the center of attention and was enjoying the distinction of being fresh meat for the ladies of Thompson College. Trish was only one in the harem he seemed intent on gathering. The men of the party seemed irritated over the number of girls dancing and flirting with the unfamiliar face.

Declan’s antics made Kate feel relief and nausea simultaneously. They had only exchanged a few words since their heart to heart earlier. As the hours passed, Kate began to crave Jared’s soothing presence more than ever.

“Here, have a shot!” Gage came up behind her and handed her some noxious looking drink in a paper cup.

“No, I’m good,” she countered.

“Katie, I won’t leave you alone until you do it,” he threatened.

The thought was enough for her to swallow the horrendous thing down in one gulp. She tried not to gag as the liquor burned her throat. “What the hell was that?” she sputtered.

“A Sammy Jager—it’s Sambuca and Jagermeister. A few of these and you’ll finally be able to loosen up and have a good time.” He ignored her glare and continued speaking. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“It is a free country.”

He ran his fingers through his blonde locks and stared at the wall behind her. “Julie got wasted the other night and admitted she asked you to read my mind…”

Kate didn’t let him finish, “As I told you a million times before, I don’t read minds.”

“Whatever, but do you mind telling her no? She said you hadn’t seen anything incriminating and you’re not going to,” he promised. As he shifted from side to side, he confided, “I love her and I would never cheat on her.”

Taken aback by his serious expression, she swallowed back her come back. “Ok, I wasn’t trying to invade your privacy. She was just concerned that something was going on.”

Gage looked heavenward. “Julie can get crazy jealous. I don’t know why. Why would I hook up with someone else when I’m with the hottest girl I ever seen?”

His final sentiment was practically romantic poetry coming from a guy like Gage. Kate apologized again and promised that she would no longer try to have visions about him. To be honest, she was relieved. Her eyes would probably burn out of her skull if she had to go through another vision of him participating in a Resident Evil marathon with his friends or fooling around with Julie in the backseat of his car.

Gage glanced behind him at the dance floor before turning back to her. He was still drunk, but coherent enough that she guessed Julie had gotten him to scale back on the alcohol. In a weird way, Julie and Gage did balance each other out well. With a wry grin, he asked, “What’s with the super psychic stud?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s eye fucking you from across the room. It’s pretty obvious he wants you,” Gage replied.

“Eww gross,” Kate said and she could feel her cheeks burning. “And not exactly accurate. He’s been all over a ton of girls since he got here.”

“Whatever you say,” he said with a shrug and then met her eyes. “But if some guy was looking at Julie like that, he’d be missing his two front teeth by now.” Gage leaned down closer to her as she stood there feeling at a loss on how to reply. “Just be careful, Kate. Jared seems like an ok guy and I know you wouldn’t want to screw things up with him.”

“Thanks Gage,” she said and felt an ungodly urge to hug him. “Jesus, are we having a moment?”

“Yeah I think so.” His expression exactly matched the distaste in her tone of voice. “Let’s not do this again.”

“Agreed, we’ll get back to our regularly scheduled program of feeling only loathing for one another.”

He smiled and ruffled her hair before walking away. She tried to avoid looking over at Declan, but now that Gage mentioned it, he had been staring at her an awfully lot. Even now, his eyes seemed to burn tiny holes through her. When their gazes locked across the room, he pulled the girl he was dancing with closer while still staring at Kate.

Kate broke contact first and swallowed hard. Was he only using the girls at the party to make her jealous? Maybe his promise to not pursue her had only been a line. She couldn’t bring herself to believe that he was being sincere with her. He still had to earn her trust. It made it implausible to put her faith in someone who seemed intent on playing her.

Jared’s phone went straight to voicemail twice before she decided to give up on calling. Kate guessed since it was after one o’clock in the morning, he had turned off his phone before crashing. It was frustrating since he had asked her to call him when she was ready to leave the party. Although she would feel bad about dragging him out of bed, she was certain Jared wouldn’t mind as long as it meant getting her home safely. Instead, she was stranded at Gage’s house.

The shot had hit her hard and soon after Julie had coerced her into doing another shot with her. She was by no means falling down drunk, but she would never trust herself to drive. This left the options of either calling a cab or sleeping on the floor of Gage’s room. Trying to sleep on the filthy and uncomfortable hardwood floor in Gage’s bedroom was not going to happen. Going home by taxi made the most sense to her.

As she prepared to say her goodbyes to Julie and Gage before calling a cab, she heard someone creep up behind her. “Are you leaving?” Declan asked as she turned to face him. Trish hung on him as if he were a life raft that she wouldn’t dare want to let go. Her ginger hair was mussed slightly and her cheeks flushed. Her kitten smile made it obvious the two of them had been lip locked and his kisses left her desiring much more.

Kate had avoided him most of the night. Declan’s unsettling glances and Gage’s proclamations about Declan wanting her provoked her to stay as far away as possible from him. As much as she was falling hard for Jared, Kate didn’t want to invite any unwanted feelings for the psychic into her heart. She rationalized away any stirrings in her gut by telling herself any girl would feel something if a charismatic and good-looking guy began to take notice in her.

“Yes, I’m going to say goodbye to Gage and Julie before I head out,” she responded and fiddled with her purse from nervousness. When Declan didn’t reply, she said blandly, “It was good to see you.”

His brown eyes watched her warily. “Are you ok to drive?”

“I’m going to take a cab,” she replied.

“I’ll drive you home,” he offered. Trish shot him an exasperated look which he pretended not to notice. Trish’s grip on his arm tightened, but Declan untangled himself from her grasp.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Anyway haven’t you been drinking all night? You probably shouldn’t drive either,” Kate said matter-of-factly.

“Nah, I’ve just had soda. Let’s go,” he replied and then tilted his head to speak to Trish. “I’ve got your number so I’ll give you a call.”

Kate felt her jaw drop as Trish’s face twisted into rage. Before she had a chance to reply or do bodily harm to Kate, Declan grabbed Kate’s hand and pulled her towards the door. Declan pushed through the crowds and did not pause until they were through the front door and the cool air greeted them.

“What the hell? I didn’t even see Julie,” Kate protested once they were outside.

“Send her a text. That girl was about to flip her shit,” he said shortly. “Better to get out now while we had the chance,” he said and took quick strides away from the house.

Obediently, Kate followed along. The street was empty and dimly lit. A buzzing streetlight gave the night an eerie feel. Declan didn’t bother to check if she was behind him as he rushed down the road.

“You can’t be serious?” Kate demanded as they stopped in front of a Hummer. Declan opened the passenger door. Her short legs and intoxication made it a struggle to get positioned onto the step rail of the SUV. Declan saw her fumbling attempts and decided to help give her a boost in by pushing her backside.

She spun around to glare at him. “So help me if you put your hands on my ass ever again!”

Kate heard his snigger as he shut her door. A second later, he climbed into the driver’s side. “I was only helping you in,” he said and the faux innocence on his face was infuriating.

“What is wrong with you?” she seethed. “First of all, who drives a Hummer anymore? You’re like ten years too late for this car to be cool. If you want to impress a modern girl, invest in a hybrid.”

“As you could tell, I have no problem impressing plenty of girls,” he retorted.

As she buckled her seatbelt, Kate gave him a piercing look. “You’re not giving me a line about only having a soda, are you?”

“I don’t drink…ever,” he said with enough awkwardness that it sparked her curiosity.

“Oh, that’s right you’re a stoner. I forgot about the illegal substances you offered me while my mom was ten feet away from us.”

“I don’t do drugs anymore either. I only told you that they could help you see more visions. I haven’t used in three years,” he mumbled.

The tension was obvious, but she got the feeling he really didn’t want to talk about it. Her biting tongue had gotten her in enough trouble to discern when it was time to keep her mouth shut.

Several minutes later she coughed to interrupt the silence. “Well…thanks for the ride. It wasn’t necessary, but it was very nice of you to offer.”

“No problem. By the way, do you want to work more on the psychic stuff together?”

“Definitely. I don’t think I’ll be able to get a good night’s sleep again until Max is back with his parents.”

They arranged to meet in a couple of days at his house in South River. Her wariness over going to his house wasn’t a pressing issue any longer. In all honesty, Kate was curious to learn more about him. She figured the more she discovered about him, the more comfortable she would be in his presence.

Declan slowed to a stop in front of her house. “I’ll text you my address and you can come by after class.”

“Sounds like a plan. Thanks for the ride Declan,” she said opening the door and hopping out of the car.

“Day or night, I’m at your service,” he said before pulling away.

As Kate watched his ostentatious SUV drive off, she felt more confused than ever over the mysterious psychic’s intentions.

Chapter Nine

“Your mom said the secret to waking you up on the weekend is to wave food in front of your face,” a voice whispered in her ear.

With a groan, Kate opened her eyes and wondered if she was having a vision. Jared was sitting on the corner of her bed smiling at her and holding a Dunkin Donuts bag. However, since Jared had never been in her bedroom before she figured he must really be sitting in front of her. He was freshly shaven and by the waves of energy bouncing off of him he must have been awake for hours.

“Don’t you know that a girl never wants the guy she likes to see her first thing in the morning?”

Kate only imagined the tortuous combination of bed head and morning breath Jared was witnessing. Since her visions caused plenty of tossing and turning, she never looked well-rested in the morning. Red Bull, coffee and other highly caffeinated beverages were her only salvation many mornings.

“I’ve never seen anything sexier than you in your koala bear pajama pants,” Jared said and positioned his body over hers.

Before she could reply, his lips found her. His kiss deepened and her head completely emptied of any coherent thoughts. As she kissed him, Kate hoped he felt how much she missed him. Her hands cupped his face and she grazed her thumb across his cheek lovingly.

As he moved to her neck, she was able to gasp out, “Aren’t you worried about my mom hearing us?”

“She let me in on her way out. Said she’d be back in a few hours,” he mumbled into her skin.

“Am I spending the day with you?” she asked hopefully. “We do need to buy furniture for your apartment,” she reminded him. It wasn’t fun to spend time sitting on a pair of folding chairs without even a table to set a drink on.

“I wish,” he answered with a forlorn look. “Duty calls again.”

“Dating a cop really sucks sometimes,” she said.

“I know,” he agreed, “and I feel terrible about last night. I got your message this morning. My phone must have died while I was at work and I didn’t charge it before I crashed. Were you able to get a ride home?”

“Yeah, Declan doesn’t drink, so he gave me a ride home.”

His surprise was apparent. Jared straightened and arched an eyebrow. “Declan was at the party?”

“Yes. We have some catching up to do.” She lifted up into a sitting position. Pointing at the bag of donuts in his hands, she remarked, “Donuts sound amazing, but I’m fasting today. Do you have time to talk while I make my cleanse drink?”

Jared had an hour to kill before work. She met him in the kitchen after running a hair brush through her rat’s nest and brushing her teeth. She went in for a quick kiss, but found herself lingering. Maybe she could use his handcuffs to keep him around for the entire day. He pushed a few of her hairs back from her face and inquired, “Glad I came by?”

“This fuzzy feeling inside of me when you’re around must be what people refer to as happiness.” She grinned before turning to take a pitcher out of the cabinet. “Will you be around tonight?”

“Yes. I was going to ask you to dinner, but that seems cruel seeing that you’re not eating and all. Do you want to go to a movie instead?” Jared asked.

He straightened his tie as he waited for her reply. His suit should’ve been a dead giveaway that he was due into work. It had been her own wishful thinking that foolishly made her believe he would be all hers for the weekend.

“Only if you agree to make-out with me in the back row,” Kate joked. “It will keep my mind off not being able to eat popcorn and M & Ms.”

“Sounds good to me,” he said. “Will you be eating again in a few days?”

“I should be.”

With a grimace, she looked at the recipe card for the ingredients in the cleanse. Was she really going to drink this crap? She made such a big deal about doing it, she now felt obligated. Her stomach growled and she wondered if she should at least have the donuts Jared bought before beginning.

“Because your mom happened to drop a huge hint that your birthday is on Wednesday and I wanted to take you out,” Jared explained. “When were you going to mention it?”

“Honestly, it sort of slipped my mind. The psychic stuff has taken over my life again.” She added after a thoughtful pause, “Plus, I haven’t done much for my birthday the past couple of years. My mom makes a cake and Julie comes over. My father will take me out to dinner the weekend after. Very low key.”

“Do you have plans yet? We could go to dinner wherever you want,” he offered.

“My mom hasn’t mentioned anything, so we can do cake with her the night before,” Kate said decidedly. Since the idea of thinking about restaurants on the day she was fasting seemed torturous, she suggested, “Why don’t you surprise me?”

“You’re on,” Jared said and his eyes crinkled as he beamed in her direction.

These fluttery feelings were definitely lifting her mood. She hated to ruin it by bringing him up to speed on Declan’s psychic tutorial and the lack of progress on Max’s abduction. Since Jared’s time with her was limited, Kate tried to hurriedly sum up everything he missed in the past few days. Purposely, she left out the part about Declan’s flirtatiousness at the party. It would only create weirdness and she had already made it clear to him there was nada interest on her side.

Jared tilted his head as he listened carefully. “You think he’s not being straight up with you?”

“I can’t shake the feeling he’s not telling me everything. Like he’s putting me through a test and won’t reveal anything until I pass it. Part of me wants to stay as far away as possible from him, but he does seem to know a lot more about our gift than I do…” her voice trailed off.

“It won’t hurt to question him some more. The more you know about your gift, the better control you’ll have over it,” he said and checked his watch. “Crap, I have to go. Text me later about what movie you want to see.”

“Alright, I’ll just be here enjoying my delicious drink.”

Kate held the glass up for him to view. She wasn’t surprised to see his face screwed up in repugnance. The concoction was grayish colored and probably the most unappetizing thing she had ever seen.

Jared took it out of her hand and took a sip. By his expression, she could tell it took a lot for him to not spit it out. “I give you an hour until you cave.”

“Want to bet on it?” she challenged lifting an eyebrow.

“Not a chance. I rather you just eat. Give me a kiss to help me through the hell day I have waiting for me at work,” he said and motioned her closer.

Walking over to him, she first ran her hands through his dark hair until splaying her fingers across his shoulders. She pressed her body against his and pulled his mouth to hers. The passion began to build and lust coiled in her belly. Their kisses were fast and furious and she could feel his want matching hers. His hands began to move up her back underneath her tank top, setting her skin on fire.

His face was tortured as he pulled away. “You’re killing me, Kate Edwards.”

She gave him a coy smile. “Try to concentrate on work after that, Detective.”

Her mother arrived back home a few hours later. Kate was trying to keep busy to distract her from the hunger pangs. Her mom was impressed by the sparkling kitchen, folded laundry and mopped floors. Darlene gave her a hug in greeting. “I figured you would be sprawled on the couch. It was after one when you got in.”

Kate wasn’t sure if it was normal to have such a close bond with her mother, but she would’ve been lost without her. She could tell her mother anything and knew she would give her good advice. It was touching to think she waited up for her to get in. Julie battled with her own mother on a daily basis and told Kate regularly how lucky she was to have such a good relationship with Darlene.

Her mother spoke, “How was the party?”

“It was good. The cookies were a big hit of course,” she replied.

“Who dropped you off?” she questioned rapping her fingertips against the table. “I saw you get out of someone’s truck I didn’t recognize.”

Most girls may be annoyed that their mother was keeping such close tabs, but Kate understood where she was coming from. It had been only a month or so since Kate was abducted right in front of their house. The experience had shaken Darlene and brought out her fierce protectiveness. Almost losing Kate twice in two years had left her mother wracked with anxiety.

“Declan gave me a ride home,” she answered shortly.

Her mother made a noise that distinctly sounded like “harrumph.” Kate inquired, “You don’t like him?”

“Well, I don’t really know him, honey. We only met briefly the other day.” Her mother waved her off.

Like that mattered, Kate thought. Her mother could nail someone’s character down in under a minute. One of the reasons she had confidence in her relationship with Jared was because her mom held him in such high regard. Jared wasn’t being coy when he said that Kate’s mom liked and trusted him completely. Otherwise, Darlene would have never permitted Jared to be alone with Kate in her bedroom that morning.

“Well, you obviously have an opinion and I wouldn’t mind hearing it,” Kate responded.

There was no defensiveness in Kate’s tone—she truly wanted to know what her mom thought about Declan. Kate may be the psychic, but her mother was more intuitive. A part of her was fearful about her mother confirming her own fears. Declan wasn’t dependable and Kate would be better off trying to find Max on her own.

“I don’t want to judge too hastily, but I’ve met a lot of Declans before. I mean I’ve slept with more than a couple Declans in my day…”

Kate cut her off, “Mom, I think we may be over-sharing here.”

“Anyway,” she continued pointedly, “I know Jared is your first boyfriend in a long time and you’re somewhat inexperienced with men.”

That was an understatement. At eighteen, she had only one serious boyfriend for a couple of months that dumped her right after they had sex. In high school, she had dated a few boys but had always avoided going too far with them. Her background didn’t exactly qualify her as an expert on men.

Kate gave her mother a nod to continue. Her mother bit her lip before continuing, “And I just have a fear if you spend too much time with this boy, both your pants and your self-respect will end up on the floor.”

“Mom…” she stammered out. It took Kate a minute to recover from her mom’s shocking statement. “Don’t worry. It’s only a psychic friend thing with Declan. My heart belongs to Jared.”

“That’s good to hear because sometimes you keep thinking there’s something better out there and miss what’s standing right in front of you.”

By the sound of her voice, Kate realized her mom was speaking from personal experience. She hoped it wasn’t about her father. Her mother went through a difficult time with the divorce—especially when her father’s infidelity was revealed. Although her parents were civil to each other, Kate still had some residual anger over the way her dad had treated her mother.

Kate’s thoughts were interrupted by the chime of her cell phone. Kate grabbed the phone from the counter and saw a text message alert from an unrecognized number.

They found Max. I can’t talk now, but I’ll call you as soon as I can. You’re an angel on earth and you have my everlasting gratitude. Farrah Santo

She turned to her mother. “It’s a message from Max’s mom! They found him!”

Without a second’s hesitation, her mother engulfed Kate in her arms. Smoothing down her hair, she whispered, “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Tears sprang to Kate’s eyes. Her mother could make her feel special and less of a freak at moments like this. Like what she could do was miraculous and didn’t make her an outcast. “I finally feel like I’m on the right path and this is what I need to do.”

She cupped Kate’s face in her hands. “You’re going to use your gifts to help so many people in this world.”

“No pressure or anything,” she cracked with a half sob. Wiping at her tears, she took a shaky breath before speaking. “I’m going to check out the computer and see if there’s anything about Max online.”

There were so many questions in her head. Did they have Ally in custody? How was Max doing? With a quick peck on her mother’s cheek, she headed to their den to scour the internet for as much information about Max as possible.

About fifteen minutes later, her mother wandered into the den. Kate sat perfectly still with tears running down her face. “Katie, what’s wrong?”

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the screen. It was a photograph from a local newspaper. It was taken yesterday after Max had been found and reunited with his mom. He was wrapped around his mother’s waist and tears of joy were visible on Farrah Santo’s face.

Max had no tears. His face was haunted, probably with memories of his time with Ally Seldon. His eyes stared into space as if he was disconnected from reality. He had a black eye as well. Something Kate had yet to witness in her visions and couldn’t fathom what type of monster would do that to a helpless child.

Her stomach heaved as she read the accompanying story. Max had been taken by Ally at the mall when the boy wandered off from his grandmother. She had pretended to be a caretaker appointed by his mom and kept the boy docile with physical violence. Since the family lived in Blaine, which bordered Canada, authorities had thought the abductor had somehow snuck out of the country with Max. In reality, Ally had taken Max two hours south to an apartment in Seattle. She had rented the apartment under a false name. This was the reason Max wasn’t located immediately after Kate had given the police Ally’s name and history.

The extent of the abuse was being kept under wraps and the boy was meeting with child psychologists for counseling. Ally was arrested and also meeting with mental health professionals. Her ex-husband Lincoln cooperated with police and helped them track down Ally. He explained his ex-wife had become violent and unpredictable following the death of their son less than a year ago. However, in the newspaper article, he expressed shock over how much she had lost touch with reality. The tip about Ally being involved in Max’s abduction was credited as coming from an anonymous source.

“Katie?” her mom prompted in a worried tone. She walked closer and Kate breathed in her perfume as a way to comfort her.

Kate couldn’t find the words to explain why the visual of Max was affecting her in this way. “It’s a story about Max,” she stammered as she wiped at her face. Looking over her shoulder, her mom scanned the article. Darlene’s frown deepened as she took several minutes to read the story.

“There are people in this world that are truly reprehensible,” her mother breathed. She gave her an awestruck look. “It’s a miracle you were able to save the boy. She probably would have killed him eventually if it wasn’t for you.”

At that moment Kate didn’t feel like a savior. If anything, she felt like she had failed Max. She should have been able to find him sooner. While she’d been living her life and making out with her boyfriend, a little boy had been suffering. Kate should’ve donated every free minute to finding him. Rising to her feet, she almost knocked the office chair to the floor. “I have to talk to Declan.”

“Katie, what’s going on?”

“I should be working on controlling my gifts. I might have been able to find him before she laid a hand on him!” Kate cried and grabbed her purse.

Her mother reached for her and gave her a stern look. “Don’t do this to yourself. There are terrible people in this world that do horrendous things, even to children. You can’t save everyone.”

“I sure as hell can try.”

Chapter Ten

The drive to Declan’s house was a blur. Once she pulled up to the address she checked her phone three times to make sure she got it right. She was expecting a small apartment or maybe an older row house in the city. His house was nice. Really nice. She was certain Declan had mentioned he lived alone. It baffled her to imagine how an unemployed twenty-one year old afforded a Hummer and a suburban two bedroom home.

Declan seemed unfazed when she texted him to announce her impromptu visit. He sent her his address without asking for an explanation or the reason she urgently needed to see him. Kate could never be that laidback of a person.

Declan greeted her at the door after Kate rang the doorbell twice. His eyes were tired and his clothing rumpled. She gave him a tight smile. “Did I wake you?”

He stifled a yawn. “I fell back asleep after I got your message. Didn’t sleep well last night. Finally conked out after five.”

“Did you have a vision?”

He waved off her question. “Yeah, but nothing about Max’s case. Do you want to come in?”

The interior put her more at ease. It wasn’t a complete crap hole, but it wasn’t as immaculate as her mom kept their home. Cereal boxes cluttered the kitchen counters, a few dishes were left in the sink, extra blankets on the couch. A pile of clothes were pushed to the side of the living room. It made her visualize it being a collection of castoffs from the girls Declan brought home. She put her purse down on his kitchen table and took a seat.

“Thanks for letting me just barge in on you like this,” Kate started.

“Your text said it’s important. What’s up?”

She sighed and stared out of the window. “They found Max yesterday. Of course, I’m happy about it, but I feel…”

His dark eyes watched her with intensity. As reluctant as she wanted to admit it, she had developed a connection with Declan. No one else could possibly understand what it was like to have no control over the things that ran through your head. Invading people’s thoughts was never a skill she would wish on anyone.

Regaining focus, Kate continued, “I just feel that I should’ve been working harder to find him. I should have been freaking meditating for hours each day until he was found.”

Declan shook his head in disagreement. “Kate, you need to live your life too.”

Kate didn’t deviate from the speech she had planned in the car on the way over to Declan’s house. “The reason I came here was because I want to know everything you do. No more bullshit. Lie all of your cards on the table right now.”

Kate met his eyes and tried to convey how deadly serious she was. If he had some tricks up his sleeve, she wanted to know them. If she was going to be stuck with these powers, she better at least start learning if there was a way to decide whose memories she could access.

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his palms over the scruff on his face. He folded his hands in front of him and then gave a tight nod. He was mentally weighing something in his mind and seemed to come to a decision before answering.

“Maybe we should talk about this another time,” he suggested. “When you’re less emotional.”

“Jesus Declan, just let me know the damn secret psychic handshake already.”

He nodded. “It’s not exactly a secret…and there’s not much else I can tell you about controlling your powers.” Declan stopped talking for a long minute. Finally, he muttered, “But there is something I haven’t told you yet.”

She leaned forward and gave him a piercing stare. “Just give me a straight answer. Why did you want to meet me?”

“It’s nothing bad, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s just…” he stopped and then asked, “Remember how I told you being psychic is my job?”

She nodded. “Yes, I thought it was a joke.”

“Well, it wasn’t. The reason I found you was because I thought maybe we could work together.”

“Work together?” she parroted back. Kate gave him a sardonic smile as she imagined the possibilities. “Like host a joint psychic show and say things like, ‘Someone who passed is in this room with us. His name begins with the letter R and he says he’s sorry he didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.’ Because lucky enough, talking to dead people is not one of my psychic skills.”

Declan’s laugh was forced. He leaned back into the kitchen chair directly across from her. “No, that wouldn’t be it.” He bit his lower lip before continuing. “I don’t think it’s came up, but I don’t have a relationship with my family.”

Yikes, she thought, she was really a terrible friend. In the days they spent together, she never asked any questions about him or his personal life. Kate had no clue if he had any siblings or where he went to school. Between psychic coaching sessions, Declan had made it a point to get to know her. It made her feel like maybe she was just using him because of what he had to psychically offer.

Kate’s rationalization was she’d been afraid of developing too close of a relationship with him. Each moment she spent with Declan and away from Jared made her feel guilty. If he hadn’t made that revelation about his future vision, Kate probably wouldn’t have felt on edge and confused in his presence.

“Anyway,” he continued when she didn’t reply. “A few years back, I found myself at a pretty low point. My family had kicked me out of my house and I had no job experience since the past year had been spent in rehab for my ski accident. Hell, I never even finished high school.

“But I did have one thing that I could do. I was able to have these visions,” he explained. She bobbed her head which prompted him to continue speaking. “Well, at that point, I didn’t have any future premonitions. Without being able to tell the future, it’s harder to find a way to make money using our gift. That was until I realized I could help find the missing.” His brown eyes met hers from across the table and his pitch rose as he asked, “Have you ever seen the reward amounts being offered by families that are looking for someone?”

Kate’s grimace didn’t seem to damper his enthusiasm as he persisted without waiting for her to answer his question. “The figures are astronomical. Some rewards could cover a person’s salary for a year!” He turned around and gestured to his Hummer outside the window. “Guess how I paid for that? I got 40K for bringing home a twelve-year-old boy that was abducted in Texas.”

Her hazel eyes followed his gaze out of the kitchen window. “Sounds like you’re doing fine without me. Why do you need help?”

“Because you know how our gift works. It’s not perfect and there’s no guarantee you’ll be able to see what you need to. I figure two psychics are better than one. We could work more cases plus have a higher success rate. Whatever money we get, we could split fifty-fifty.” Declan finished his explanation with a self-satisfied smirk. It was implicit that he had worked out this set-up in his head before they had even met.

He had rendered her speechless. In all the potential scenarios she ran through her mind, this scenario was something Kate had never suspected. “So, why not just tell me what you wanted in the first place?”

“I wanted to be certain it would work out first. I had to make sure you were legitimate and how talented you were. You don’t have a long history of being involved in police cases, so I didn’t know if you could be of any help. Now I realize you were just a recluse for a few years.” He tried to laugh, but stopped when he met her humorless expression. “Well, I think you do have plenty of potential. With some practice, we’ll be unstoppable. We may end up pulling in well over six figures in no time.”

Kate had reached her limit. “But that’s so wrong,” she forced out.

His body language turned cold. With his arms crossed his chest, he barked out. “What’s so wrong?”

“To use people’s misery for your own financial gain,” she retorted.

“I should’ve known you would react like this,” he mumbled. He rose from his chair and flattened his palms against the table.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re so judgmental! Our visions bring us misery; the people around us think we’re full of shit, why shouldn’t we get something from all of this?”

“But shouldn’t we just help people because it’s the right thing to do? Shouldn’t our gifts be used for altruistic purposes?”

He snorted. “You really are living in a fairytale. Who knows the reason we came back from the dead this way? We can’t assume we’re meant to use our visions for good. There’s just as much chance our psychic powers came from something evil.”

Kate swallowed hard as he voiced one of her fears. Her mother believed a divine being gifted her with psychic abilities. However, when Kate’s thoughts turned darker, she wondered if something more sinister could be responsible.

“That’s such a jaded way of thinking,” Kate accused. “I don’t want a cash reward for bringing someone back to their family. I do it because it feels good to help others.”

“And what about wanting something more for yourself? You go to a community college and slave away at a minimum wage job.” His biting summary of her life caused her to flinch in response. Declan was working himself into a fervor and didn’t seem to care about the hurtful words he was slinging at her. “What are your hopes for the future? Stay in Franklin for the rest of your life and hope your small town detective marries you? You’re meant for more than that. With the amount of money we can get our hands on, we can live whatever life we want.”

“I’m happy with my life, thank you very much,” Kate snapped. “Maybe if you were happier with yours, you would realize how wrong you are.”

“Then, I guess we’re done here.”

Kate was again taken aback by his tone. He was making her feel like she was the one who was wrong. However, how could she agree to be involved with someone who only wanted to use their gifts for monetary gain? What if they came across a case where a reward wasn’t offered? Would he not help because the people weren’t going to pay them? Her conscious would never allow her to do something like that.

Wordlessly, Kate exited the kitchen. Declan followed close on her heels and opened the front door before she had the chance to reach the knob. Regret set in as she wondered if this could be goodbye forever. She began, “Declan, we could still be friends…”

He cut her off. “Sorry, I’m taking back both the job offer and the offer to help you control your visions. I have enough people in my life who look down on me—I don’t need another one. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”

Any loss she felt over the ending of their friendship dissipated. A cold fury made her want to smack him across the face. “Sorry I’m not completely morally bankrupt.”

His laugh was harsh. “Take a long look in the mirror before you try and judge me. If I remember hearing correctly, didn’t you start sleeping with the detective who was investigating the disappearance of his girlfriend’s sister?”

“Go to hell,” she breathed. Stalking over to her car, she glared at him one last time. Mockingly, she called, “Thought we were supposed to end up together, future boy?”

In reply, he flipped her the bird and slammed the front door.

The one upshot of being starved was it cooled her anger quickly. It was kind of hard to be livid when Kate could barely keep her eyes open. After leaving Declan’s house, Kate camped out on the couch and caught up on two weeks worth of shows recorded on her DVR. Watching TV helped distract her from both not eating for the day and the argument with Declan. An hour before her movie date with Jared, she gained enough motivation to take a shower and throw on a pair of jeans and a tank top. Deciding she looked way too boring for a date with her new boyfriend, she dressed up the outfit with a funky gold necklace and matching hoop earrings.

Jared’s arms around her when he arrived to pick her up for their date felt like a welcome balm to her problems. She held on for several minutes while he trailed a finger down her bare arm. She shivered under his touch. He inquired softly, “Are you sure you’re up for a movie?”

“Two hours to turn my brain off sounds heavenly,” she sighed.

She filled him in on Max and her angst over not being able to help him sooner. Throughout the day, Kate had kept seeing Max’s tortured face in her head. She wondered how much of the abuse could’ve been prevented if she had only revealed his abductor sooner. Jared said all the right things and agreed with her mother’s assessment of her putting too much pressure on herself to save everyone. During the exchange, Kate purposely hadn’t brought up Declan.

Jared would agree with her reaction to Declan’s unconventional job offer. Yet, something was holding her back from admitting everything to him. It made Kate consider the idea that a part of her wanted to accept his proposal. Working with another psychic would mean more cases could be solved. Not to mention, he was right about her future prospects. Her part-time job at the doctor’s office didn’t pay much and she was majoring in English at a two-year college. Since a teaching career didn’t feel like a right fit for her, she wouldn’t have many job offers once she did graduate. Although Kate loathed admitting it, maybe some of her father’s past accusations had merit. He had told her to stop floundering and start making some serious decisions about her future. However, collecting reward purses was probably not what Robert Edwards had in mind.

When they arrived at the movie theater, Jared possessed another piece of her heart. Although Kate insisted he get a snack, he skipped the popcorn since she refused to get anything. They grabbed a couple of seats in the rear and she immediately rested her head against his shoulder. “How do people do this?” she moaned. “I would definitely get kicked out of any religion where fasting was involved.”

“How about we get something to eat after here?” Jared suggested and kissed the top of her head. “I think you’re good, it looks like you lost at least ten pounds today.”

She lifted her head and faced him. “Really?” His smirk made her punch him on the arm. “You’re such a bad liar. But I think you’re right, I must have really low blood sugar or something. I better eat,” she said nodding. Hurriedly, she added, “You know, for health reasons, of course.”

“Of course,” he said in a mock serious tone.

Jared gave her a kiss that left her even more lightheaded than she already was. As the previews began, she leaned her head back onto his shoulder. Jared’s muscular arm wrapped around her body and drew her closer to him. Kate let out a content sigh and shut her eyes. As the movie began to play, she felt her eyelids grow heavy. Sleep was calling to her and Kate decided not to resist.

“I hate this house!”

It was jarring to be in a vision and be confronted with such strong emotions. It took longer for her to get her bearings as the screaming continued around her. The living room was unfamiliar and so was the woman who stood before her. The woman was barely five foot and couldn’t weigh more than 100 pounds soaking wet. Her pale skin was emphasized by her reddish-brown hair. Her face was careworn which made it hard to determine her exact age. Her Irish accent seemed more pronounced the angrier she became. Her fists were shaking with emotion and she took a few audible breaths to calm herself.

Kate was shocked to see the target of the woman’s rage was a hunched over figure sitting in a wheelchair. The boy’s face was hidden as he sobbed audibly. He had just been yelling moments ago, but the woman’s words had reduced him to a mess of raw emotion. The woman did not look moved by the display of emotion and continued to glower in his direction.

“Be a man! You make me sick with your sniveling,” the woman sneered.

“I’m your son, doesn’t that matter to you?”

“I might have given birth to you, but no mother would want to claim you after what you’ve become. You’re a weak-willed liar who will ruin anything he touches.”

The intensity of the vision made her relieved that she was only an outside observer. Being inside of the brain of Ally Seldon as she dealt with the horror and rage over losing her son was enough emotional conflict for a lifetime. When she didn’t know the thoughts of her psychic targets, it made it easier to remain impartial.

The boy lifted his head. He had a sickly pallor to his skin and his brown hair was not as short as his current style. As he stared disbelieving at his mother, the boy’s face was distorted from a mixture of hate and despair. However, there was no doubt in her mind. This was a younger version of Declan Brayden.

He was much leaner which made her guess that his bulk must have only appeared in recent years. His chocolate eyes lacked any of the vibrancy that she had come to know. Instead, they looked devoid of life. As much as she tried to study his other features, her attention could not be torn away from the wheelchair. Kate had researched Declan enough to discover he’d been hurt badly enough in the ski accident to be put in a medically induced coma. For some reason, Kate had assumed he’d been fine once he came out of the coma. She didn’t know he had been in a wheelchair afterwards.

“I wish I died that day on the mountain,” Declan declared. She didn’t discern whether he said it as a test for his mother, but Kate felt a hatred for the woman as she said nothing to contradict him. His mother’s eyes remained cold as she regarded him.

“Declan, I’m done listening to you feel sorry for yourself. Everyone has tried to be there for you. But then you start with your crazy talk about prophecies. No one is blind, Declan. The whole damn town knows about your drug problem. Your dad would die of shame if he was still alive,” she spat the words out at him.

He shrank further into his chair. “I never said they were prophesies. And the drugs have nothing to do with the things I see when I go to sleep. I came back from that accident different.”

“Yes, we can all see that. It turned you into a drug addled fool,” she declared.

Her words had a physical effect on him and his pain was visible. “It hurts, Mom. My whole body every night…I can’t stop taking the pills.”

His moans were hard to witness as was his mother’s indifference. “I want you gone by the morning, Declan. I don’t care where you go, but you’re no longer welcome in my house.”

“Mom, please don’t do this. I’m sorry, I’ll try harder…”

She glared at him. “I heard this already and I warned you one more strike and you’re gone. Bad enough you tell that lie about having a dream that your cousin Amy’s husband was cheating on her. Now, I find the pills you had sworn you flushed down the toilet hidden in your room.”

He gesticulated wildly as he pleaded with her. “Mom, I’m in a wheelchair, I have nowhere to go. Please, Mom, please…”

“Goodbye Declan.”

“Only you could sleep through a movie about the apocalypse,” a voice whispered softly.

Kate opened her eyes and inhaled Jared’s scent. She gave him a watery smile. After a minute to get her bearings, she responded, “Rousing me from sleep twice in one day. I could get used to waking up next to you.”

The lights were back on in the movie theater and the moviegoers were filing out. She got to her feet and did a few yoga poses to stretch out. Twisting at the waist, she saw Jared watching her with a bemused expression. “What? Was I talking in my sleep?”

Her brain tried to process what she had seen. It explained a lot about Declan and the reasons behind his actions. When he said he didn’t talk to his family, she hadn’t realized he had a deceased father and a mother who despised him. At least he seemed to have kicked his drug problem if the party the other night was any indication. Kate assumed he got clean soon after leaving his mother’s house. As unfortunate as the situation appeared, getting thrown out may have forced him to stop taking drugs. Sadly, based off of what Declan had revealed to her, it didn’t sound like he had mended fences with his family.

Just when she was about to write the jerk off, he had to weasel his way into her sympathetic heart. Kate reasoned he must have an extra psychic power that forced visions on people. If the intent of the revelation was for her to understand his motivations for wanting to use his visions for profit, she certainly did. Without her family to rely on, Kate would’ve probably done the same thing.

“You look a million miles away,” Jared remarked and took her hand.

As Jared lifted his body out of the theater seat, he towered over her. Kate craned her neck to study his face. Jared was another person in her life she was lucky to have and knew she could rely on him for anything. As she stared at the handsome detective, she found herself with no desire to talk about Declan and relive the vision she just had. Instead, a hearty meal with her caring boyfriend sounded like a superior plan. “Just trying to figure out what time KFC closes,” she said.

“There’s my girl,” he chuckled.

Chapter Eleven

“Happy Birthday!” Julie squealed into the phone.

Kate had to hold the cell phone away from her ear as her best friend launched into an off-key rendition of Happy Birthday to You. Once she caught her breath, Julie asked, “So, what are you up to? Want to meet for a liquid birthday lunch?”

“Actually, I’m on my way to Declan’s,” she responded.

As Kate said it out loud, she had to question her sanity once again. A liquid lunch followed by some primping before dinner with Jared was what she should be doing. Not visiting Declan with her head in her hands.

Kate had waited for the past few days in the hopes that the psychic would call her. She didn’t feel entirely in the wrong and thought maybe he would realize that some of the points she made during their argument were valid. Since the phone remained silent, Kate decided to pop over his house and try to make amends. She rationalized that at least the psychic was bringing people back home. The families were probably more than happy to give him the money as long as their loved one was returned to them.

“What’s going on with you and him? Gage told me he kept sending these glances full of longing your way.”

“That doesn’t sound like Gage,” Kate countered in hopes of changing the subject.

“You’re right. He actually said Declan kept looking over at you like he wanted to freak your brains out right then and there.”

“No, it’s a platonic thing,” she said even though it was a half-truth. It felt true enough for the moment. Declan certainly didn’t seem to like her very much after their last fight. “He’s interested in solving cases together.”

“Well, try to have fun today. Having visions of abducted children is not the right way to spend your birthday” Julie admonished. “Call me tomorrow and let me know where Jared takes you for dinner.” Kate promised she would catch up with her the next day and hung up just before arriving at Declan’s house.

His car was in the driveway which meant she would have to go through with this spontaneous visit after all. Gathering her courage, Kate marched with determination to the door and rang the bell. After a couple of minutes without an answer, she began to knock. Finally, the door swung open. The way he was throwing daggers at her gave Kate the hint that he may not be quite ready to make amends. A tousled redhead moved into Kate’s line of vision.

“Good morning,” she said brightly to both him and Trish, his apparent overnight guest.

Declan was shirtless and although his muscles were hard to miss, her eyes were drawn to the many scars that covered his body. They told the story of the horrors he had endured after his accident. The most prominent scar went across his chest. It must have been at least four inches long and went straight down the center of his body.

Trish had on an oversized t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts—probably both belonging to Declan. Instead of shooting Kate hateful glances, she was beaming a lazy grin at Declan. Kate couldn’t help but feel a little bit envious of the girl. She wouldn’t mind having bed head and a self-satisfied smirk after spending a night with Jared. Why did Jared have to be such a gentleman? Couldn’t he go a little rogue and just haul her off to bed already.

“What do you want?” he demanded. Trish didn’t bother to suppress a giggle upon hearing his tone. Kate gathered the girl got a kick out of seeing Declan humiliate her and she shouldn’t look to Trish for any female solidarity.

“I need to talk to you.” As an afterthought, Kate added, “Please.” It was hard to respond politely to his aggression, but holding in her temper was the only way to make him listen. A definitive “no” seemed on the tip of his tongue until it seemed like her practiced forlorn expression won him over.

Before he could answer, Trish spoke. “I was going to head home anyway. Why don’t I just call you later?”

Declan nodded and followed her into what she guessed was his bedroom. He closed the door as they entered. Since he hadn’t invited her in, Kate waited awkwardly at the front door. Shifting from side to side, she hoped they weren’t going to have a quickie while she stood there waiting.

Five minutes later Trish emerged in a midnight blue mini-dress and ready to do her walk of shame back home. She made certain to give Declan a long and exaggerated kiss at the doorway. Trish didn’t bother with a goodbye as she stalked past Kate and into a parked Jetta.

As she watched her drive away, she heard Declan clear his throat behind her. “You wanted something?”

“Listen about the other day…I just wanted to say I’m sorry for overreacting a bit,” she hedged.

“A bit? You said I was morally bankrupt,” he seethed.

“Alright, I did come off as preachy and I wanted to apologize for that. I didn’t mean any offense. I mean people make money off of much worse things, right?” she asked rhetorically. His mouth was set in a thin line and he didn’t respond to her rambling. She decided to continue. “The end result is still the same. Someone is returned safely to their home,” she said with false cheer in her voice.

Declan shook his head. “That’s not always the case. Sometimes they give me a reward for finding the location of a body. Those are definitely not the fun ones. Means I have to get inside the head of the killer and see them murder someone.”

Kate swallowed down her distaste. Maybe she didn’t have the stomach for this whole psychic thing after all. She croaked, “Sounds awful.”

Her disgust didn’t go unnoticed. “Kate, I know you didn’t come here for my forgiveness.”

“Partly, I did. As much as I resisted, you have become a friend to me—and I do miss talking to you about all this paranormal craziness,” she confessed. “But I also would like to work together if you would still consider it.”

“I don’t know…”

His uncertainty made her plow on. “I didn’t want to do this, but you’re making me pull the birthday card. It’s today and I think it would be really mean of you to not forgive me.”

Shaking his head, a ghost of a smile appeared. “I must be crazy…” his voice trailed off, “but okay we’ll give this a shot. Just try not to annoy the hell out of me.”

“No worries,” she replied. “I frequently annoy people. However, I’m like mold, I grow on you.”

“Well, since you’re here, I might as well show you something,” he said resignedly.

Declan gestured for her to follow him into the house. Walking behind him, she followed him into his living room. He picked up a piece of paper lying on the coffee table and handed it to her. She felt the couch depress as he sat next to her, but her eyes didn’t move from the paper. It was a missing persons poster that Declan must have printed off the internet.

The girl in the photograph looked to be about her age. She had an infectious smile on her face and a vibrancy that jumped off the page. Her blond hair was cut to her shoulders and her tanned skin was highlighted by perfectly white teeth. Scanning the statistics, she saw that Melanie Pirola was twenty-four years old and had been last seen at her own home three days earlier. The reward was listed as $25,000 for information leading to her return.

Declan’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “I got in touch with Melanie’s sister Delaney last night after I found the case online.” Kate didn’t dare ask if he spent his spare time scourging the internet for abduction cases. In this case, ignorance was preferable.

He continued, “She’s willing to accept my help. Delaney explained that she lives with her sister and when she arrived home from her bartending shift, Melanie was nowhere to be found. Her car was still parked in the driveway and there was no sign of a struggle or break-in.”

Kate fired question after question at him. “Any suspects? Or any indication she may have just taken off?”

“It doesn’t sound like it. She’s a very popular fitness instructor at a gym near their house and has a very close-knit group of friends and family. She sounds reliable and this is the first time she’s ever even missed a day of work. Her sister insisted that no one would ever want to hurt her sister. She was too well-liked,” Declan explained.

Kate didn’t find that hard to believe judging by the picture. “Where in Pennsylvania does she live?”

“Chambersburg. It’s about three and a half hours from here. Your dad lives in Pennsylvania, right?”

“Yeah, but he’s not that far away. His house is only about an hour from here,” she replied.

“It took me a couple of hours, but I did have a vision about her last night…” Declan began.

Her face lit up. “Which means she’s probably alive.”

“Unfortunately, the vision didn’t tell me anything about her situation. It was just a random memory of a night out with friends at a karaoke bar.”

Kate chewed on her thumbnail as she pondered Melanie’s disappearance. “Well, maybe she did just take off then. Any guys in the picture?”

“She broke up with her boyfriend a few months ago, but he has an alibi for the day she went missing. And Delaney said he hasn’t shied away from the investigation. He’s cooperated with police and has helped pass out flyers and do ground searches. Melanie wasn’t known for keeping secrets from her family, so her sister doubts there was someone else. Also, Delaney was able to get access to Melanie’s online passwords. She checked yesterday and found no activity in the past few days on her bank account.”

Kate rubbed her hands together in anticipation. “Okay, let’s get to work then.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, why not? I just need…” she paused and carefully considered her words. “I need to have a win. I’m thrilled Max was brought home, but I keep having visions about him. He’s back home, but I’m unable to stop reliving what happened to him—seeing the things done to him while Ally had him. The extent of the abuse was way more than I ever imagined.” Kate shuddered.

Twice this week she had been inside of Max’s head as Ally wailed on him over some minor discretion. The boy seemed to be unable to escape the horrors of his time with the deranged woman. Each vision reinforced Kate’s belief that she should’ve found the boy sooner. She said determinately, “I want to get this girl home as soon as I possibly can.”

“Kate, you’re having way too much guilt over this Max thing…”

She turned her head away from him and closed her eyes. “I know I am. But it’s not just about Max. It’s about refusing to help Jared find Cori and for all of the other cases I avoided since I found out I was psychic. I’m starting to have regrets about things and I want to make amends.”

Declan looked like he wanted to disagree, but something in her expression must have dissuaded him. With a nod, he said, “Alright, let’s find Melanie then.”

Melanie’s blonde hair poked out of her bun as she ran past the trees. Her breath came out in short bursts, but she did not stop until she reached the top of the hill. She collapsed on her bottom as she tried to catch her breath. Another blonde figure ran up to her. “God, you suck! One of these days I’ll beat you to the top.”

She laughed at her sister’s mock anger. “Not even in your dreams. We’ve been running this trail for two years now and the only time you beat me was when I was getting over the flu.”

Her sister plopped down next to her. She used her shirt to wipe the sweat off of her brow before speaking. “There’s something wrong with you. Not only do you exercise at work, but you do it in your spare time too. It’s just not normal.”

“Well, maybe you should try it. Exercise releases endorphins, it could make you a happier person,” Melanie said and elbowed her sister in the ribs.

“Well, I’m not giving up yet. I’m going to start training and by summer’s end I’ll beat you.”

“Alright, if you win by the end of summer, I’ll do your half of the chores for a month,” Melanie challenged with a teasing smile.

Her sister gave her a wide grin. “You’re on!” Getting into a standing position, she reached down her hand to help lift Melanie off of the ground. “You better be ready to kiss your days of winning goodbye, Mel. By next Sunday, I’ll be lounging in a lawn chair while you’re slaving away cleaning the house. I plan to be extra messy this week. So, expect plenty of dishes in the sink and grime in the shower,” she promised.

“Ugh, gross! Now forget about me giving you a pity win after all.” They both laughed. “Enjoy the view of my ass, sis, as we’re going down the mountain,” Melanie teased and took off in a sprint. Her hair tie fell to the ground as her blonde hair streamed behind her.

An outside voice made its way into her consciousness. “Kate, did you see her?”

She opened her eyes to see Declan’s inquisitive expression. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I just saw her. I thought at first it was a recent memory. She was running through the woods which made me think she was being chased. But turns out she was going for a run with her sister.”

“Damn,” Declan swore and swung out his hand in frustration. “Usually if something bad has happened it’s in the forefront of the person’s mind. If someone has been abducted, it’s normally one of the first visions I have.”

“Maybe we should consider the possibility that she’s fine then,” Kate suggested.

“Maybe,” he said uncertainly.

They sat cross-legged in front of a few candles. He had closed the shades and put on some soft music in the background. In any other incidence, it would come across as a romantic atmosphere. Instead it was turning into a psychic marathon. They were both trying to get inside Melanie’s head to determine where she could be. This meant practicing Declan’s meditative techniques as a way to welcome in the missing girl’s thoughts.

Kate hadn’t been able to immediately see Melanie’s memories. After a couple of visions about her father, Kate was ready to throw in the towel. After Declan had a vision about Melanie dancing at a beach party in the bikini—a vision he seemed to enjoy way too much—she decided to keep trying. Finally, she had seen the vision of Melanie and Delaney on their weekly run.

After this vision, Kate noted how exhausted she felt. She never expected meditating could wear you out. As she looked at the drawn curtains, she did not see any light peeking through. “I feel like we’ve been at this forever. What time is it?”

Declan jumped up and walked over to the coffee table. Looking at his cell phone, he replied, “Just after eight-thirty.”

“What! Are you sure?” she demanded and scrambled to her feet. Her flats were on the floor and she slid them on her feet without waiting for a response.

Declan appeared unmoved by her rant. He knitted his brows and commanded, “Jesus, calm down. Sometimes you lose track of time when you’re trying to bring on the visions.”

“Calm down?” Kate asked incredulously. “I was supposed to meet Jared for my birthday dinner two and a half hours ago,” she cried. “Where the hell is my cell? Why hasn’t he called me?” She grabbed her pocketbook from the floor and rifled through it. “My cell isn’t here. Shit, shit shit!”

“Get a grip, Kate. If you drive like a maniac home, you’ll end up killing someone,” he warned.

Hurrying to the door, she called out, “I’ll be careful.” Kate added as she charged through the front door, “Call me if you see anything else about Melanie.”

“Will do and…” He paused and continued to speak after she spun to face him, “Happy Birthday Kate.”

Her phone was in the center console of her car. Her anxiety was sky high as she saw five missed calls from Jared and three from her mother. Without even checking the messages, she dialed Jared’s number. He answered on the first ring. “Kate, thank god. Are you alright?”

Her guilt bubbled to the surface at his worried tone. “Jared, I am so sorry…I left my phone in the car and I didn’t realize how late it was.”

“Where were you?”

“I was at Declan’s house.” She swallowed hard and then continued, “He has a new case he’s working on and I was trying to help. A fitness instructor from Pennsylvania named Melanie Pirola has been missing since Monday.” The silence on the other line stung. “Jared, are you there?”

“Yes, I’m still here,” he said in a clipped tone.

Jared was the most easygoing guy alive. She was sure he was bad ass at work, but he never lost his temper with her—even when she was huge pain in the butt. The coldness in his voice made Kate realize she must’ve messed up big time.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” she said mournfully. “I was so caught up in having a vision of Melanie that the next thing I know it was super late.”

Kate’s hands gripped the steering wheel until the blood drained out of her fingers. She willed Jared to not lose faith in her. Kate was only attempting to use her gift to help people. She knew that was the same reason Jared was a police detective. She understood when he broke plans for work commitments—Kate only hoped he extended her the same courtesy.

“And you’re hours late because you were busy having visions with Declan.” The way Jared pronounced visions made it sound completely dirty like Kate had really meant she had been having naked time with the psychic.

“I understand why you’re mad, but it was totally innocent,” she countered.

“Kate, you’re hours late. I’ve been calling you. You couldn’t have picked up the phone to at least let me know where you were. I kept thinking something must have happened to you,” he said.

“I left my phone in the car. I honestly didn’t know how late it was. Jared, I feel like such an ass. I would’ve never purposely left you waiting for me,” Kate promised.

Kate had to admit her excuses did sound lame. However, it was the truth. It killed her to know she ruined their night. She saw so little of Jared lately she had been anticipating her birthday dinner since he had mentioned it. Last night, she had tried to make him reveal where he was taking her, but he kept his lips sealed.

“It’s fine, Kate. Don’t worry about it,” he sighed.

“Can we have a late dinner instead? Can I come over?” she asked hopefully.

“I’m actually really tired. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

His monotone voice was devoid of its usual warmth. Suddenly Kate was filled with pain and longing. She could only squeak out an “Ok” before disconnecting the call. Kate reasoned that begging him to forgive her and forcing her presence on him may end up backfiring. The only consolation was giving him some time to cool off should make him more prone to forgive her.

Her mother gave her an anxious look as she walked in the house a short time later. “Kate, never worry me like that again! Jared had to convince me to wait a few hours before calling the police.”

“I’m sorry I worried you, Mom,” she mumbled dejectedly. Some birthday this was turning out to be. Her boyfriend was pissed at her and she made her mom a nervous wreck.

“Where have you been?”

“I was trying to find a missing woman with Declan. I had no idea it was so late.”

Her mother tsked disapprovingly over the sound of Declan’s name. Her expression softened though when she saw how upset Kate looked. She reached out and rested a hand on Kate’s cheek. “I’m guessing you talked to Jared.”

“Briefly, he sounded disappointed in me.”

“I guess you’re not going into the city then?”

Kate moved her mother’s hand away and took a step back. “What are you talking about?”

Her mother looked guilty like maybe she shouldn’t have slipped. After a brief pause, she admitted, “Oh honey, Jared had a whole thing planned. He was going to take you into New York for dinner and then you were going to stay overnight and see a show tomorrow. He had me call your job to make sure you could have the day off tomorrow.”

Kate’s eyes welled up and her stomach clenched. This was the night. The special night he had alluded to weeks ago. Now instead of tearing up the sheets with her hot boyfriend, she was miserable and possibly single. Jared had gone to the trouble to arrange an amazing night for her and she had ruined it with her obsession over locating a girl she didn’t even know. If their visions were any indication, Melanie was most likely fine and sipping drinks on a tropical beach somewhere.

However, something was holding her back from wholeheartedly believing that Melanie wasn’t in trouble. Melanie willingly disappearing didn’t match up with the girl Kate had seen in her vision. Although Kate hadn’t been inside Melanie’s head, it was apparent that she lived for those weekly runs with her sister. The girl hadn’t come across as the type to make her family worry for nothing. Melanie needed to be saved. Kate was sure of it.

Chapter Twelve

After a sleepless night, Kate banged on Jared’s apartment door with renewed determination. It was early enough that she knew he would still be home if he had to go into work. There was no way she was letting another minute go by without explaining her actions to him. Kate couldn’t bear the thought of Jared furious with her. In their brief time together, they had been through so much. She could never willingly let go of him. If she had to offer up her body in exchange for his forgiveness, well so be it, Kate thought wryly.

Jared didn’t scowl at her when he answered the door which was progress at least. However, he didn’t look overly thrilled with her early morning invasion. She launched immediately into her apology. “I know I’ve sucked lately as a girlfriend. And I probably deserve the silent treatment for a few days. But I want you to know how much I wish last night turned out differently and I am so sorry I ruined it.”

“Is Kate Edwards groveling? I didn’t know you had it in you.” He crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back on his heels.

His smirk told her she hadn’t completely lost him. As mad as he was, she was pleased to know he always had a soft spot for her. Without preamble, she launched herself into his arms. He didn’t even stiffen and instead held her tightly and kissed the top of her head.

“I should be furious at you for spending our night with another guy,” he paused a second before continuing, “but for some reason I can’t.”

“That’s because I ensnared you with my captivating beauty and sparkling personality,” she said into his chest.

“That must be it,” he laughed. When she stepped out of his embrace, Kate gave him a forlorn expression. In response, Jared landed a quick kiss on her forehead.

As he led her inside, she felt a weight lift from her. Her heart had hurt over the thought of losing Jared because of a misunderstanding. A couple of months ago she had no idea who Jared Corbett was and now it seemed impossible to imagine her life without him. Kate knew she was lucky. Another guy may not have answered the door and already put up a profile on Match.com.

“My mom told me about your plans,” she said as they went into his kitchen.

“Ahh yes, the night didn’t turn out exactly how I expected,” he said lightly.

“So, I’m not sure if you’re still off today but if you are I’d like to offer my services,” she explained.

“What type of services are you offering up, Kate?” She loved that his flirty side was back and only further cemented the idea that she hadn’t ruined their relationship.

“My furniture shopping services, of course,” she said with a smile.

He looked around at his empty apartment. “I guess it is pretty dire looking here. But you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” she insisted.

This was absolutely true. Not only would she get to spend the day with him, but she could help redecorate his apartment. With Nikki’s stamp no longer on it, the apartment felt like an open canvas. She could furnish it in a style that would be more reflective of their personalities.

“Let’s go then. I’ll get my wallet,” he replied and disappeared in his bedroom. A minute later he reappeared and handed her a gift bag. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you,” she squealed and tilted her head to kiss him. The kiss was sweet and gentle—exactly what she needed after their tumultuous fight. She wanted to tell him that he shouldn’t have bought her anything, but didn’t want to tempt fate. Jared may decide she wasn’t worthy of the gift after all.

Tearing through the wrapping and seeing a jewelry box, she felt the anticipation build. Opening the box, she gasped at the beauty of the necklace. An oval gemstone with a deep purple color was held in place by a diamond studded setting. She removed the necklace out of the box and held the white gold chain as she examined it closely. After a minute, she breathed, “Jared, I love it.”

Jared smiled at her reaction. “My aunt told me that the amethyst has been tied to psychic power since ancient times. The priestesses believed the stone was able to open up a person’s psychic energies.”

It was such a thoughtful gift that she actually felt tongue-tied for a second. She wiped at her eyes and put the necklace on. She would have to give Jared’s aunt a call on the sly later and thank her as well. Kate wasn’t sure if his aunt’s mystical beliefs were the reason she was a champion for their relationship, but Jared revered her. Kate was certain Aunt Lizzie was one of the reasons Jared had been attracted to Kate in the first place.

“This is amazing,” she said grasping the stone in the palm of her hand.

Jared kissed her forehead and hugged her again. “You drive me crazy in the best and worst possible ways.” His tone was uncertain as he started, “I trust you, Kate and I want you to be honest with me. I’m trying to be understanding, but I’m not going to pretend that it doesn’t bother me you spending so much time with some guy I never even met. Do I have anything to worry about? Do you have feelings for Declan?”

“No. Honestly, he’s just a friend,” she replied. “He’s actually been a big help with getting me to focus my gifts. I’m not completely convinced over everything he’s telling me. Like his claim that we can see the future seems pretty out there.”

Jared nodded. “Just promise me, you’ll be careful. After what happened last time, I worry about you getting involved in other abduction cases.”

“I swear it.”

“Good morning, welcome to Milo’s Furniture Store. My name is Grace, how can I assist you today?”

Kate looked around in awe. Darlene Edwards would be proud of the thrill she felt over the freedom to decorate Jared’s apartment. She had made him take all of the measurements before they left and also shot a few cell phone photos for inspiration. He mistakenly did not provide her with a budget which could culminate in blowing up in his face when he received the credit card bill.

Jared had introduced himself and the saleswoman had now turned to her expectantly. Grace had corn silk blonde hair that fell past her shoulders. Her eye color was hard to discern behind a pair of tortoise shell eyeglasses. Kate smiled as she sent a sideways glance at Jared. Her boyfriend already looked bored as he glanced around at the room displays. “Hi, I’m Kate…Jared’s fiancée.”

“Congratulations!” the woman exclaimed as her eyes moved down to Kate’s hand.

“We’re waiting to get a ring. I’m expecting and I’m sure I’ll swell up as big as a beached whale. Don’t want the ring getting stuck.” The woman nodded politely and turned away to lead them through the store.

Jared took her hand and whispered, “Pregnant and engaged? Is this one of those future visions you were telling me about?”

“Well, I couldn’t just say girlfriend, she would never take my opinions seriously,” she whispered back and bumped her hip to his. “Besides, won’t it fun to pretend for a little while?”

They walked around with Grace and she showed them some living room and kitchen sets. Kate dismissed the friendly saleswoman with the request that they browse alone to talk over choices. Jared looked at her and didn’t bother to suppress his yawn. “This is mind numbing. I tuned out once the two of you got started on the benefits of marble and tile finishes for kitchen tables.”

“Well, I’m having fun,” Kate retorted. She had narrowed down the choices in her head and figured she would tell Jared to make the final call on what sets to purchase. Kate suggested, “Let’s go test out the mattresses—it’s my favorite part of going to a furniture store.”

“But I don’t need a bed,” he responded.

“Just come on.”

Kate pulled him eagerly through the store as Jared laughed at her enthusiasm. Once they arrived at the mattress section, she positioned his body in front of one of the memory foam beds. She instructed him to face away from the mattress and hold her hand. Kate explained, “Now, on the count of three, we fall back onto the mattress. We’re judging the spring and level of support. Medium firm is usually ideal.”

His eyebrows shot up and he gave her a disbelieving stare. “This isn’t weird to do?”

“No, why would you buy a mattress without lying on it first? People do it all the time,” she enlightened Jared. Kate gave him a stern look. “Now on the count of three, fall down with me. One, two, three…”

Jared collapsed on the bed next to her and shot her a grin. “This is ridiculously comfortable. It might be time to upgrade my bed.”

“Hmm…” she murmured as his face moved to her.

It took a lot to keep Kate from pointing out she wouldn’t know since she had never been in his bed. Instead, she turned her head to study his perfect countenance. Their faces were only inches apart and she felt a blush creep on her skin. It was hard to not be hyperaware of his closeness and the fact they were lying on a bed next to each other.

“What do you think are the chances we could kick everyone out of the store and be alone?” Jared asked in a hypnotic tone. He was close enough that his warm breath tickled her skin.

The naked lust on his face prompted the blush to deepen. The air felt charged and she knew what she was feeling at that moment was more than simple desire for him. Last night was a wake-up call. Losing Jared would be disastrous to her life. Although the people in her cases meant a lot to her, Kate vowed to never take her boyfriend for granted again. It was on the tip of her tongue to confess her feelings when she heard someone clearing their throat. Grace looked down at them on the bed with a tolerant smile. “Are you considering a bed set as well?”

Chapter Thirteen

Melanie looked down at the note. Will you go to the dance with me? Circle Yes or No.

It was written in Billy Fraser’s loopy script. He had passed the note to her before history class. He would barely look at her when his hand brushed hers. Thinking back to the moment, Melanie guessed that he might actually be nervous about her response. This surprised her since she was certain Billy had thought Melanie wasn’t pretty enough to pay any mind to.

Melanie had to cover her mouth to hide a smile. Billy was one of the cutest boys in Dewey Middle School. He wore his black hair longer than most boys in seventh grade and always could be seen on his skateboard before or after school. She had been majorly crushing since school started and had confided to Allison during gym last week. Her best friend had lasted until Friday and then the whole school seemed to know about what Melanie had assumed was her unrequited crush.

On Monday Melanie had begged her mother to stay home. She didn’t want to face the severe embarrassment of having the entire school knowing who she liked. She was such a bad liar that every time someone asked her about Billy, she turned scarlet and could barely stammer out an answer. Her mother didn’t want to hear any of it and instead ushered her out of the house in the morning despite her protests. Her mother assured Melanie that the seventh graders would soon move on to another target for their gossip.

Then, the most amazing thing happened. Billy had cast her shy glances all week. They weren’t the looks that translated into repulsion over her very presence. The looks said he was interested in her too. On Tuesday he had even given her a nod and hello in the hallway.

At first, she thought maybe it was a cruel joke on her. She wasn’t the most popular girl in school and pimples had started to erupt on her face seemingly overnight. Yet, Billy Fraser wasn’t like that. He was sweet and didn’t hang out with the boys who thought it was hilarious to ask you out as joke and laugh at you with all of their friends when you said ok. Melanie could never like any of the imbeciles that populated the rest of her school.

Just as the bell rang, she took her pen and circled “yes” in the note. As she made her way down the hallway, her heart stopped in her chest as Billy came down the hallway in the opposite direction. Gathering all of her nerve, she dropped the note on top of his pile of books. She couldn’t even make eye contact as she did and continued to hurry down the hallway. As she dared a glace behind her, she saw Billy turn in her direction. She gave him a shy smile as he grinned at her. Thursday was going to be the best night of her life.

“I experienced Melanie’s thoughts. I wasn’t inside her head for any of the other visions. What do you think that means?”

It had been almost a week since the fitness instructor was last seen. There had been no breaks in the case and new evidence had yet to surface. For the entire week, the psychics had attempted to garner some type of information from Melanie’s memories. Since it was Saturday, Kate had off from both school and work. She had dedicated the day to getting into Melanie’s head. Although Melanie’s memories were touching—they didn’t provide any clues to her whereabouts. After this latest vision, she had phoned Declan immediately for his input. It seemed strange for her to suddenly get inside the girl’s head when their previous visions had been as outside observers.

“Honestly, I don’t know, but it may not be good,” he replied solemnly.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the only time I got inside someone’s head is if the person was very young or they had something mentally wrong with them. What if something is happening to her that’s affecting her mental state?” Declan questioned.

“You’re such a pessimist.”

“No, I’m a realist. The fact is we need to find her fast. Every minute we have, we need to be trying to see into her head,” he advised.

“Believe me I have been. When I’m not at school or at work, I’m trying to connect with her. Jared has been super busy at work and I haven’t even seen him this week,” she complained. She chewed on a strand of chocolate hair as she waited for Declan’s reply.

“Trying to have a normal life when you’re a psychic is nearly impossible. At least you could quit your job if this works out. It will give you more time to devote to our cases.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” she said dryly. “I just can’t quit my job and be a full-time psychic.”

“Why not?” Declan demanded. “I am. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not doing badly on my own.”

“Do you offer medical? Dental? A 401K plan?”

“Ha-ha,” he said dryly. “Let me know if you have another vision.”

“Ditto.”

As Kate hung up the phone, she tried to rally for the dinner at the obscenely expensive restaurant that her dad had chosen. Although she had turned twenty-two, her father seemed to still suffer from an acute case of weekend dad syndrome. Whenever she saw him, he spoiled her with lavish gifts to make up for his absence from her life.

She was completely wiped from all the time she had been spending trying to get into Melanie’s head. Trying to juggle her personal life and psychic life was proving to be taxing. Memory after memory of Melanie’s past had come to her over the last few days, but nothing about her disappearance. It made her run all sorts of possibilities through her head. Was Melanie unaware of anything happening to her and that was why these memories were coming to her? Maybe she was in a coma and these were the thoughts filling her head as she remained unconscious.

Kate picked up her cell phone again and sighed when she didn’t see a message from Jared. He was already ten minutes late to pick her up. They had to leave soon or they would be late meeting her father at the restaurant. She tried his cell again, this time he picked up on the first ring. “Kate, I’m sorry, I was just dialing your number. Something came up at work, so I’m going to be a little late for dinner.”

“That’s crappy,” she replied. “My father’s really looking forward to getting to know you,” she sighed.

Actually that wasn’t completely the truth. When she mentioned Jared was coming, her dad questioned why she was dating someone twice her age and who was partially responsible for her almost being killed last month. She had to keep reminding him that Jared was only seven years older and had not plotted her abduction with Cori’s demented kidnapper.

“I’ll get to the restaurant as soon as humanly possible, I promise. Don’t wait on me to order though. I wouldn’t want your father to end up not liking me because I’m holding up your dinner,” he quipped.

Her high pitch laugh rang false. “My father not like you? That’s preposterous.”

“Gotta go, but I’ll see you soon,” Jared promised. Kate was learning to hate the Franklin detective bureau. They were forcing her to endure her father’s interrogation without Jared present for moral support.

Kate’s father was already seated when she arrived at the restaurant. He was sipping what she guessed was Scotch and browsing over the menu. As much as she was dreading any lectures he had in store for her, she couldn’t help but feel a surge of happiness over seeing him. She hadn’t seen him since Labor Day weekend and they had a nice time together at the beach. Quickening her pace, she rushed to the table. “Dad!”

“There’s my little girl,” he said affectionately.

Robert Edwards stood up and wrapped his strong arms around her body. She savored his presence and felt moisture cloud her vision. With everything going on, she was feeling like an emotional train-wreck. It would be good to have a normal evening with her father and her boyfriend. They had been too far and few between lately. He gave a dramatic look around the restaurant. “Aren’t we missing someone?”

Kate took a seat and placed the napkin on her lap. “Jared is terribly sorry. Something came up at work and he’s going to meet us here as soon as he can. It’s a shame Carly couldn’t make it tonight.”

At the mention of his girlfriend’s name, Kate’s father blinked in surprise. She learned the art of being passive aggressive from the master, she thought silently. Kate liked Carly enough when they met for dinner, but she didn’t exactly forget the woman’s part in breaking up her parents’ marriage.

After a non-committal grunt, he peered at her over the menu. His eyes raked over her face and his mouth set in a grim line. “What’s going on with you?”

“What are you talking about?”

He sat back into his chair. “You look exhausted. You’re pale and I can see the bags under your eyes. What’s wrong?”

Damn, Kate cursed silently. As she put on makeup for the evening, she was more heavy handed than usual on the concealer. Guess, she should’ve been more generous or swiped one of her mom’s Ray Bans. The pale comment stung more. As a resident of New Jersey, being called pale was one of the worst insults.

“I’m fine, Dad. I swear. It has just been a rough week, that’s all.” She shrugged and her hazel eyes moved back to the menu. Although her father was trying to accept the paranormal aspects of her life, he would never be a total believer. Kate tended to gloss over things when her visions came up in conversation.

“Because if that man isn’t treating you right, I’ll have a few choice things to say to him…” he threatened.

Kate didn’t let him finish his rant. “No, Jared has been great. I’m hoping by the end of the fall, we’ll even be going steady and he’ll give me his varsity jacket to wear.” When her father didn’t laugh, she sighed and continued in a serious tone, “It has just been overwhelming trying to juggle school and work. Plus, I started working on a new case.”

“Holy Christ, Kate. You’re like the psychic version of an ambulance chaser,” he mumbled. “I thought when we last talked you said you were giving this psychic stuff a break.”

“No, you suggested that,” she said pointedly. “I have the visions whether I want them or not. It’s not possible to take a break from it.”

“You need to start thinking about a real career,” he replied.

“It’s hard for me to explain why I have to keep up with the psychic side of my life.” When he didn’t respond, Kate continued, “It probably sounds stupid, but I want to do something that matters. I’d like to contribute more to society than permanent butt prints on Mom’s couch and increasing McDonald’s annual revenue.”

“There are plenty of worthwhile things you could do that don’t involve claiming you’re psychic,” he pointed out.

Her father would never concede an argument and despite all the proof she supplied to him about her second sight, he still remained skeptical. Kate decided to retreat. “Come on, this is supposed to be my birthday dinner. Let’s not fight.”

Nodding, he gave her a kind smile. “Of course, hon. I’m sorry to bring it up.”

Her father was reluctant about ordering without her date present. They compromised and ended up splitting an appetizer. After an hour, she could tell both her father and their waiter was growing impatient. Just as she took out her phone to give Jared a call, she saw him stride their way. Shooting them both an apologetic grin, he reached out to give her dad a handshake before leaning down and kissing her cheek. It was hard not to envy his coolness under pressure. She wondered if it was too late for her to go to charm school and try to achieve half of his poise.

“Thanks for coming, I know it has been a long day for you,” Kate said softly as he settled into the chair next to her.

“Yes, I appreciate you coming,” her father agreed. He adjusted his tie and added, “I didn’t get a chance to speak with you the last time we met.”

“Of course I wanted to join you. I wish you would’ve ordered, I didn’t mean to hold up your dinner,” Jared apologized.

If Kate had to be honest, his politeness was sort of a turn-on. She grabbed his knee and gave a tender pat. He smiled at her and all felt right in the world. At least for a minute, until her father decided to play twenty questions with her boyfriend.

Her father looked back and forth between the two of them before speaking. “I was surprised when Kate told me you two were together. If I remember correctly, there was a published article stating you were engaged to that missing girl’s sister.”

Kate clenched her jaw. “Dad, you know that Jared and Nikki were broken up when we got together. Why would you bring that up?”

Kate knew what article he was talking about. No one at the paper had taken her seriously when she demanded a retraction or she would sue them for every last penny. They kept transferring her to different departments until she finally gave up and slammed the phone down in frustration. Jared had shrugged the whole thing off and said it didn’t matter since they knew the truth.

Jared spoke in a neutral tone. Kate appreciated his attempt at keeping the peace. “Sir, I was never actually engaged to Nikki. We ended things amicably before I began dating Kate.”

“Jared, I’m sure you understand where I’m coming from. Kate is very naïve about the world, especially in regards to men. As her father, I want to protect her and make sure the people in her life have the best intentions,” he said emphatically. Kate was beyond mortified. The snarky girl who was usually quick with a comeback was utterly at a lost for words.

Jared took her hand in his. His reassuring squeeze signified to Kate he understood how troubled she was by her father’s words. Jared’s gray eyes turned towards her as he answered her father. “I care about Kate…a lot. I would never hurt her.”

Kate swallowed hard. “If you excuse me, I’m going to use the restroom.”

Both men looked upset by her sudden departure. Tears were threatening to burst from her and drown them all. Her father had made Kate feel like a child pretending to be an adult. Mistakenly, Kate had thought he was beginning to respect her and they could move forward. It had taken them awhile to maintain any sort of civility after he left her mother and moved in with another woman.

The women’s restroom was thankfully empty. Taking shallow breaths, she tried to keep her composure. Kate gripped the sides of the sink and waited until her heart slowed. Lifting her head, she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Melanie stared back at her.

Kate gasped and almost fell backwards. Stumbling, she was finally able to right herself after a few seconds. When she looked in the mirror again, her own frazzled appearance was there. “I’m really losing my freaking mind.”

“Yes and the first sign is talking to yourself in the bathroom,” a heavily perfumed woman grumbled as she walked past her to the stalls. “Nut job.”

Chapter Fourteen

The wind whipped past her as Melanie raced down the mountain. She tilted her body to the left and right to control the movements of the snowboard. Since the minute she had hopped on a board, she had fallen in love with the sport. Flying down the mountain at breakneck speeds made her feel free.

Snowboarding had become her escape. Although she loved the social atmosphere of the gym, Melanie also liked some time alone with her thoughts. Going up to the mountain by herself afforded her the opportunity to work things out in her head. Long trails through the quiet mountains allowed her to reflect on all the aspects of her life that were bothering her.

Presently, her love life was dismal. She had yet to find that exceptional someone to fulfill her in every way. Melanie believed wholeheartedly in the concept of a soulmate. She had faith that there was one person in the world made specifically for her. One day, he would find her and make her the happiest person on the planet.

At the bottom of the mountain, Melanie stopped her momentum by falling on her butt. It was a rookie move, but she was still not as comfortable on a snowboard as a pair of skis. As the snow began to fall harder, she took a cleansing breath and reveled in her surroundings. It felt good to be alive.

“Kate, you need either to get some sleep or sleep with your boyfriend. You look like crap,” Julie remarked on the Sunday afternoon following her dinner with Jared and her father. The friends had made plans to hit the outlets and have a high calorie lunch at the food court.

The rest of the evening was barely salvageable as both Jared and her dad attempted to keep the peace at the table. They must have called a truce while she was having hallucinations in the bathroom. She figured they chalked up her silence to her resentment over their disagreement at her birthday dinner. They never suspected that she had become certifiable.

Last night she had heard Melanie’s thoughts again during a vision. The only common factor Kate unearthed in the visions was that they were all joyful. They played like a home movie of the happiest times in Melanie’s life. Unless Melanie lived full-time at Disney World, Kate felt like she wasn’t getting an honest depiction of the fitness instructor’s life.

“I feel like crap,” Kate conceded to Julie as they walked the perimeter of the outdoor mall. The square shape of the outlets forced shoppers to pass by every single store. The Gap, J.Crew and Nine West had been made a little richer that day as Kate spent the majority of the birthday money her father had gifted her the night before.

“You need to take a day off from everything. You said this girl keeps having happy memories, right?” Kate nodded which encouraged Julie to continue. “Then you should consider the possibility that she isn’t in any serious danger. It seems to me that if she was in trouble, her memories would probably be filled with the horrible things happening to her.”

“I don’t know. Maybe…” Kate trailed off uncertainly.

Melanie’s case was truly an unsolvable mystery. It had been a week since Melanie disappeared and not a single sighting of her anywhere. Her credit cards and cell phone remained untouched. With close family and friends, why would she willingly leave everything behind with not so much as a note goodbye?

“You can’t let these cases take over your life. You still have school and work and a very sexy boyfriend who you have not seen completely undressed,” Julie reminded her. She linked her arm through Kate’s and dragged her towards a storefront.

“Julie, I really don’t need your help picking out my underwear,” Kate complained as she noted the lingerie covering the mannequins in the windows of the shop.

“Obviously you do,” Julie snorted. “You have been with Jared for almost two months! By then, I was doing things with Gage that probably isn’t even legal in every state.”

“You’re making my ears bleed Julie,” Kate retorted.

“Stop being such a prude. Didn’t you say you have very strong feelings for Jared? Dare I say it, but maybe you’re feeling like you may be in love with him?”

“Will you be quiet, someone may hear,” she hissed as they made their way to the rear of the store.

Julie didn’t bother to conceal her amusement. “Kate, they did a few news stories on you. You’re not exactly trailed by the paparazzi.” She gave her a long look. “Besides, you’d probably be surprised to find out how Jared feels about you. If you stopped ditching him for the psychic desperate to get into your pants, he would probably tell you.”

“I’m not ditching Jared for Declan,” Kate snapped. Taking a calming breath, she then added, “And Declan has actually turned out to be tolerable. I thought he wanted more when he first started hanging out, but he must realize I’m not interested. Not to mention he’s dating Trish, the girl that was at your party.”

“Trish puts out for anyone with a pulse. I doubt it will last,” Julie said. Holding up a barely there black thong with a jeweled studded string, she questioned, “What about this?”

“Is this the kind of thing guys want you to wear?” she demanded in scandalized tones.

Julie snorted. “He’s not going to want you to wear the control top underwear you save for your quote-unquote fat days.”

Checking around to make sure she didn’t see any grandmothers or children that could be traumatized by her underwear choices, she grabbed them out of Julie’s hands. “Fine, I’ll buy these. But just for the record, I doubt I’ll last an hour with these jeweled things up my ass.”

“Kate, if Jared sees you in them, you’ll be lucky to last ten seconds with them still on you,” Julie chided. Kate blushed over the thought and hurried towards the cash register.

After leaving the lingerie store, they headed towards the food court. In lieu of lunch, they decided to splurge on ice cream sundaes. As Kate spooned out the last bite, she moaned. “That was so good. It doesn’t even matter I’ll probably have to return the clothes we bought and buy a bigger size.”

“Ugh I know,” Julie agreed. It was nice Julie humored her. Julie was a size two maybe on a bad day. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask if you heard from Max’s mom.”

Kate was glad she had the ice cream beforehand. Otherwise, she would’ve definitely lost her appetite. “Yes. She was wonderful when she called. I still have visions about Max. I wake up feeling like I was the one Ally hit. So I know he’s still haunted by the things that happened to him. Farrah assured me he was doing better everyday and seeing a team of doctors. She insisted I stop blaming myself and even wanted to know if she could give me something for my help.”

“Like money?”

“Yeah I guess so.” She shrugged. “Funny you should bring that up. Turns out that’s what Declan does—he helps find the missing and collects any reward money.”

“Kind of a strange way to make a living,” Julie said and pursed her lips. Shrugging her shoulders, she said lightly, “But hey, you said he has a nice car and house so he must be successful at it.”

“He asked me to work with him,” Kate admitted. “He thinks we’ll be able to handle more cases and have better luck finding people. Is it a horrible idea? Am I exploiting these families by using my gift to make money?”

Julie smoothed back her hair behind her ears and peered at her. “Jesus Kate, I’m the wrong person to go to about a moral dilemma. Have you talked to your mother about it?”

She shook her head. “No. I haven’t told Jared about it either. I just explained he wanted to work on Melanie’s case together. I didn’t tell them it was because her family is offering up $25,000 for information leading to her return.”

“In my opinion, you shouldn’t feel bad,” Julie stated decidedly. “The police officers searching for her are getting paid, aren’t they? And you’re probably spending as many hours working the case. Besides, put yourself in the shoes of Melanie’s family. They would probably be willing to give any amount of money to someone who could bring her home.”

“This is going to sound crazy…” Kate started uncertainly.

“News flash Kate, the majority of the things that come out of your mouth sound crazy,” Julie quipped.

“Well, my mother told me once she believed my second sight came from God. And I’m afraid that if I don’t use it in the right way, something bad will happen,” she confessed.

“I’m a little skeptical on that one Kate. Would God give Declan a psychic gift? He may have a heavenly body, but that’s about as close to holiness that boy will ever be,” Julie cracked.

“I guess,” she said noncommittally.

Leaning back in her chair, she smiled at her friend. A surge of gratitude encompassed her. Julie was the only friend who had stuck around after Kate developed her psychic powers. Many people mistakenly labeled Julie as shallow and conceited. It couldn’t be farther from the truth. Julie was fiercely loyal to the people she cared about, including Kate.

“Thanks for letting me vent about this stuff. If you ever want to talk about how Gage is a Neanderthal who should be worshipping the ground you walk on, I’m here for you,” Kate kidded.

“You better stop it or you won’t get invited to our future wedding. I won’t have you yelling ‘I object’ and ruining it,” she laughed.

“Alright.” Kate put her hands up in surrender. “This has been fun, but I should be getting home. I wanted to spend some time connecting with Melanie.”

Julie gave her a quizzical look. “You make it sound like she’s a friend.”

“To be honest, I feel like we’re friends. Her memories are like a breath of fresh air after experiencing the horrors Max went through. One memory, she was teaching a kickboxing class. I woke up feeling like I actually worked out for the day,” Kate explained.

“I hope you or Declan find her soon.”

“Me too,” Kate readily agreed. “More than anything I want Melanie to have a happy ending.”

Chapter Fifteen

The following day Kate headed home after attending her morning classes on campus. The night before, she made arrangements to meet Declan there to discuss Melanie’s case. He had put together a compilation of all of their visions of Melanie and wanted to see if they could reveal any clues. Declan wondered if they could find a pattern that could lead them to Melanie. Situated on the couch, Kate sat for a long time staring off into space as Declan looked over his notes. Every minute or so, he would make a frustrated sound as he continuously hit a brick wall. Nothing consistent was sticking out to them. They had both gone quiet as their disappointment mounted.

Breaking the silence of the room, Kate spoke softly. “I saw her reflection in the bathroom mirror the other night. Is she haunting me now?”

Declan looked up from his notebook. “Doubtful. I don’t believe that’s how our powers work. You probably just have her on your mind a lot.”

“She’s consuming my every thought,” Kate acknowledged. “A couple of times I woke up and it took me a minute to realize I wasn’t Melanie. The visions have been that intense.”

He made a thoughtful sound and turned away from her. After the moment of silence stretched out, he gave a tight smile. “I’ll tell you something, but I don’t want you to freak out.” Her mouth opened to reply, but he held up his hand to stop her. “The only reason I’m saying anything to you is I want you to consider this a warning. I want you to remember to keep some emotional distance when you get involved in these cases.”

“Stop being so mysterious and spit it out already,” she said growing annoyed. Declan’s secretive side grated on her. Kate wished he would stop handing out these nuggets of wisdom whenever he deemed her worthy. She tossed back her brown hair and stared him down.

He relented. “Well, you’re not exactly the first psychic I’ve checked out.”

“And here I was thinking I was special,” she said pressing her hands against her chest.

“Anyway,” he remarked pointedly, “a couple of the psychics I tried to track down were in hospitals.”

“What did they catch? Psychic pneumonia?” she joked. The smile slipped from her face when Kate saw the tortured look in his dark eyes.

Declan gave her a solemn look. “They both were diagnosed with schizophrenia and institutionalized.”

“You can’t be serious? Oh god, this is my destiny. I’m going to end up locked up in the padded cell with no freaking idea of who I am.” Throwing her arms up, she began to pace the floor in front of him. A headache formed behind her eyes as she imagined being put away from the rest of her life.

“Woman, will you calm down? I feel like I should have smelling salts handy,” he quipped. Declan reached out and gripped her by the shoulders. Kate stopped pacing and focused her hazel eyes on the floor.

After a minute, she was able to regain her poise. Kate gave him a wane smile. “I always had a fear of going crazy—like I wouldn’t know the difference between my thoughts and others.”

“I reached out to the families of the psychics,” Declan elaborated, “and I let them know I had the same abilities. In both cases, the psychics became more and more obsessed with their visions. They lost interest in their regular lives and their reality became the people they interacted in the visions.

“Melanie and Max can’t consume you to the point where nothing else matters. You have to think of their families as clients and nothing more,” he advised.

“It’s not that easy. Melanie has been missing for eight days. Eight days!” Kate exclaimed and wrung her hands in front of her. “It’s like I hear this internal stopwatch counting down and I know the longer she remains missing, the less of a chance we have of finding her alive.”

Declan moved close to her and cupped her cheek. In a gentle voice, he spoke. “We’ll find her, Kate.”

She tensed at his touch. There were moments where Declan was able to show this softer side—it almost made the psychic amiable. Their similarities were becoming more apparent as well. They both put up this wall made out of sarcasm and distrust to protect themselves from people who could hurt them. It wasn’t easy having visions of friends and acquaintances and learning what they really said about you behind closed doors.

For instance, Kate still didn’t talk to her cousin Jessica. In a vision, she had seen her in the middle of a gossiping session telling a group of her cronies that Kate had pretended to be psychic so she could try and seduce Jared while they worked together on the Cori Preston case.

The tension crackled in the air. She was grateful to hear the garage door open as her mother pulled in her car. Declan drifted away from her and sat down on the couch. No witty retort passed from his lips and he gazed at her thoughtfully. Nervously, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and smiled brightly at her mom as she entered the house.

“Hi Mom,” she called.

From her mother’s piercing look, she hadn’t missed the artificiality in Kate’s voice. She addressed Declan. “Nice to see you again, Declan. Were you staying for dinner?”

“No. I have plans with Trish, but thanks for the offer Ms. E,” he said with a charming smile.

“Ms. E?” Her mother mouthed to her as Declan turned to gather up his notebook and bottled water.

Kate rolled her eyes and shrugged in her mother’s direction. He had tried out the nickname Kit Kat on Kate, but when she promised to do harm to his genitalia if she heard that name pass his lips once more, he backed off.

Her mother’s watchful stare never left them as Kate walked Declan out. Kate closed the door and turned to face him. Declan gave her a crooked grin. “Now, don’t go crazy on me. I’ll work on Melanie for awhile and let you take a breather.”

“Thanks. Maybe this working together thing is going to work out,” she said thoughtfully. “We’re even on our way to being fast friends.”

“We could be if you stopped pining for me,” he joked.

“Will you get out of here? Trish is eagerly awaiting someone to leave her emotionally damaged and physically dissatisfied,” she retorted and playfully pushed him off the porch.

“See you in your dreams, Kate.”

Kate couldn’t help but giggle at Declan’s conceit. At the very least, he offered comic relief. It had been excruciatingly difficult the past few days for her to focus on anything besides the case. Each vision of Melanie entangled her more and more in the girl’s life. She was beginning to know the ins and outs of Melanie Pirola’s existence. Kate could name the girl’s past boyfriends and best friends. Being inside of Melanie’s head during the visions also made it obvious to Kate that she was a kind and loving person. This further affirmed Kate’s belief that Melanie wouldn’t simply vanish without letting someone know.

Normally Kate would vent to Jared, but it seemed as though he was swallowed up by the Franklin police department and would never be returned to her. For some reason, he couldn’t give her specifics about the case he was working on, but did say it looked like it would be resolved soon. With only a few snatches of conversation here or there, she hadn’t wanted to hijack the conversation with her growing despondency about Melanie. Instead, she craved a distraction from her psychic life. She missed her boyfriend desperately and anticipated the day when both of their cases would be solved.

Her mother had her arms folded across her chest as Kate reentered the home. The expression on her face was the same look she wore when Kate was fourteen and she took the family car for a joy ride. Kate only made it as far as the end of the block before she chickened out, but her mom had grounded her for a month.

Kate figured a lecture was on the tip of her mom’s tongue and decided to distract her. She would rather avoid defending herself against spending time with Declan. He was a shameless flirt, but half the stuff he spewed Kate didn’t take very seriously. He made her laugh while also empathizing with the difficulties that came with being psychic. Not to mention, he did rank high on the hotness scale. However, obscure and ancient torture methods would need to be used against her before she ever admitted to him that she was flattered by his attention.

Kate’s eyes widened as she looked over her mom’s outfit. “You look really pretty today Mom. Is that skirt new?”

Her mother looked down at her casual attire before locking eyes with her daughter. “No, I’ve had this for years. Your avoidance techniques need work.”

“Mom, I’m twenty-two years old. I thought I was allowed to have boys in the house without you here. You did let Jared in my bedroom last week,” Kate reminded her. She figured the best defense was a good offense.

“I like Jared and trust him. If I let Declan unsupervised in our house, I would imagine he would initiate a panty raid,” her mother countered.

Kate bowled over in laughter. “The scary thing is I could totally picture him doing that.”

“I understand I have a tendency to be overprotective—but you’ll always be my little girl.” Her mother gave her a beseeching stare. “I don’t want to see you hurt by anyone. It’s great you found someone who is also psychic, but make sure you don’t let him convince you to do things you’re not comfortable with,” her mother advised.

“I won’t, Mom,” Kate promised. “He’s made it clear that he has his own agenda for finding Melanie. As long as she gets home, it doesn’t matter to me the reasons he’s helping.”

“Good. I’ll try not to lose sleep over the thought of Declan tempting my daughter down a dark path,” she said. Her mother bit her lip and cast an uncertain glance her way. “While you’re home, I actually wanted to talk to you about something.”

Flopping back onto the couch, Kate gave her mom an expectant look. “I’m all ears.”

“I met someone.”

Kate’s jaw dropped. This announcement was unexpected. Although her dad had moved on before the ink was dry on the divorce papers, her mom made it clear on several occasions she wasn’t ready to date. Kate had attempted to reassure her that it wouldn’t bother her in the least if she found someone else. Her mother had explained she had been with Robert Edwards for twenty years and couldn’t envision being with another man.

“Kate, say something. You’re making me nervous.” Her mother stilled and awaited her reaction.

“Mom, I think it’s great,” she stated enthusiastically.

Her mother’s eyes filled with tears. Kate swallowed hard as her own emotions stirred. Her mom deserved the very best in life and she hoped this man turned out to be worthy of her affection. Kate persisted, “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. Give me the dirt on this guy.”

Her mom let out a strangled laugh. “I was so nervous to tell you. It seems like we’ve been our own little team for two years and I wasn’t sure if you would think of Dan as an interloper.”

“So, Dan, huh?” Kate questioned and wiggling her eyebrows up and down. “Where did you meet him? What does he look like?” Kate leaned forward with her hands on her chin.

“He emailed me about buying a few products for his sister. I guess she’s a fan of the brand I sell. I went to drop off the delivery and we hit it off. We met for coffee today,” her mother gushed.

“Aww, my mom is in love,” she squealed.

Her mother threw a couch pillow at her. “Not yet, but maybe I’m meant to find love again. Maybe I was inspired by you and Jared,” she said with a wink.

“Please stop, Mom! The l-word makes me break out in hives,” Kate moaned and scratched at her arm for emphasis.

“I won’t push it. For the record though, I would love to have Jared as a son-in-law one day,” she said and continued dryly, “If you end up with Declan, I’m getting the locks changed.”

Chapter Sixteen

Delaney collapsed on the far end of their L-shaped couch and glanced over at Melanie’s seated form. Her sister’s eyes were blurry and her expression slack. She had consumed way too much wine at the bar tonight.

It had been their ritual to go out after one of them broke up with a guy. With Delaney’s latest track record, they would soon turn into raging alcoholics.

Delaney gave Melanie a loopy grin. “Men totally suck.”

Melanie’s boyfriends were far from princes, so she had to agree. “Yes, they do.”

“I should’ve known from the beginning that Cam wasn’t the one. All of the warning signs were there…”

Melanie didn’t let her finish. “Cam’s a creep. You’ll find the right guy.”

Delaney’s blurry stare turned serious. “Mel, do you really believe in that soulmate stuff?”

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation.

“But do you think the soulmate has to be someone you’re romantically in love with?” Delaney looked thoughtful. “Because my definition of a soulmate would be the other half that makes you whole. And to me…that’s you.”

Melanie’s vision clouded. “Delaney, you’re such a sentimental drunk,” she kidded.

However, Melanie was touched by her sister’s proclamation. She felt the same way about Delaney. She was there for her through every happy moment as well as each heartbreak. Their connection extended beyond sisterhood. It was as if one couldn’t exist without the other.

“What I’m trying to say is…”

“I love you too Delaney.”

Lounging back into her beach chair, Kate cherished the feeling of the sunshine dancing over her skin. She was sitting in the comfort of her backyard and indulging in a couple of hours of downtime. Her brain was taking a reprieve from a full evening of Melanie’s visions the night before and a packed schedule of classes this morning. After seeing the memory of Melanie with her sister, she was touched by the sisters’ bond. It made her question what was going on with Melanie to make her revisit a memory that was close to her heart.

Before her philosophy course, Kate had tried to get inside of Melanie’s head without any luck. She was thinking it probably had to do with Declan freaking her out about going nuts from her visions. A couple of hours of relaxation could be just the thing to clear her mind and try again.

The pale comment her father had made the other night still gnawed at her. A few hours of vitamin D were exactly what Kate needed. Since the unseasonably warm weather was bound to end soon, this would probably be one of the last times she wore her bikini this year. Kate adjusted the green straps to ward off unwanted tan lines on her shoulders.

Kate picked up the novel she had purchased on her way home from campus. On the cover, a woman in a revealing gown with her breasts to her chin was pressed against a handsome sailor—pirate? Boat captain? Kate wasn’t sure if it really mattered—without his shirt on. Since Kate was too embarrassed to ask for sex advice from anyone, she figured she better do some research on her own. She picked the book up again and skimmed to the good parts.

Bartholomew gazed at her with a tumultuous mixture of lust and pity in his eyes. “Lucinda, the things you ask…we mustn’t discuss this.”

“Sir, these feelings you inspire in me will not be ignored. I can not pretend you have not consumed every fiber of my being since the day our eyes met on the pier.” Lucinda pouted her lips at him; an act she knew would sway him to agree with her.

“I will ruin you. No honorable gentleman would ever accept you as his wife once he discovers another man has taken your maidenhead.”

She rested her body against the bed sheets and beckoned him near. Arching her back and arranging her blonde hair over the pillow, she offered herself to him. She ran her hands down the silk of her gown to bring attention to every perfect curve of her body.

“Bart,” she purred his name. “You leave port in two days. Let me have a night I may cherish for the rest of my days.”

“Damnation,” he swore and moved swiftly over her.

His scorching kiss quickened her pulse and started a fire in her belly. His hands moved expertly and she felt her body blossom under his touch. Her soul burned for him and Lucinda could not bear the idea of him leaving without knowing what it felt to be with a man like Bartholomew. Her heart would surely stop beating on the day Bart set out to sea.

He removed his shirt, leaving only his britches on. Lucinda gasped at his masculine beauty. His chest was broad with dark course hair that trailed down from his belly button. His biceps bulged with muscles earned from hard labor on the ship. As her desire built, her petals begged to be ravished by him.

Her eyes moved downwards to the snugness of his pants. Her insides twisted in anticipation as he placed his hand on his belt and pulled out…

“What are you doing?”

“Oh my god!” Kate cried dropping her book and almost falling out of her lawn chair. Her entire body felt flushed as she noticed Jared standing over her with an amused smirk.

Since he wasn’t wearing his normal suit, she guessed he hadn’t been at work that morning. Instead, he wore a fitted black t-shirt and a pair of running shorts. He looked completely irresistible. He ran his fingers through his hair before shooting her an inquisitive look. “I tried your cell and the front door. I figured you might be back here when I saw your car in the driveway.”

“I left my phone inside,” she choked out as she tried to gain a hold of herself. She pulled up the straps of her bikini and squirmed in her seat.

“What were you reading?” Jared asked before adding, “You had such an intent look on your face.”

“Um…nothing,” she mumbled.

His arm brushed against her leg as he reached down to pick up her paperback off of the ground next to her. As his gray eyes took in the cover, she wondered if it was humanly possible to be anymore mortified than she was at that moment.

“Lust at Sea,” he read the title aloud with a wry undertone. “Doesn’t sound like school reading,” he teased.

“No, maybe not exactly…but I was reading it for educational purposes.” She pushed a strand of light brown hair out of her face and still wouldn’t look at him directly.

“And did it help?”

His gray eyes lingered over her body and it called to attention how very little she was wearing. She couldn’t tell if the rosy color of her skin was from her embarrassment or from the time out in the sun.

“Don’t think so. Lots of talks about seeds and flowers and you know I’ve never been good with metaphors.” Her voice sounded way too high pitched for normal. “Is it super hot out or what?” Kate fanned her face for emphasis. “Why don’t I get us some lemonade?”

Before Jared could reply, Kate jumped to her feet and entered the house through the sliding glass door. Entering the kitchen, she reached into the refrigerator to pull out a pitcher of lemonade. Jared suddenly appeared close behind her. Gooseflesh erupted on her arms and she visibly shivered.

“Where’s your mom?” he asked.

“She’s having lunch with a friend and then she has a sales call to go to. Why?”

Kate turned around and before she could react, Jared took the lemonade out of her hand and placed it on the counter behind them. He pulled her body to him and gave her a long kiss that left her out of breath.

His breathing was heavy as he pulled away. Her hair had loosened from the haphazard bun she had placed it in while sunbathing. Jared tucked a piece of her hair behind her ears. “I’ve tried to wait, Kate…I really did. I just wanted to make sure you were ready.”

She laced her fingers around his neck and gave him an earnest look. “I’m ready.”

Moving into the hallway, he began to rain an endless number of kisses on her. Jared’s fingers didn’t fumble as he easily untied the back of her bikini. The fabric glided down her body and fell to the floor between them. His hands moved down her bare back and she felt herself relating to the fiery emotions Lucinda had just been describing in Kate’s romance novel. His voice was a ragged whisper. “You’re sure she won’t be home soon?”

“No, we have hours.”

Kate moaned into his mouth as things began to heat up. She barely recalled making their way up to her bedroom. She fell onto her bed and wondered if she had time to fan her hair out attractively the way Lucinda had. Jared didn’t seem to mind the way she appeared as he blanketed her body with his own.

“Kate, I wanted this…I wanted you for so long…” he breathed out.

Jared’s guard was down and Kate could see the vulnerability he usually concealed. She was afraid to speak. Her tendency to put her foot in her mouth made her fearful she could easily ruin the significance of this moment.

Instead, Kate parted her lips for another kiss and hoped her body was demonstrating how much she returned the sentiment. It was arousing to see him in such a state. Jared always seemed in control. It thrilled her to see she could chip away at his composure. He made her feel desirable and it eased any nerves she had about them being intimate.

His shirt fell to the floor. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she pulled him as close to her as humanly possible. His words were barely audible as he groaned into her hair, “Kate, you are so beautiful.”

“Jared, you’re amazing,” she said softly between kisses. “This is so much better than I could ever have imagined,” she confessed huskily.

The sensation of being this close to him made her dizzy. It was challenging for Kate to maintain control, but Jared continued to kiss and hold her in a gentle and loving way. Each movement felt deliberate—as if he understood her nervousness and only cared for her comfort. It must’ve cracked at his self-control to keep his hands moving slowly and seductively over her body. Each time he dared to touch her somewhere new, his eyes confirmed with hers that she was ok with it. Her skin burned with need each time his lips brushed against flesh.

Suddenly, she felt Jared’s body grow taut. He stilled even as she continued to try and kiss him. Kate gave him a worried look and wondered if she had done something wrong. “Jared?”

“Were you expecting someone to come by?” he whispered. The lust melted off of his face and was replaced with apprehension. Before she could answer, Kate heard the doorbell ring. Would she ever catch a break?

“We’ll just ignore it,” she said decidedly. “It’s probably one of the women from the church down the street. They are always trying to convert me. I think the whole psychic thing makes them think I’m filled with sin.”

“Being half naked with your boyfriend in the middle of the afternoon would probably confirm that for them,” he joked with a wicked grin.

Kate squealed as he nuzzled her neck. The laughter quickly faded as loud knocking shook the whole house. Jared groaned, “Whoever it is has the worst possible timing in the world.”

No kidding. With a growl, she untangled herself from Jared’s arms. As the knocking continued, she vowed that whoever it was better be in a life or death situation or they were getting a major butt kicking. After tossing on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, she gave Jared a helpless look. “I better get it,” Kate sighed. “One day we may actually get more than ten minutes alone together.”

He rolled onto his back on her bed and nodded. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

Trouncing down the stairs, she swung open the front door. Ideally, she could get rid of whoever it was quickly enough to recapture the mood with Jared. Her frown deepened as she realized it was Declan. Jeez, she thought bitterly, he was turning into the human version of a chastity belt.

He appeared wound up and stormed past her into the hallway. “What were you taking a nap? I’ve been at the door for ten minutes.”

“Sure, come right in,” she murmured while flattening herself against the wooden door.

Declan opened his mouth to answer her, but shut it as he heard Jared’s heavy footsteps on the stairwell. Once the psychic turned back to face her, understanding darkened his features. “Oh…sorry…I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

When Kate glanced his way, she found Jared was leaning against the doorway that led into the kitchen. By his uncomfortable stance, she knew he wasn’t happy with the interruption either. However, he took the high road and held out his hand. “Jared Corbett.”

“Declan Brayden,” he answered and heartily shook his hand. His normal swagger was gone as he spoke to Jared. “It’s good to meet you—nice to finally meet a cop who actually believes in psychics.”

Kate was pleased. She would much rather have the boys playing nice, instead of trying to pummel each other. She pictured working with both Jared and Declan. Maybe the three of them could launch their own psychic private detective agency. Jared could handle all of the legalities while the psychics focused on using their visions to solve cases.

“Sorry to barge in here, but I’ve talked to Delaney Pirola this morning. I’ve told her about the visions we’ve had about Melanie. I think she was shocked to realize we were real psychics and not scam artists trying to get the reward money.

“Anyway, she wants us to meet with her today to look at a few photographs. She didn’t want to get into it over the phone, but apparently she has suspects in mind that she believes may know where Melanie could be,” he described in a rush.

Silence descended on the room as Kate digested this information. Chambersburg was almost four hours away which meant she would have to miss her night class. With all of the classes and work she’d been missing lately, academic dismissal and unemployment seemed to be in her foreseeable future.

“I’d like to leave as soon as possible,” Declan declared. He looked at his watch before continuing. “We probably wouldn’t get there until early evening depending on how bad the traffic turns out to be. What do you think?”

“Absolutely not.”

Shocked, Kate turned to Jared. Her normally laid-back boyfriend looked beyond pissed. Kate guessed she could kiss those dreams of a detective agency goodbye. As she glanced at Declan, his full lips were down turned and he seemed surprised too at Jared’s outburst.

“Jared?” she questioned softly.

His gray eyes met hers, but he addressed Declan. “There is no way I’m letting Kate get herself involved in something so risky. Both of you have no idea what could have happened to Melanie. If Kate goes there to help out on the case, she could make herself a target of whoever is responsible for Melanie’s disappearance.”

“I guess it’s only acceptable when you drag Kate into a dangerous case and almost get her killed,” Declan replied with venom in his tone.

“Declan…” she hissed.

“What?” He turned to face her. “It’s the truth, isn’t it? He is the one who forced you into the Preston case to help find his girlfriend’s sister.” Kate really wished everyone would stop referring to Cori as his girlfriend’s sister. It was beginning to get on her last nerve. Declan was getting himself worked up as he continued to denounce Jared. “If Billy Rizzo had killed you that night, your blood would be on his hands.”

Jared stormed across the room to face down Declan. Jared had a few inches on him but Declan seemed to be the type willing to fight dirty if the need arose. “You know nothing about me or Kate. And if you think for one second I’m going to let you involve her in something that will hurt her, you’re certifiable.”

“I would never hurt Kate. And we share something that you could never be a part of,” Declan spat out.

Jared clenched his fist and looked ready to knock Declan into next week. No way in hell was she letting the two of them bloody up her mother’s home. In an alarmed voice, she called, “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind!”

The boys got out of each other’s faces and turned to stare at her. She was beginning to recognize their equal expressions of concern for her mental state. Declan reacted first. “Huh?

“It’s a quote from Gandhi. I don’t know—it was the first thing that popped into my head to get you two to stop fighting. My translation is that beating each other to pulp won’t solve anything,” she explained.

Declan looked skeptical. “You know quotes from Gandhi?”

“Yes!” she replied haughtily.

In actuality, there was a TV show about him on the History Channel the weekend she had lost the remote. Kate ended up watching it because she was too lazy to get off the couch and change the channel. “Anyway, just cut it out.”

Turning to Jared, she looked at him beseechingly. “I know you’re looking out for me, but I have to go. What if we have a vision that could save Melanie’s life?”

“I guess my opinion doesn’t matter,” Jared said flatly. His text alert sounded and he took his phone out of his pocket. With a frown, he scanned the message before looking back at her. “I have to go.”

He shouldered his way past Declan and headed towards the door. Kate followed at his heels. She clutched his arm as he reached his car. “Jared, please don’t go.”

“I have to get into work. Have a safe trip.” His voice was cold and detached. The electricity between them from earlier had completely fizzled out.

Tears sprung to her eyes. She willed him to understand. “Jared, please don’t leave like this.”

“Kate, I can’t act like you taking off to another state with that prick doesn’t bother the hell out of me,” he grumbled. His expression softened as he noticed her distressed demeanor. “I know your heart is in the right place and you want to help Melanie. But you have to think of your own safety too. Calling in an anonymous tip is a lot different than heading to the scene of a police investigation.”

“I don’t know what to say. I see Melanie constantly—every time I close my eyes. I feel this connection to her and I feel like I owe it to her to do everything in my power to get her back home,” she said earnestly.

He sighed and grazed his lips against hers. “There doesn’t seem to be anything I can say that will change your mind. Only promise me that you’ll be careful.”

Kate hugged him, but opted not to notice his stiff form. She had faith that things would work out and they would recapture what had been taken away by Declan’s interruption. “I will be. I’ll give you a call when I get into Chambersburg.”

Jared nodded and entered his BMW. With a short wave, he pulled away from the curb. Kate stood outside for several minutes before sulking back inside. She had almost forgotten Declan was still in the house. With a tense smile, he remarked, “I’m guessing I didn’t just make a new fan.”

“You didn’t have to provoke him. That comment about us sharing something special was way out of line,” she barked at him. She used the back of her hand to wipe off a few stray tears on her cheeks.

Declan wrapped his arm around her and gave a gentle hug. “Cheer up. Everything will work out. We’ll save the girl and you’ll get the guy.” The way his eyes bore down on her, she understood that the guy he was talking about was not Jared.

She pushed him away. “I’m going to get changed and grab a few things. We can leave in a few minutes.”

As she made her way upstairs, Kate felt herself drowning in regrets. She didn’t want to leave town while there was tension with Jared. Not to mention, Declan was becoming more aggressive about his claim on her. Although a part of her wanted to run back downstairs to tell Declan she wouldn’t go—she couldn’t do that to Melanie. Kate had a strong sense that this trip would lead her to discovering the truth behind Melanie’s disappearance.

Chapter Seventeen

“You’re turning into a psycho stalker chick.” Declan gestured to her phone which Kate had checked approximately a hundred times since they left Franklin for Chambersburg. She had sent Jared an apology text and tried his cell twice. She had received radio silence in return. The pragmatic side of her understood he probably just needed time to cool off. However, her needy side wanted him to call her back this instant and work things out.

“It certainly sounds like he’s been working a lot.” Kate didn’t miss the forced casualness in Declan’s tone.

She glanced over at him as the setting sun partially hid his features in shadow. “Yes, he has. With our crazy schedules, I haven’t been able to see him as much as I wanted to.”

“Hmm…that’s interesting,” he murmured.

“If you have a point, I suggest you get to it,” she replied.

“Can I speak freely?”

“I’ll allow it.”

“Well…I’m surprised you’re not more concerned he’s not seeing someone else.” He shrugged at her shocked expression. “I’m not saying for sure that is what’s going on. But look at it from an outsider’s perspective for a minute. He’s working long hours and not answering the phone when you call. He left his girlfriend not too long ago for another girl, but they still talk as friends. You have to admit, it seems suspicious.”

“You need to shut up or I’m getting out of this car right now,” Kate hissed.

“Sorry to offend you. You’re my friend and I just don’t want to see you end up being played for a fool.” Declan reached across the console and took her hand. “I know I come across as a big tool at times, but that’s only because it’s hard for me to confide in anyone.”

She felt vaguely nauseous. What he had said about Jared couldn’t be true. Could it? She knew Jared talked to Nikki from time to time. Although it irked her that Nikki called him, she didn’t want to make a big issue out of it. Jared was that nice of a guy—it seemed to make sense he would remain on good terms with his exes. Had she put blinders on and didn’t see what was right in front of her?

Glancing down at Declan’s hand entwined in hers, she shook her fingers free. It felt dirty to hold his hand while fighting with her boyfriend. Kate couldn’t let Declan get in her head and plant fantastical notions. Her emotions were too raw from her fight with Jared and she may end up seeking solace in the wrong place.

When she talked to Jared again, they could work everything out. Declan had made it clear from the beginning he had wanted something more. If she continued to allow him to create a wedge between her and Jared, she could lose the best thing that ever happened to her.

Wordlessly, she studied Declan as he drove. As much as she felt turmoil over his part in the discord with Jared, it would be a lie to deny that she felt nothing for Declan. He was the only other psychic she knew and she was extremely grateful for his help with her gift. Plus, there was the fact he was easy on the eyes. Kate couldn’t pretend he wasn’t physically attractive. The bevy of women to darken his door weren’t showing up for his sparkling personality. He had a dark sensuality that was undeniably alluring. His eyes were warm as he looked at her and she blushed as if he could read her mind.

Clearing her throat, Kate began, “Can you tell me more about the future visions?”

The side of his mouth turned up. “What do you want to know?”

“How many have you had? What have they been like? Did they all come true?” She relentlessly questioned him.

“It hasn’t happened often. Maybe a dozen times,” he answered. He shot an infuriating cocky grin her way. “Not all of the visions have taken place yet. But I have a feeling they will soon.”

Kate hoped he noticed her eye roll. “Moving on...” Kate trailed off. Instead of looking at Declan, she watched the trees lining the highway. “Why do you think you have them? Have you tried to change the outcome?”

“You can’t fight destiny,” he said and gave her a meaningful look.

“Declan,” she admonished, “what if you were given this ability to try and change the future?”

“Look, I did have a premonition about my uncle having a heart attack,” he said tightly. “I told him to get checked out. His response was to call me a weird little jerk-off and to go get bent. He died of a massive coronary three weeks later.”

“Wow Declan. That’s horrible. I don’t know what to say,” she said softly.

“The truth of it is we will probably never know why we were given these abilities,” he shrugged. “People have near death experiences everyday. Why were we the ones selected to have visions? And when I see the future, am I supposed to try to fix things?” he questioned rhetorically with a shake of his head. “Or maybe it’s just a big cosmic joke and I have to let fate run its course.”

Kate prayed that wasn’t true. It made her especially thankful she had never experienced a premonition. It terrified her to think she could see something painful happening to someone she loved and be powerless to do anything about it. With any luck, she would never develop the ability to predict the future. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. A flash of Jared saying that he loved her would be most welcomed.

“Did you notice any constants when you had the visions?” she inquired. “Anything you were doing that could have brought them on?”

Declan nodded. “I guess you could say that my emotions were heightened at the time. I wasn’t in the same relaxed state like when I have most of my visions. It happened twice after I…” He gave her an uncertain look before continuing. “Well, I guess I should tell you that I used to do a lot of drugs—especially after my accident. I’m clean now, but I used to try all kinds of nasty stuff. I have seen omens when I’ve been high.”

“Then maybe they were just hallucinations,” Kate countered.

For some reason, she was having a tough time accepting the idea that Declan could see the future and she couldn’t. It made her question her abilities and wonder at the reason she had yet to harness this power.

“Good point,” he replied with sarcasm, “except for the fact that the visions came true.”

“I’ve been psychic for over two years now. In all that time, I’ve only seen people’s memories of the past. It’s one of the reasons I find it hard to believe you’re not full of it.”

Declan shrugged. “Maybe it’s just your blasé personality.”

“If my personality sucks so much, stop hitting on me,” she retorted.

“Touché, little Kit Kat, touché,” he laughed. “If you saw what I did in the vision, you would understand why I can’t get the thought of us together out of my head.”

“You only want me because I’m taken.” Kate shifted in her seat and gave Declan a tight smile. “If the chase ended, you wouldn’t be interested. Besides, aren’t you seeing Trish?”

“Nah, she was getting way too clingy. She scared off this girl Sarah I was also seeing. Trish sent her a threatening email saying she would ruin her life if Sarah didn’t stop sleeping with me,” he explained

“Lord, you’re a walking PSA for safe sex,” she groaned.

“Don’t worry, Kate,” he said with a cocky grin. “The moment you say the word, they’re all gone.”

“God help me.”

Chapter Eighteen

They arrived in Chambersburg ahead of schedule. When they pulled into town, Declan had called Melanie’s sister to see where she wanted to meet. Delaney was with her parents and giving an interview to a newspaper reporter about her sister’s disappearance. She would let them know once the interview was over and they could come by the apartment she shared with Melanie. Deciding to kill some time, they headed to a burger place for dinner.

Trying to save calories, she skipped the fries with her cheeseburger. However, she swiped a few off of Declan’s plate while he went to the condiments bar. She also snuck a look at her phone to see if Jared had called. Nothing yet. Before she could send him another text, Declan returned to the table. Kate slid the cell phone into her purse and took a bite of her burger.

“You surprised me today,” Declan admitted. “I thought you would be more freaked out about the drug thing.”

She chewed thoughtfully, hoping to bide herself some time to reply. “Well, you know, I figured I’d respect your boundaries and not badger you with questions about it,” Kate said pointedly.

She hoped this gave Declan the message that she didn’t appreciate him always crossing the line when it came to her life. As an afterthought, she said, “Anyway, it doesn’t really matter now if you’re clean.”

He leaned back in his chair and stared at her openly. She squirmed in her chair. “You’re a terrible liar. You must have already known about my past. Did you have the detective run a background check on me?” Declan mistook her silence for affirmation. “I wouldn’t be mad if that’s the case. I did follow you around for a week.”

“No, I didn’t have Jared look into you.” Although she was definitely going to do that now and shuddered at the thought of what could pop up on his criminal record. “It’s sort of awkward to admit…”

Declan didn’t let her finish. With a knowing smile, he stated, “You’ve had visions about me.”

“Nothing like yours, I assure you,” she replied haughtily. “But I did see some things about your past that helped me understand you better.”

“What did you see?”

“It only happened once…” she stopped and wished she could somehow avoid this conversation. It was always awkward when she had to admit having insider knowledge due to a vision. She was never sure about how the person would react to finding out she saw something private about them. This thought reminded her of when she told Jared about her vision of his parents. It had meant so much to him and he had expressed amazement over her powers. Kate had feared he would’ve been repulsed. It was only one of the many reasons she had fallen hard for him.

Kate turned her attention back to Declan. “The vision was a fight between you and your mother. She threw you out of the house after the accident,” she explained. His frown prompted her to ramble on. “I mean you can be a douche, but she did treat you pretty harsh. It seems like you were able to turn things around for yourself. That’s great.”

He laughed heartily at her discomfort. “You can stop acting like a spaz—I’m not bothered that you had a vision about me. I’d be surprised if you didn’t—considering how much time we’ve spent together. Besides, I have visions about you all the time.”

She almost spit out her food. Oh god, Kate thought silently, was this how it felt like to be on the other side? She didn’t even want to know what memories Declan had seen. She was an unconventional person, so there were plenty of humiliating memories that could pop up in his mind. Now Kate understood why people would feel strange around her when she mentioned her second sight. Everyone had something to hide. The only one who freely invited her into his head before was Jared.

Instead of replying to Declan, she felt the urge to call her boyfriend again. She stopped when Declan placed his hand over the top of hers. “Kate,” he addressed her softly. His dark eyes were serious. “I get that you’re upset about Jared, but I have a good feeling about today. We’ll find Melanie and we’ll be celebrating later when we’re $25,000 richer.”

Kate ignored Declan’s reference to the reward money and instead thought about Melanie’s family and how much they must be missing the girl. Temporarily, she had to stop obsessing over her fight with Jared. If he stayed in her head, she would never have a vision about Melanie. She made an oath to concentrate on Melanie alone for now and deal with everything else later.

Melanie and Delaney Pirola’s apartment was not difficult to find. It was strange, but it felt as if she were visiting an old friend. The sisters’ apartment had popped up so many times in her past visions, she had the layout memorized. The apartment featured two bedrooms, a full bathroom, eat-in kitchen and oversized living room. The sisters had been roommates for the past three years since both moved out of their parents’ house across town. The apartment was the site of so many happy times—she imagined it must be very painful for Delaney to continue to stay there without her sister.

Delaney bared little resemblance to the happy and smiling girl from her sister’s memories. Her hollow eyes stared past the psychics as she greeted them at the door. A ghostly smile looked more like a grimace as she thanked them for making the long trek out to Chambersburg. Previously healthy blonde hair was limp against her shoulders and the normally immaculate dresser looked like she simply grabbed whatever was on top of the laundry basket. The sweatshirt was frayed at the edges and the yoga pants were old and discolored from frequent washes. Delaney worked as a bartender and had not returned to the restaurant since Melanie went missing.

Kate’s heart sank as she took in further evidence of Delaney’s despair. Fast food containers littered the counters along with stacks of missing person flyers. Melanie’s door was firmly shut and Kate didn’t dare ask to peek inside. She picked up one of the flyers and took in Melanie’s familiar image. Delaney cleared off a spot on the couch and gestured for them to both sit.

She addressed Kate first. “Declan has told me everything you saw. All of those memories…they really happened. My parents aren’t buying it, but I want you to know that I believe with every ounce of my being that you saw into my sister’s mind.”

“Thank you,” Kate whispered.

Tears sprung to her eyes and when she felt Declan take her hand, she did not pull away. Kate wasn’t overly surprised over Delaney’s pronouncement that her parents weren’t believers in the paranormal. Melanie’s memories of her parents had been joyous, but Kate had the sense that they were more rigid than Melanie let on. It could prevent them from relying on psychics to bring home their beloved daughter.

Delaney twirled a strand of her hair and bobbed her head back and forth between them. “Can I ask you both a question?”

“Of course,” Kate responded.

“Well, I’m pretty sure that Declan has told me each memory that you and he have seen. After talking to him, I realized that none of the memories included CJ. Has Melanie thought about him at all?” Delaney’s anxiety was visible as she bounced her leg up and down and nervously chewed her thumbnail.

“CJ?” Kate questioned and glanced sideways at Declan. Declan shook his head. Kate continued, “No, the name isn’t familiar. Who is he?”

“It’s Melanie’s ex-boyfriend,” Delaney explained. “They were together for a year and a half and broke up a few months ago. I just find it strange that someone she was with for so long has never appeared to you.”

Declan leaned his body forward as he addressed Delaney. “Yes, I now remember talking to you about the ex-boyfriend. He has an alibi for the day she went missing, right?”

Delaney bit her lip hard. Kate wondered if the girl had drawn blood. “He does. But I find it sketchy. This girl comes out of nowhere and says they’ve been dating for weeks and she was with him the entire day and night of Melanie’s disappearance. Melanie told me he was still calling her, begging her to take him back. I know my sister and even though she never said so…” Delaney looked like it physically pained her to speak. “CJ had gotten violent with her before.”

“Did you tell the police this?” Kate questioned. The thought of someone hitting sweet Melanie left a sour taste in her mouth. It reminded her of Max and how he had been another innocent victim of a violent person.

“Yes, but I only have my gut feeling that he’s involved in some way. I don’t have any proof that he took her or had been hitting her. With his alibi checking out and his willingness to help look for Melanie, he seems to have taken himself off the suspect list,” Delaney said with malice. Delaney typically had Melanie’s same charming and even temperament. If she despised CJ this much, it certainly made him suspicious.

Delaney looked at both of them with pleading eyes. “Listen, I don’t get why Melanie isn’t thinking about what happened to her. But Melanie has been missing for ten days. Declan told me you don’t see visions from people who died—which makes me guess that someone has her incapacitated. My sister would never just leave—no matter how bad things got.”

Pushing aside some papers on the coffee table, Delaney held out a photograph. Declan took it from her. “This is a picture of CJ taken about two months before my sister broke up with him. If you can’t get the information you need from her, maybe he could shed some light on what happened to Melanie.”

Melanie sat next to a lean boy with chestnut hair on the very couch she sat on. His arm was slung haphazardly around her shoulders and Melanie had her signature megawatt smile for the camera. His coloring was light and a smattering of freckles dotted his nose. His long legs stretched out in front of him, hinting at his height. The boy looked innocent enough, but that didn’t count for much. She’s seen enough true crime shows to know that the quiet and nice boys could easily turn out to be the ones hacking up people in their basement.

Kate took a mental inventory of the visions she had of Melanie over the course of the week. The more she thought about it, the more Kate considered the possibility that Delaney may be on to something. In Melanie’s memories, it was as if CJ never existed. Even boys she had dated in middle school had walk on parts in Melanie’s recollections. Why would a year and a half relationship not even warrant a mention?

From Delaney’s description, Melanie and CJ’s relationship sounded tumultuous. Maybe the reason Melanie had never thought about the boy was because it wasn’t a happy time in her life. If Melanie was only remembering the best times of her life, perhaps CJ didn’t warrant a mention. Another possibility that crossed her mind was Melanie running away to escape CJ’s abuse.

Delaney picked up a piece of printer paper and passed it to them. “This is taken off of Brad Foster’s Facebook page. He goes to the gym where Melanie works and has been relentlessly hitting on her. If CJ doesn’t have anything to do with it, then I thought he may be another possibility.”

The man in the photo was short and muscular. He was wearing a tank top and spandex gym shorts. Kate loathed that style of shorts and didn’t understand why anyone would possibly think they look good. Between his receding hairline and leathery tan skin, it was hard to identify his age. In any other situation, it would be comical to imagine this guy, most likely having a mid-life crisis, trying to score a date with the pretty gym instructor.

“What do you know about him?” Declan inquired after they both had time to study the picture.

Delaney sighed. “Not much. I’ve tried to get in touch with him and he consistently ignores me. I’ve sent several emails and called him twice since Melanie’s disappearance. He hasn’t responded in anyway. Melanie’s coworkers at the gym also tell me he has stopped going since she went missing.”

“Sounds shifty,” Kate remarked as she nervously tapped her foot. Brad was another unfamiliar face that Kate didn’t recall from Melanie’s visions. If he had a crush on Melanie, his behavior was certainly questionable. Why wouldn’t he cooperate and do everything in his power to assist in finding her?

“I thought so too. Unfortunately, refusing to talk to the bereaved sister of your missing fitness instructor isn’t a crime,” Delaney replied with her eyes downcast. “I hate to falsely accuse anyone, but I will do whatever it takes to get Melanie back home.”

“Can we keep these?” Declan held up the photos of Brad and CJ.

Delaney nodded and seemed to make a conscious effort to hold back her tears. Her strange bond with Melanie filled Kate with a need to comfort the girl. Kate reached over and gripped Delaney’s forearm. “We’re going to find your sister, no matter how long it takes.”

“Thank you,” she sobbed. “Do you need a place to stay for the night? I know it’s late and you have such a long drive ahead of you. You’re welcome to stay here…”

Declan interrupted her. “No, we’ll be fine—I already booked a hotel room.” Declan was the first to get to his feet. “Thanks for getting me the numbers for Melanie’s friends and coworkers earlier. I set up meetings with a few of them for tomorrow. CJ even agreed to grab a coffee in the morning to talk. We’ll see if anyone could be hiding something,” Declan said.

Kate almost swallowed her tongue. She knew that Declan purposely dropped this bombshell in front of Delaney. He expected her to not throw a conniption in front of the grieving sister. She kept her mouth shut—for the time-being. However, it would be a cold day in hell if he thought they were spending the night together in a hotel room.

Delaney gave Kate a tight hug at the door. Kate was so surprised by the gesture and it took her a minute to respond. She wrapped her arms around the girl and gave a reassuring squeeze. When they moved apart, a slight smile appeared on Delaney’s face.

“It’s incredible, what you and Declan do,” Delaney said sincerely. “Your visions have been the only thing giving me hope that my sister will be back home soon and this nightmare will be over.”

“We’ll call you as soon as we know something,” Kate promised. Delaney hugged Declan as well before going back into the apartment.

Kate waited until Delaney closed the door and she heard her retreating footsteps before turning on Declan. “What the hell is going on?”

“What do you mean?” The innocent tone in his voice seemed to mock her.

She spoke through clenched teeth. “You booked a hotel room? And apparently we’re staying overnight to meet with Melanie’s friends tomorrow including one of Delaney’s suspects. When did you plan on making me aware of any of this?”

“Settle down,” Declan commanded in a low rumble. “Before your boyfriend comes after me with his gun, let me start off by saying I booked two hotel rooms.” Kate followed him as he took long strides through the hallways of the apartment building. “As far as staying over, I didn’t realize it was a big deal. We’re going to make a lot of money when we find Melanie. In the meantime, we have to put in as much time as possible to find out what could’ve happened to her.”

“This isn’t about the freaking money, Declan,” Kate swore under her breath. “I told you from the beginning that I only want to do this to help people. Melanie is important to me and she needs our help.”

“You’re getting too attached, Kate,” Declan admonished. “Think of being psychic like any other job. You help the people you come in contact with and then you move on. You get on with your life—regardless of the outcome. Otherwise you’re going to make yourself crazy.”

“Don’t tell me how to feel,” Kate countered.

“I’m right Kate and you know it. What if you were a doctor? Would you cry each time you had to give someone a bad diagnosis? Go to the funeral for every patient who died?” he demanded.

Staggering down the front steps of the apartment building, she whirled on him. “I’m not in the mood for a lecture. You should’ve let me in on your plans before we left. Now I have to make a very awkward call to both my mom and my boyfriend.”

Her fury had the effect of negating his self-righteous attitude. Using a gentler tone, he begged, “Kate, don’t be mad. You’re right, I should have let you know, but I figured you’d realized we may end up staying over.” When she didn’t answer, Declan suggested, “Why don’t we check out the town before we head back to the hotel and try to have a vision of CJ and Brad?”

Kate crossed her arms across her chest and used her hands to rub at her arms. She felt a chill despite the mild temperature. “I’m really tired. It was a long drive and the meeting with Delaney completely drained me. Can you just take me to the hotel?”

“Sure, we can work there and see if we’ll be able to get a clue about what kind of people we’re dealing with,” Declan remarked as they entered the Hummer. “Delaney seemed pretty sure that CJ isn’t the grieving boyfriend he’s pretending to be. Brad sounds like he can’t take a hint when a girl’s not interested.” He gunned the engine and peeled out of the parking lot.

Kate shook her head. “Declan, I just want to be alone for a little while.”

She picked up her phone and dialed Jared without waiting for Declan’s rebuttal. Her heart sank as his phone went directly to voicemail. “Hi, it’s me. It turns out I’ll be staying here for the night.” She paused and shot a deadly look at Declan before continuing. “I really hope you’re not purposely ignoring my calls. Please call me so we can talk.”

After she hung up, Kate called her mom. Her mom had her on the phone for the entire drive to the hotel and badgered her with a string of queries. The thought of Kate even in the same hotel as Declan made her mother threaten to text her with all the local addresses to pharmacies that carried emergency contraception. Declan laughed heartily as he overheard her reassure her mom that the only way her mouth was going anywhere near Declan’s was if he collapsed and required CPR. Even then it was doubtful, she thought growing irritated all over again at his deception.

After checking in at the hotel, Declan walked Kate to the door of her room. He lingered for a minute as if he was waiting for an invitation. She stared at him coldly.

“I’m right next door if you have a vision and need me.” He rested his hand against the door frame and gave her a lazy grin. “Or if you have any other needs you’d like me to help you out with.”

“Unless I feel the need to punch someone in the face, you probably won’t be hearing from me,” she retorted.

He moved to the adjacent door and stuck the key card in. Sending Kate a wink, he then went inside. She entered her hotel room and closed the heavy door behind her. She leaned against it and closed her eyes. Her head felt heavy and she wondered how a great day had turned to complete shit so quickly. As if Jared wasn’t furious enough about her going to Chambersburg, he would freak out—with good reason—if he knew she was meeting with possible kidnapping suspects the next day. Why didn’t she just have the word “dumbass” tattooed to her forehead?

Kate replayed the conversations with Declan in her head. Was he right about her becoming too emotional over this case? Was this the reason she was ignoring all of the warning bells going off in her head? Kate hadn’t been aware of the danger while investigating Cori’s abduction. Now that she understood the risks, it was foolish of her to make her presence known to men who could be involved in a violent crime. Kate had to wonder if Jared was right in telling her she shouldn’t come to this town.

In one way or another, Kate personally invested herself in the lives of each person she had a vision of. She had to admit Melanie was more than just a client to her. In her head, they had an unreciprocated friendship. Declan had warned her about getting too close and she had repeatedly ignored him.

The hotel bed was piled with fluffy blankets and pillows looking way too inviting to Kate. She collapsed onto the bed and stared at the plaster on the ceiling. Her mind and body were both exhausted. The only thing she wanted was to escape into sleep for a few short hours. Not dream of Melanie, Max, Cori or anyone else. For once, she would love to just escape into her own dreams.

Chapter Nineteen

CJ had worked himself up into an incensed frenzy as he made the long drive out to the cabin. It was almost laughable to think of how easy it was to hide away out here. No one in his family knew about the cabin. His uncle had used it to lure boys away with him and do unspeakable things. His uncle’s threats that he would kill him if he ever told were taken gravely. After his uncle’s suicide, it remained abandoned until he started going up there to get away from all the noise in his head.

The cabin was the key to everything he had planned. Without it, CJ would’ve had to kill her right away. People would probably be shocked to realize Melanie was only forty minutes away from her own apartment. Everyone had wild speculations over where the pretty gym teacher could be. Was she hiding out in the city? Did someone murder her and dump her body in one of the many lakes or rivers that covered the area?

If it wasn’t for his scheme, Melanie would’ve never experienced the pain and torture she had done to him. Every careless smile and girlish giggle had felt like battery acid was being poured on his heart. How could she be happy when all he felt was hurt? How could she move on so easily after telling him each day that she loved him?

CJ had tried to reason with her, but she would never let him back into her life. She was his world and it didn’t even matter to her. She just moved on as if he was nothing to her. Wearing her revealing clothes to the gym and flirting with every guy she crossed paths with. She gave that bald loser in her spinning class more attention than she gave him.

His truck made plenty of noise as it went over the gravel driveway. CJ hoped the sound drove fear into the bitch’s heart. He stomped up the driveway and unlocked the door. The setting sun cast an eerie glow over the interior of the cabin. It was sparsely furnished with only a small kitchenette, bathroom and a bed with a  lifeless lump stretched across it.

She didn’t even move at the sound of his entering. Her eyes were unfocused and simply stared blankly at the ceiling above her head. Her arms were above her head and handcuffed to the metal headboard. By bolting the legs to the floor, he had assured Melanie wasn’t going anywhere. She had to be in a hell of a lot of pain stuck in that position, but you would never know it. After putting up the fight of her life the first day he had brought her to the cabin, she had simply stopped.

No matter what CJ did to her, she would not submit to him. It enraged him to no end. He wanted her to spend the last moments of her pathetic existence pleading for her life, promising him anything he wanted. An unresponsive filthy lump on the bed wasn’t how he pictured this in his mind. Melanie had somehow managed to ruin this aspect of his life as well.

The smell was nauseating. When he realized that he was going to keep her here for more than a night, he had bought diapers. Even the humiliation of her ex-lover diapering her wasn’t enough to get her out of her stupor. It had been two days since he had been able to make the trip into the forest. She had been sitting soiled for hours upon hours as he was enjoying his life. It gave him some satisfaction since she was giving him none.

CJ fed her the last time he came and she ate like a mechanical doll. Open mouth. Close mouth. Chew. Swallow. He had tried to incite her, but she wouldn’t react. He had first burned her by overheating the soup. He then grabbed a fork and repeatedly poked her with it. Her body would tense over the pain, but she did nothing to stop it. He wondered if he had sent her into madness too quickly. This would be his only regret. The sting of her rejection wiped away any other feelings of remorse. Dying miserable and alone would be retribution for her callousness towards him.

This morning he realized it had been more than a week since he took her from her apartment. It had been too easy to take her. Melanie was always trying to be the nice one. When he stopped by her apartment, she invited him in and even tried to have a friendly chat with him. He slipped the GHB into her soda when she went to the bathroom and soon after she couldn’t even stand up on her own. It was effortless to slip away with her in his uncle’s pickup truck and take her to the cabin.

When she came to and found herself shackled to the bed, her screams of outrage were audible through the gag. When he walked over to the bed, Melanie tried to fight him off with her legs. His fists and a knife had stopped her quick enough. After he had raped her the first time, she retreated into herself and seemed to never return.

CJ was being stupid to keep her alive. He just didn’t know how to let her go. But the longer she lived, the more chances of something happening to ruin everything. Someone could find her. She could escape. The police would realize he had been the one to take her. His panic at the possibilities forced him to drive out here and finish what he had started.

“Beg me to take you back, Mel,” he spat at her face. Her eyes did not move from the ceiling. Repeatedly he had asked her what she was thinking about and she had not answered him.

He ran his hands through her blonde hair. His once beautiful girlfriend was now barely a shell of her former self. Her hair was knotted and oily from lack of bathing. Bruises and dried blood covered her arms and face. Her green t-shirt and shorts she wore on the day he had taken her were caked with blood that had turned a rust color. In this state, she was a wretched and unlovable thing. Hatred coiled in his belly and he felt the urge to cause her more pain.

He grabbed a hunting knife with a wooden handle off of the kitchen counter. Stalking over to her, he taunted her with the knife. “Maybe after I’m through with you, I’ll have some fun with your sister. You know I always had a thing for blondes.”

He was shocked when she still didn’t respond. It only fueled his anger and he leaped on top of her. “I’m going to kill you tonight, Mel. You’re never going to see anyone you care about. And I’m going to make it hurt, I promise you that.”

His hands shook and he felt almost dizzy over the intensity of his loathing. As seconds stretched on, she finally focused on his face. After she unsuccessfully tried to speak through the gag, he removed it. “I’m already dead,” she whispered. “I’ll never give you what you want, CJ. You can’t have me anymore.”

The knife seemed to plunge down on its own accord. Blood splattered everywhere. It drenched his body and seeped into the bedding. He had no memory of bringing down the knife again and again. He couldn’t even recall if she screamed or not. It was as if he had completely lost touch with reality and blacked out. When he came to, blood was all he saw until he looked deeply into Melanie’s unseeing eyes…

“Kate! Open the door! Dammit, Kate!”

Melanie was screaming. No, Kate realized, Melanie wasn’t screaming. She was dead. It was Kate screaming as she came out of her vision. As her terror subsided, sobs erupted from her. She had failed again. They had been too late to save Melanie. CJ had killed her just last night.

Declan’s voice yelled at her from behind the closed door of her hotel room. Running over to the door, she swung it open and collapsed in his arms. He was firing questions at her, but she couldn’t find her voice. It was as if saying the words out loud would make them real. Kate shut her eyes as Declan held her. Behind her eyes, all she could see was Melanie’s blood—dripping off of the hunting knife—drenching Melanie’s body. Nothing could have prepared her for witnessing such a brutal act. Her sobs turned into dry heaves and she felt it hard to maintain a grip on reality.

“Kate, please,” Declan begged. “Tell me what happened.”

Kate shook her head emphatically. “I can’t…” she moaned.

Declan cupped her face and he leaned down to meet her eyes. His thumb brushed away a few tears that streamed down her face. Her breath came out in gasps and she felt the panic continue to rise in her. It seemed as though she was falling without anything solid to grab onto.

“Look at me.” He waited until her hazel eyes locked onto his. “It’s over. Whatever you saw has already happened. You don’t have to go back there ever again,” he promised.

Kate hiccupped and stepped out of his embrace. Walking over to the nightstand, she grabbed a tissue and wiped at her face. She sat at the edge of the bed and hung her head down. She felt the bed lower as he took a seat next to her. “Melanie was killed last night. CJ murdered her in his uncle’s cabin.”

There was a sharp intake of breath next to her. “You’re sure?”

“Unfortunately I am,” she replied. “I saw into CJ’s mind. He drugged her and kept her bound and gagged in his uncle’s cabin. For nine days, he tortured her. What kind of sick monster is capable of such a thing?

“Last night, he flipped out and stabbed her so many times that I lost count. It was horrific…” her voice trailed off. Declan pulled her close to him until she was practically on his lap.

“Where’s the cabin? Why wouldn’t anyone check it out?” Declan sounded enraged over the unfairness of it all. As much as he had denied any emotional attachment, this confirmed that Declan had developed a connection to Melanie too.

“It’s in Michaux State Forest.” She recalled the name from CJ’s memories. It hadn’t surprised Kate when she found herself inside of his head. He was obviously demented and didn’t have the mental faculties to conceal his thoughts from her.

Kate squeezed her eyes tight as she further explained the information she gleaned from the vision. “Guess that’s a little over a half an hour from here. His uncle took boys there to molest, including CJ. CJ was the only one who knew about it and used it after his uncle killed himself.”

Declan made a noise of disgust. “I tried to get into CJ’s mind tonight, but I didn’t see anything. Instead, I had a vision of Brad when he first met Melanie at the gym. I thought it was maybe a hint he was involved since he had been thinking about her. I had no idea we were too late to find her.” He groaned in frustration before adding, “We have to call Delaney and the police.”

Kate had promised Delaney mere hours ago she would bring her sister home to her. This was never the way she expected it would happen. Only last night, she had seen a vision of Melanie. It must have been right before she had been killed. They had been so close to saving her. She couldn’t help but play out the many “what ifs” in her head as she thought about Melanie’s slaughter.

“CJ hated her for leaving him. He wanted to cause her pain and beg for his forgiveness. But she wouldn’t. No matter what he did, she never gave him the satisfaction of pleading with him for her life,” Kate murmured. “I think that’s the reason we never saw a vision of what happened to her. She retreated into herself and relived all of her happiest memories,” she explained.

“At least that’s some consolation. Maybe it helped her avoid some of the pain,” he said and shook his head. “Do you want me to call Delaney?”

She nodded and arose from the bed. As Declan dialed her number and set off to the corner of the room, Kate reached for her own phone on the nightstand. It was almost ten o’clock at night and Jared had still not returned her call. She tried to feel livid, but the only thing she felt was raw need. His phone went right to voicemail. “Jared…” her voice trailed off. The voicemail recorded her silence for several seconds before she spoke again. “Something happened. I had a vision tonight and well…Melanie’s dead. It would mean a lot to me if you would call me back. Well…bye.”

Kate would’ve preferred not to tell Jared what had happened over voicemail. However, she needed him to realize how important it was for him to call her immediately.

She turned towards Declan’s form as he stood looking out the window and talked in soothing tones into the phone. A few minutes later, he hung up. Holding up the phone, he stated numbly, “That was rough. Delaney wants us to meet her at the police station. They’re going to want to hear your story before they bring in CJ for questioning.”

Declan walked over to her and gripped her by the shoulders. “I know you’re thinking we failed, but get it out of your head. You did a good thing tonight.”

“How?”

“If you didn’t have the vision, CJ may have gotten away with what he did to Melanie. Melanie’s family can now know what happened to her. Sometimes not knowing is worse than the alternative…”

“I really wanted to save her,” she confessed in hushed tones.

“We couldn’t save her, but at least CJ will be locked up for the rest of his life and never be able to hurt anyone again.”

It was kind of him to try and comfort her, but the sadness was choking her from the inside out. Nothing would ever erase the deadened look in Melanie’s eyes as CJ spewed his hateful words at her. Her hands balled into fists. Prison was too good for him. He deserved a long and torturous death and a trip straight down to hell.

Chapter Twenty

Kate’s hands still shook as she gripped the coffee cup. It had gone lukewarm some time ago, but she couldn’t seem to let it go. Staring down into her drink, she went over the last few hours in her head. The police had seemed skeptical over her story, but could not discount how much she knew about the case without ever meeting Melanie. It took them awhile to stop treating her as a suspect and actually take what she said seriously. After a clerk showed investigators several articles about her from Franklin newspapers, they decided to look into her story.

After a property records search revealed a cabin in Michaux State Forest owned by CJ’s deceased uncle, things started happening quickly. Investigators were headed to both CJ’s house and the cabin. Declan and Kate waited for some time with the family, but she felt like any minute she would break. Their sorrow was cutting off her ability to breathe. She couldn’t stand the idea that she was somehow a catalyst for their pain. Melanie’s mother and sister collapsing against one another as they cried out with loss were more haunting images arresting her brain. With a hasty exit, Kate made her way out of the front doors of the police station. Declan instructed the family to call as soon as there was any news.

Kate felt a chill in her bones and turned up the heater of Declan’s car as he spoke outside on his cell phone. A local number had called just as they pulled into the parking lot of their hotel. The clock blurred as she rubbed at her tired eyes, but she saw that it was just after two in the morning.

Declan entered the car. “CJ cracked during questioning. He confessed to Melanie’s murder. He’s going to take police to the cabin and show them where on the property he buried her body.”

“I hope they don’t go easy on him for cooperating.”

“Nah. P.A. still has the death penalty. He’ll either be put down or be someone’s bitch in prison for the rest of his life,” he said lightly. Facing her, he remarked, “By the way, the Pirolas are grateful for what you did tonight. Obviously, it’s not the outcome everyone wanted, but you let them know what happened to Melanie. They want you to have the reward.”

Her stomach revolted. “I don’t want their money.”

Declan gave her a sympathetic look. “Let’s get you inside. We don’t have to talk about any of this right now.”

He turned off the car and opened the car door for her. Wordlessly, he led her through the deserted hallways of the hotel. He stopped outside of her door as she dug out her key card. She fumbled through her purse forcing it to fall to the ground. The contents spilled out and Declan knelt down to help her pick up everything. Her hands trembled as she tossed in each item. Kate’s eyes remained downcast although she felt Declan’s stare on her face.

“Kate…” he started.

She cut him off. “Declan, I’m fine. Goodnight.”

“You’re not fine,” he disagreed. “You know what my mother used to say when I used to cry about my accident and feel sorry for myself. It was an old Irish saying that went something like ‘Be not burdened with tears of sorrow, enjoy the sunshine of the morrow.’”

Raising to her feet, she mumbled, “No offense if I don’t take your mom’s advice. I saw your mom in visions, she seemed like a raging bitch to me.”

He laughed heartily. “There’s my Kit Kat. Filled with piss and vinegar and not about to let the world drag her down.”

Opening the door to her room, she eyed him warily. “I’ll probably regret this, but do you think you could stay in here tonight? I’m just afraid…that I’ll have another vision of CJ.”

“I should’ve known you would be trying to get me in your bed as soon as we were alone,” he quipped.

Kate smiled tightly. “Don’t start drawing hearts around my face in your yearbook just yet. I meant the sofa, not the bed,” she answered.

With a crooked grin, Declan followed her into the room. Kate could barely summon the energy to collect the extra pillows and blankets from the closet and place them on the couch. She hadn’t brought anything to change into, but had purchased a tube of toothpaste from the vending machine. With a thorough finger brushing, she exited the bathroom and hoped to be comatose in minutes.

She gaped at Declan. He had his shirt off and was just about to pull down his jeans as she entered the room. “What in the world are you doing?”

“What?” he asked with an innocent expression. “I sleep naked.”

“This isn’t a stay at the Hedonism Resort. Put your damn clothes back on,” she commanded. Slipping into bed, she turned off the lights before she could see if Declan complied. “Goodnight, Declan.”

“Goodnight, Kate.”

She squirmed in the bed as she tried to get comfortable. Too many thoughts were running through her head. As much as she wanted to block out CJ’s thoughts, they tainted her psyche. Dealing with Ally’s disturbed thoughts was like a trip to an amusement park when compared to CJ’s psychoses.

While at the police station, she had tried not to dwell on Jared and his refusal to call her back. She understood why he may be mad at her, but after her last message, it was cruel to not reach out. Kate would’ve never ignored him if he really needed her. Were things over between them?

Yesterday, she would never have entertained the possibility that Jared could be seeing Nikki again. Now, she had too many doubts. She had thought he was being a gentleman by waiting for sex. His patience combined with his disappearing act forced her to wonder if he had been with someone else.

She was certain Declan’s male pheromones were also affecting her brain. Because she couldn’t stop thinking about how good he had looked when she stepped out of the bathroom. He definitely had that hot, bad boy look going for him. She had also developed a strange kinship to him over the past few weeks. Jared and her mother tried to understand her feelings abut being psychic, but unless you were the one constantly popping up in someone else’s head, it was hard to comprehend.

Closing her eyes, she forced her thoughts away from everyone. Maybe if she kept her mind completely blank, she wouldn’t have any more visions for the night. Before she slipped into a deep slumber, she had a flash of Melanie’s cadaverous eyes.

CJ removed her gag to hear her scream. Her shock at waking up handcuffed to the bed had been priceless. She could cry out to her heart’s content since no one would hear her out in the middle of nowhere. This was his secret place that she would never walk out of alive. He loved the idea of her suffering as he took control over their relationship. A constant ache had been his companion since the day Melanie left him for good. Now, she would know what real pain would be.

He sat on her legs as she tried to fight him off. Melanie’s movements became more wild and desperate as he pulled down her pants. Pounding her with his fists, blood stained his knuckles. Wrapping his arms around her throat, she gagged and struggled some more. She started to lose consciousness which made him let go. He wouldn’t kill her yet. This was only the beginning…

“Kate, wake up.”

Her face was wet with tears and she opened her eyes with a whimper. It was dark inside the hotel room except for an eerie glow cast through the window from the streetlamp outside. Shadows danced across Declan’s face as he leaned over her with an anxious expression.

His touch was soothing as he pushed back the hair out of her face. “You were crying in your sleep.”

Her eyes were haunted as she looked up at him. “It was another vision of CJ. The night he took Melanie to the cabin…”

His finger pressed down gently on her lips. “You have to forget about him. He’s in jail and can’t hurt anyone again. Don’t let him in anymore.”

Kate swallowed hard and nodded. It was good advice, but easier said than done. Her bond with Melanie made it impossible to not dwell on the things that had happened to her in that ghastly place. Kate tried to think of things that made her happy, but the darkness kept creeping in.

Focusing on Declan, she became hyperaware of his closeness. He still didn’t have his shirt on and his body was pressed against hers as his hand trailed through her hair. His caress had felt comforting at first, but as the minutes passed, it started to feel like something else.

She cleared her throat. “Dec…”

“Maybe this is my fault. I forced you into this case and I’ve been no help.”

She shook her head and murmured, “That’s not true. You’ve been working your butt off trying to find Melanie too…”

His face moved within inches of her. The warmness of his breath tickled her throat as he spoke. This close, she was able to make out every small detail of his face. Instead of meeting his eyes, she focused on the small scar at the edge of his lips. “I’ve been distracted,” Declan confessed. “It feels like every night instead of seeing Melanie, I have a vision of you.”

Kate knew he was going to kiss her. She willed her hands to push him away, but they stayed glued to her sides on the bed. As his lips settled upon hers, it wasn’t at all what she expected. She had assumed a kiss from Declan would be passionate and forceful. This kiss was gentle and exploratory.

Reaching for him, she pulled him by the neck to be closer to her. She parted her lips and he deepened the kiss. Her brain completely shut off as her body responded to him. Kate arched her back as his lips trailed down from her mouth to her neck. Her t-shirt rode up and his hands rested against her bare stomach. Her hands gripped his back as he returned to her mouth. Her desire built as his hands began to explore her body over her clothes.

He was pushing out the darkness and making her forget. As he whispered her name into her ear, Kate was about to respond when she suddenly felt like a bucket of ice cold water had been tossed on her. Her eyes widened and her body stiffened. “Jared.”

Declan pulled back and glared at her. He said dryly, “I think this is the first time a girl has ever called me the wrong name in bed.”

She pushed him back and scrambled into a sitting position. Leaning against the headboard of the bed, she sighed. “This isn’t right. Nothing can happen here.”

“Think it’s a little too late to say that,” he replied.

Turning her head, she gazed out of the hotel window. “I’m sad, Declan. A girl has died. But I can’t use you to push away that sadness.”

He rested his hand over the top of hers. “It’s not using me if I’m a willing participant.”

She bit her lip and forced her gaze back to his face. She whispered, “It’s not only that and you know it.”

“What it’s about then? Your boyfriend? I heard you on the phone all night—practically begging him to call you. Did he ever get back to you?”

She shook her head in response. “No, but that doesn’t matter. I may not know where things stand with Jared, but I still care about him. I can’t just hook up with you and pretend he doesn’t exist.”

“He’s not right for you. We could be really great together. I’m sure of it. Seeing so many of your memories makes me feel like I know you better than anyone else,” he professed.

“I can’t do this right now…maybe you should go.” Her voice shook as she brought her knees to her chest. She hung her head down and felt a new emotion added to the plethora experienced tonight. Shame.

Kate crawled under the blankets and shut her eyes. She forced an eye open after a few minutes passed and she hadn’t heard Declan leave the room. He sat on the edge of the bed staring down at her with a baffled expression.

“What are you doing? I’m serious, Declan, I’m sorry if I lead you on…”

“Settle down and just move over,” he commanded.

“Huh?”

“Don’t worry I’m not going to try anything.” His voice was laced with sarcasm. “But there’s no way in hell I’m going to leave you alone. We’re still partners and I can’t have you falling apart.”

Kate let out a long breath. “Ok.” There was no sense in arguing. A night alone in the hotel room with only CJ’s bloody visions for company sounded less than appealing.

Scooting over, Declan’s heavy form laid down next to her. She pulled the blanket closer and turned her back away from him. She wanted to say something to him, but found herself at a loss for words. Her regrets choked off the words and she rested next to him in silence. Soon, exhaustion dragged her under and she couldn’t fight off sleep any longer.

Chapter Twenty-One

Not a single drop of alcohol had passed her lips, yet she woke up feeling hung-over. Although the sun had barely risen, it scorched her eyes as she lifted her head and looked out of the window. Her body ached and her head pounded. Even her ears were ringing.

As she gained consciousness, she realized it wasn’t her ears ringing. It was the phone on the nightstand. She glanced over at it before her eyes landed on the form next to her. Declan was in a deep slumber lying on his belly and his hands over his head. She rose from the bed and dragged her feet over to the cell phone. “Hello,” she croaked.

“Jesus…Kate…I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I missed your calls. It has been a hell of a twenty-four hours. Are you ok? What happened?”

Jared fired questions at her that Kate didn’t have the strength to answer. She clutched the phone and allowed the silence to stretch out.

“Kate, are you there?” Jared’s concerned voice had an intoxicating effect on her. It made her feel dizzy and regretful as the night’s events played out in her head. She needed to put distance between herself and Declan’s sleeping form. Slipping into the bathroom, she gently closed the door.

“I’m here,” she murmured.

“I got your messages. I’m really sorry about Melanie. Of course, I was stuck at work and just got home. I didn’t have my phone with me all night. Talk about the worse freaking timing ever,” he said and swore colorfully.

Kate willed herself to believe him. She didn’t want to consider the notion that he was lying and was actually with Nikki last night. He sounded sincere and Kate couldn’t imagine he was that talented of an actor. “Jared, it’s six in the morning.”

“I know, Kate. We have so much to talk about. Let’s not get into it right now,” he suggested. “Just tell me how you’re doing.”

“It was horrible. The most gruesome and terrifying vision I ever had. I was in CJ’s head and I saw him torture and murder Melanie.” She felt tears threaten to surface again. “I can’t stop seeing it over and over again. I needed you last night. But you never called…”

Jared spoke softly. “Kate, I’m here now. Just come home.”

As much as she wished away the kiss with Declan, it still was there. Choking off any anger she could possibly have over Jared’s disappearing act. Who was she to give him a hard time when she’d been making out with his nemesis only a few hours earlier? It felt hypocritical and she couldn’t rush to judgment until she heard his explanation.

“I’m leaving soon,” she promised. She asked uncertainly, “Will you come over when I get back?”

“Of course and Kate…I’m sorry,” he stated.

Kate wasn’t sure what exactly he was apologizing for—Melanie’s death, their fight or him being MIA—but figured she would find out soon enough. After saying goodbye, she disconnected the call and sat down on the edge of the toilet seat. Her brain couldn’t process everything at that moment, but one thought gnawed at her. She had the strongest desire to be home in Franklin and as far as possible from this town as possible.

Exiting the bathroom, she almost felt bad to wake up Declan and take the peaceful expression off of his face. As she shook his shoulder, he let out a moan. After a much more forceful push, he finally turned over and opened his eyes. “Don’t you look ravishing in the morning.”

She flushed and tried to smooth down her hair. A restless night was certain to mean bed head and bags under her eyes. Without preamble, Kate stated, “Jared called.”

His penetrating stare reminded her of the look her mom got when she was trying to solve a particularly challenging crossword puzzle. “So, where was Law and Order last night?”

“Working,” she answered shortly.

His eyebrows shot up. “All night?”

She didn’t bothering addressing the disbelief in his voice. “Apparently.”

She sat down on the bed. Casting him a sideways glance, she sighed. “We should probably talk about what happened.”

“Oh no, it’s way too early in the morning for this.” He sat up and stretched lazily. “First, we need copious amounts of coffee. And not the crap they give you at one and a half star motels in hick towns.”

“Dec…” she started uncertainly.

“Kate, whatever speech you have planned out in your head, I don’t need to hear it.” He gave her an even look. “I’m a realist. I’ve seen visions of you with Jared. It’s pretty damn obvious how you feel about him.” He knew this, but had still tried to start something with her. It made Kate wonder if his feelings ran deeper for her than simple lust. Why else take the risk?

“Last night was confusing and I’m sorry if I used you to forget about Melanie,” Kate apologized.

“Seriously, we don’t need to have a long drawn out discussion about the reasons I’m completely wrong for you,” he said with annoyance. “I’ll be fine, I promise. I’m not going home and crying over you as I listen to Kelly Clarkson.”

Kate stiffened and stayed silent as he got out of the bed. After putting on his shirt and shoes, Declan walked over to her. “I’m going to get my things from my room. I’ll meet you in the lobby in twenty minutes.”

Kate watched him go and decided for once to do the mature thing and not pursue him. If Declan would rather not hash things out, maybe it was better to leave things unsaid. As much as they butt heads, she did still crave his friendship. The thought of hurting him tore at her. However, a bad judgment call last night didn’t mean she was ready to give up on Jared.

After picking up coffee and bagels for the road at a local Chambersburg deli, Declan and Kate lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. He kept his eyes fixed on the road while she pretended to be texting someone on her phone. In actuality, she was just pressing a bunch of letters on the keypad and then erasing them.

Briefly she spoke to her mom and summarized the night’s events. Her mother was horrified, but relieved Kate was on her way home. She promised to have chocolate cake and DVDs of Reese Witherspoon movies on hand to cheer her up. After telling her she loved her, Kate hung up.

About an hour into the drive back to Franklin, Declan let out exhaled noisily. “I don’t want to see you hurt, Kate. So just for the record, I would never tell anyone about last night.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Thanks for that. But it’s not necessary. I’m going to tell Jared what happened.”

“Why?”

“Because it wouldn’t be fair to lie to him,” she said with conviction. “If we stay together, there will always be a taint to our relationship. At least, if I try to explain things to him, maybe we can move on,” she said softly.

“Listen, if things don’t work out…I don’t mind being your rebound fling,” he cracked. “But I have to say one thing to you before I let you off the hook.”

“And what’s that?”

“I told you so,” he replied. Before she could answer, he continued on. “I told you I could see the future and you were going to be kissing me before long.”

She groaned. “Thanks for not rubbing it in.”

“Cheer up,” he said and looked over at her pained expression. “I don’t think it’s possible for things to get any worse.”

“You got that right.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

After arriving back home and spending some time with her mom, Kate asked if she could have time alone with Jared at the house. Her mother agreed readily which made her suspect that she knew it was something serious and not just an excuse to get frisky with her boyfriend without any parents hanging around.

After calling Jared to let him know to come over, she attempted to come up with the words that could express her regret over everything that happened in the last two days. All the phrases she came up with sounded trite and didn’t communicate how much she hated herself for kissing Declan. Jared’s absence was odd, but it still didn’t grant her license to lock lips with another guy. Looking over the wall of family portraits and remembering how she felt when Jared was kissing her there, she willed herself back in time to yesterday afternoon.

When the doorbell rang, Kate felt like it was a death march to answer it. She tried to smile at Jared as she opened the door, but she knew it came out looking contorted. She lifted her eyes and she had sudden doubts over her plans to confess to him. He looked tired and worried, but still deliciously handsome. His hair was falling over his forehead indicating his desperate need for a haircut. He hadn’t shaved since she seen him last either. Kate desperately wanted to know how the roughness of his skin would feel as he kissed away all of the hurting she felt inside of her.

Jared must have read her mind because before she could utter a word, he was kissing her passionately. Although she should have stopped him, Kate allowed herself to get swept up in the moment. He lifted her by the hips and held her as his mouth explored hers. Kate could feel his heart racing through his shirt and she rested the palm of her hand against the hard muscles of his chest. They were both breathing hard as she pulled away.

“You should come in, so we could talk,” she forced out.

Jared nodded and entered the living room with her. “Why don’t you come over my place? I’m off of work today. We could spend the entire day together lying on my new couch that was delivered this morning.”

The offer sounded tempting. The idea of confessing was sounding less and less appealing each minute that passed by. Spending the day together and lounging on the new furniture she had helped pick out was much more preferable. She shook away her thoughts and stared at him. She led him into the living room and pulled him down on the couch next to her. “Where were you yesterday?”

“I’m guessing you didn’t read the newspaper today?”

She scrunched up her face in confusion. “Huh?”

“The case I’ve been working on actually made the front page of the Franklin Times today. A guy was trying to hire someone to murder his wife. We got tipped off by the ex-con he tried to solicit. We were working with federal and state investigators to get him. The ex-con had a wire on last night and he was caught on tape trying to offer him money to shoot his wife.” He leaned back into the couch cushions and closed his eyes. “I feel completely drained from the whole thing. I think I may use some of my comp hours to catch up on some sleep.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“I couldn’t mention the case because it was an ongoing investigation,” he explained. “I’m glad it’s over. We’ve put in so many hours into catching him—it would’ve been awful if he got away with it.”

“You’re kidding,” she whispered.

He gave her a puzzled expression. “Don’t think so. I have a strange sense of humor, but that would be a little out there to make up.”

Kate didn’t deserve him. He was out actually catching bad guys—probably saving some poor woman’s life—and she was kissing another boy in a cheap motel. She felt disgusted with herself. Why had she let Declan get into her head? It had been presumptuous and foolish to think Jared had been seeing someone else. Jared had always been straightforward with her. He understood how her powers worked and had said it would be useless trying to keep much from her. A few late night shifts were not a good enough explanation for her rationale for kissing Declan.

Kate realized he was observing her closely. “What’s wrong? Is it about Melanie?”

She wondered if she could force herself to have selective amnesia and completely block out last night. “Last night was awful. I couldn’t sleep. CJ’s memories kept popping into my head and haunting me.”

He grabbed her hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “I literally wasn’t able to get to my phone until this morning. Everything with the case was happening so fast, I didn’t have a second to even check my messages. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

Tears clouded her vision as she looked at their hands intertwined. It took all her willpower to unlace her fingers and meet his gray eyes. “Jared, I did something stupid.”

“What did you do?”

“I kissed Declan,” she admitted and burst into tears. Kate covered her face with her hands and waited for the screaming and accusations. The unearthly quiet was more unsettling than she imagined.

She peeked through her fingers to look at him. Jared had stood up and placed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. As he looked down at her, Kate couldn’t quite register the expression on his face. She expected anger, hatred or disgust. Instead, his face only displayed a sense of resignation.

“Jared, please say something,” she begged.

He heaved a sigh. “I really am at a loss…I don’t even know if I want you to tell me what happened.” His eyes probed her face. “Was it just one kiss? Did he initiate it?”

“No, it was more…and I kissed him back,” she confessed.

Jared didn’t respond as she continued to cry softly. Finally, he sat down next to her. “Look Kate...don’t be upset. I’ve been worried for awhile now that maybe things weren’t going to work out between us.”

Kate stopped crying and couldn’t mask her shock. “What?” she croaked out.

“Maybe you should be seeing guys your own age. I’m twenty-eight. I’m at a different place in my life now. I have a career and I’m over just dating. But you’ve never had that experience,” he explained.

“But I don’t need that, Jared. I only need you,” she blubbered. “I can’t lose you.”

He closed his hand around the back of her neck and moved her face towards him. Jared forced her to meet his eyes. “You won’t lose me. I promised you when we met that I would be a good friend to you, didn’t I?”

Kate forcefully moved out of his grasp. “Why are you acting like this?” she demanded and slapped her hands against her thighs. “Be pissed. I screwed up and you should be telling me how much you can’t stand what I did. You shouldn’t be so accepting and agreeable. Don’t you feel anything?” she questioned growing agitated.

His jaw tightened. “Yes, I feel something, Kate. I feel revulsion right now. But I was trying to be the good guy and take the high road.”

“I’m sorry, Jared,” she replied instantly contrite. “I was feeling vulnerable over the whole Melanie thing and Declan was there. I realized it was a mistake and I stopped things before they went too far. Don’t give up on me.”

“Kate, it’s too much to deal with. I can’t be with you and worry that any time I’m stuck late at work, you’ll feel the need to go off and kiss someone else,” he said tightly. Following his accusation, Kate’s tears began to fall freely. He stated flatly, “I’m going to leave now before either of us says something we’ll regret.”

“Jared, please…It was immature and such a huge mistake. I’m sorry,” she moaned. He shook his head and walked out of the door without replying. She called out to him, but his only answer was shutting the door behind him.

Her knees felt weak and it was hard to breathe. Kate collapsed onto the couch and grabbed a chenille throw blanket. Pulling it around her body, she tried to stop the uncontrollable shaking that plagued her. Loud sobs erupted from her mouth and a tightening in her chest immobilized her. She couldn’t believe she lost him. How could she ruin everything she had ever wanted in a single day?

Curling into a ball, Kate shut her eyes. The tears would not stop and she didn’t know how to handle the anguish of losing the person she was falling in love with. She had stopped herself from feeling anything for two years. After her coma, she never let anyone close to her. Now, the first guy she had let in was gone. The worst part was she had no one to blame but herself.

She wanted to call Julie or her mother to come and comfort her, but couldn’t summon the energy. They would also ask questions that she was too humiliated to answer. She couldn’t expect a pity party thrown for her when the situation was entirely her fault. Instead, she shut her eyes and wished herself into someone else’s brain.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Kate walked sadly into the kitchen without bothering to turn on the lights. It was dark, but she easily knew her way to the fridge. Gazing inside, she peeked under a container wrapped with aluminum foil. The casserole that her mother made looked sketchy enough that she decided to move on to something yummier. Food could be the ultimate comfort when your life was a complete mess.

Behind the bottles of soda she hit the jackpot. A tray of mini red velvet cupcakes begged for her to eat them. Popping one in her mouth, she decided that they were small enough that she could eat at least two more to equal a single regular sized cupcake. Her mother would die if she saw her, but she began to drink straight from the two liter bottle of Diet Coke to wash it down.

Wiping her mouth, Kate stilled when she heard a rustling sound at the front door. She figured it was her mother and called out. “Mom?”

No response. It was eerie, but maybe her mother hadn’t heard her. It was also strange that her mother wouldn’t turn on the lights as she entered the house. What time was it anyway? She left the fridge open to help her find the light switch and moved towards the hallway.

Her brain wasn’t able to process what was happening. A dark figure moved out of the shadows and the bottle of Diet Coke fell to the floor. A hand reached out and tightened over her forearm. Scrambling backwards to fend off her attacker, she instead slipped on the liquid and landed hard on her backside. The scream caught in her throat as the light of the refrigerator reflected on the blade of a knife. Time seemed to slow as the knife plunged towards her.

The knife tore threw fabric, skin and bone. The first cut landed in the dead center of her chest. Her fingertips danced over the wound and she stared dumbfounded at the blood that soaked her skin. After her initial shock, the pain set in. It radiated from her chest and threatened to immobilize her completely. The sting was raw and unforgiving.

Her survival instincts kicked in as she saw the knife come towards her body again. Kicking out wildly, she was able to land a few blows against the stocky figure that blocked her way to freedom. A male voice grunted as she lashed out at him. The twilight hid her attacker from her complete view and she wondered if it even mattered if she could see him. With her chest bleeding profusely and no weapon readily available, she was as good as dead.

Kate turned her body towards the dining room to try and make a desperate run for the front door. She barely got a foot away from him before she felt the knife slice into her arm. Ruthlessly, he then stabbed at her waist and pelvis. There was no hesitation in his movements. This man wanted her dead and would cut her until the job was finished.

A car door slammed nearby. Her attacker mumbled a curse and quickly disappeared into the darkness of the house. He never looked back.

Kate tried to call out. Warn whoever it was of the impending danger within the house. Instead, a garbled sound escaped her throat. The pain was too much to bear at this point. As much as she wanted to hold on for the people she cared about—her parents, Jared, Declan, Julie—she couldn’t any longer. Kate welcomed oblivion.

The late afternoon sunlight shone through the windows of the living room. Kate fumbled as she opened her eyes and landed tangled up in the chenille blanket on the carpet. Trying to catch her breath, she did a quick examination of her body. No blood. Just the Thompson College t-shirt and jeans she had changed into when she arrived home.

Kate surveyed her surrounding and immediately knew something was off. The sun was still shining and she was wearing different clothing than when she was attacked. Her mother was nowhere to be found and the front door was firmly shut. She was certain only a short time had passed since Jared left and she fell asleep on the couch.

“Oh shit,” she groaned.

Kate had just received her first future vision. And it was of her being stabbed to death in her own kitchen.

The End

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My husband Bryan, who is my first editor and biggest champion—your love and support does not go unnoticed.

Dominic and Luke, my two boys who inspire me to create on a daily basis.

Ashley, an adored member of the family who helps out in so many ways.

Trisha, who has put her heart and soul into editing both novels in the series.

My mother and father, thank you for being supportive of my writing.

A big thank you to my sisters. Their amazing qualities have found their way into each of my books.

To the rest of my friends and family, I love you all and will be eternally grateful for how much you’ve helped me succeed.

About the Author

Heather Topham Wood graduated from the College of New Jersey in 2005 and holds a bachelor’s degree in English. Working full-time as a freelance writer for publications such as USA Today, Livestrong.com, Outlook by the Bay and Step in Style magazine, she writes fiction in her spare time. She resides in Trenton, New Jersey with her husband and two sons.

New Revelations is the second novel in the Second Sight series. First Visions: Second Sight Book One was published on May 1, 2012.

Follow Heather on Twitter and her blog to keep posted on her upcoming works:

https://twitter.com/woodtop255
http://authorheather.com

JUMP TO...

NEW REVELATIONS by HEATHER TOPHAM WOOD

ARMAND by APRIL AASHEIM

TUESDAY’S CHILD by DALE MAYER

JUST A LITTLE NUDGE by JESI LEA RYAN

HAUNTED ON BOURBON STREET by DEANNA CHASE

SPIRITS AMONG US by MORGAN HANNAH MACDONAND

LONDON by JC ANDRIJESKI

AMONG THE LIVING by JORDAN CASTILLO PRICE

VAMPIRE VACATION by C.J. ELLISSON

TOUCHED by HAZEL HUNTER

ARMAND

A Daughters of Dark Root Companion Novel

BY APRIL AASHEIM

"Never trust a warlock..."

Before Maggie Maddock and her sisters returned to Dark Root, Oregon, a generation of witches and warlocks reigned over The Council – 13 men and women devoted to holding back the dark they believed would eventually end the world.

This is the origin story of Dark Root's most notable warlock: Armand.

A natural magician, Armand uses his abilities to indulge in pleasurable pursuits with little regard for others, but when a beautiful woman, a skeletal ghost rider, and a powerful witch enter his life, his world will forever change.

This novella is a prequel to The Daughters of Dark Root Series. It can be read as a standalone book or as a companion piece.

Heat Level: 2

To Mike and Nick, my little warlocks

Santo Aldea

Spain

Late October, 1964

One

Armand sat upright in his bed, a sheet draped around his waist, almost but not quite concealing the line of auburn hairs that ran from his navel to his pelvis. He reached across the naked woman, careful not to touch her as he retrieved the bottle of brandy from the nightstand beside her.

He took a long swig from the bottle, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then closed his eyes, giving the brandy time to seep down into his belly. The warmth hit him almost immediately.

Much better.

When he opened his eyes, he was greeted by the grayness of the room, a hue that deepened by degrees rather than shades.

He eyed the woman in his bed again.

She had been a beauty the night before, and he wasn’t sure if it had been the poor bar lighting or the fact that he’d been as high as Sputnik when they met. He could see now that she was not beautiful, not like the voluptuous, blonde skirts he’d partied with in Los Angeles, or the raven-haired locals of the village.

His latest companion was attractive at best, bordering on plain.

Taking another drink, he turned his attention to the stark wall in front of him, wondering how he would pass the time until she woke. Getting a woman into his bed was easy; getting her to leave was the hard part.

In LA he would have gone to her place, but here, with nothing but traveling students and backpackers to choose from, Armand was forced to bring women back to his rented room, unless he wanted to try his luck at the only motel in the area–a dump of a place rumored to be a front for a brothel, with payouts going to the local Policia.

No, thank you.

Armand slipped out of the sheets and stepped onto the cold, bare floor, looking for his pack of smokes. Ah, hell. He’d smoked them all the night before. Rifling through her purse, he saw that hers were gone, too.

Come on, lady.

A thought occurred to him as he hovered over the woman: she hadn’t moved in a very, very long time.

His best friend John liked to joke that Armand would kill a woman with his lovemaking one day. He remembered John’s exact words, spoken during a late night tequila binge in West Hollywood. “You have the death touch, man. Everything you touch turns to shit. Except for me. I’m already shit.”

What if John was right?

There were too many instances of pets falling unexpectedly ill in his care, not to mention friends and acquaintances who’d died without warning over the last several years. At the time, Armand attributed it to hard living––a peril in LA––but what if it was more than coincidence?

His mother had a green thumb. Maybe his was black.

Armand lifted the woman’s limp wrist and watched it drop back on the bed with a muffled thump. She didn’t move, not even a little.

“Ah, hell,” he said, pushing his hair behind his ears.

He considered going down the hall to his landlady’s room to use her phone, but the thought of dealing with the local Policia left him cold. He had learned the lay of the land pretty quickly, and the two main rules were: foreigners were not to be trusted, and screwing without a marriage license was strictly forbidden.

Even if she turned out to be all right, Armand might be charged with committing an Act Against God and thrown into one of those jails the other tourists whispered about. “No electricity or heat,” they joked. “But plenty of rats.”

“Wake up.”

If she was alive, she was too far under to hear him.

He repeated the words, adding a soft nudge. When she still didn’t respond, he gave her a good shake, the sweat beading on his forehead.

At last, the woman rolled onto her back, drool spilling from the side of her open mouth. Armand breathed a deep, brandy-sick sigh of relief. She wasn’t dead, but she wasn’t about to wake up, either.

Maybe he had taken too much this time.

The woman––what the hell was her name?––had given herself freely the night before, prompted by a few drinks and a shared joint. Even so, that didn’t mean she grasped the implications of allowing herself to be seduced by him.

Maybe he should warn his future lovers, issue a disclaimer right from the start:

“Screwing me will cost you a piece of your soul.”

Let them decide if it was worth the risk. Then, if something did happen, the damage was not on his hands.

Still grasping the bottle of brandy, Armand walked naked across the room. He seated himself in his only chair, next to his only window, resting his gaze on the woman’s boyish silhouette.

Back home, he would have had a TV or a radio to occupy him. Here, his only diversion was a Bible provided by his landlady. He picked it up and thumbed through it, stopping at a painting of angels and sinners, their flesh melting in flames. Spanish Bibles got right to the point. He shut it and stuck it under his chair.

He considered making noise, clanging some pans together or something. That might rouse her, but it would also bring his landlady. He wanted to get rid of one woman, not invite in another.

Instead, he peeled back a corner of the dark-paneled curtain to let the light in. The sky outside was as gray as the room, a long streak of nothingness separated only by a pane of glass. Despite what the travel agent told him, it wasn’t sunny everywhere in Spain, especially in the late fall.

A black bird the size of a football landed on his windowsill. It regarded Armand with large charcoal eyes, tilting its head up and down, taking him in. The bird’s appraisal was unnerving, as if it knew his every secret.

Armand rapped on the window twice, hoping to frighten the bird away. The creature threw back its head and emitted a loud, guttural screech––a sound so horrible, the woman in Armand’s bed sat suddenly up, clutching the sheet around her.

The bird gave him a long, knowing look, and then flew from the sill, fading into the steel-gray sky.

Armand’s heart thumped in his ears. He took a slow breath, not wanting the woman to see him startled.

“I just had a nightmare,” the woman said, her voice jittery as she looked around the room. “It was horrible…” She wiped her face with the corner of the sheet, then brushed a strand of her blond hair from her face. Her bare midriff extended outwards as she stretched, allowing Armand another glimpse of her small, pendulous breasts.

She’d claimed to be in her early twenties when he’d met her the night before, a traveler from London out for one final adventure before she had to grow up. With the muted light from the window falling on her face, Armand noted that she was at least a decade older than she’d claimed. Soft lines formed at the edges of her eyes and two deep crevices swept across her forehead. She was thirty if she was a day.

Not that age mattered to Armand; he was only interested in her energy.

“Hello, you,” she said, gathering her hair into a low ponytail as she smiled. “I was really out, wasn’t I? Are you sure you didn't drug me?”

It was a fair question, and one that came up surprisingly often. Armand arched an eyebrow and offered her a half-smile in return.

“It’s cool if you did give me something,” she continued. “I just need to know so I don’t take it again.”

Armand clicked his fingers against the half-empty bottle as she droned on. She wasn’t going to let it go, so he decided to amuse himself instead. “I didn’t drug you, but I did steal some of your life force.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t worry, though. It was only three days’ worth and I can see you are going to live a very long time, anyway.” He nodded to her pack of empty cigarettes on the nightstand. “You might even get those three days back, if you quit smoking. I hear it’s bad for you.”

She shook her head and laughed, thinking he joked. “You may have stolen my heart, as well.” She smiled, the lines around her mouth deepening. “How did you sleep?”

“I don’t sleep.”

She furrowed her brows. “You don’t sleep? Ever?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Her eyes flickered with curiosity but she didn’t pursue it. “I have to meet my friends at 3:00,” she said, searching under the blankets for her clothes. Armand remembered the moment she had removed her blouse, unbuttoning it slowly and tossing it on to the bed with the grace and tease of a show girl, her blue-grey aura flaring with anticipation.

Armand took a sip from the bottle, clearing the image from his head.

“What time is it now?” she asked.

“I don't keep track of time.”

She stared at him, expressionless. “You’re a strange and charming man, Sir.” She held up her blouse to show him that she’d found one article of clothing. “But some of us need to sleep and know the time. We can’t all be barons.”

“Touché.” Armand recalled the story he’d told her the night before. Of course, she hadn’t believed that he was actually a baron––his buckskin vest and cowboy hat screamed American––but his story interested her enough to stick around, even after her friends had left the bar for the night.

“I’ve got a watch somewhere.” She dug through her purse. “It must have fallen off during…” a blush crept across her face. She would get naked with a man, but she wouldn’t talk about it.

English women.

He went to his dresser and produced an ornate silver pocket watch from the top drawer.

“11:00,” he said, staring at it for a long moment. His mother gave the watch to him on his thirteenth birthday, claiming it was the only thing she had that belonged to his father, Sebastian Diaz. Armand clamped it shut and returned it to the drawer.

“We have time for lunch then,” she smiled, buttoning her blouse up to the neck.

Her aura was returning, a shimmering blue that swirled around her in small, heady waves. It illuminated her face, lending her a beauty she would not have otherwise possessed. Armand felt a sudden need to have her again.

“Want to get a bite to eat?” she asked more directly. “I’m buying.”

He stretched his arms, allowing her to gaze at his naked body. She stopped dressing, her pupils dilating with excitement. Without waiting for an invitation, he left the bottle on the dresser and returned to the bed, pulling her along with him. He pushed her backwards, straddling her, his fingers crawling up under her blouse.

“You don’t like me, not really,” she said, as her head hit the pillow. “You’re just using me.”

“No, I like you. I like you a lot, in fact.” He paused for effect, running his fingers along the curve of her jaw, before burying his face into the crook of her neck. She smelled like dime-store perfume, sweat, and beer.

She pushed his head back, forcing him to make eye contact with her. “If you really like me, say my name.”

Armand stared down, biting his lip. “Your name?”

“My name,” she repeated. “Or you’ll get nothing.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” Her smile cooled as she crossed her arms across her chest.

“Your legs are open and bare. I could take you if I wanted to.”

She clamped her legs shut, calling his bluff.

The move excited him. Still, Armand enjoyed a good mental game. He pulled himself upright, his knees still flanking hers.

Her name?

She mentioned it last night, but Armand had been preoccupied, listening to a man at the next table recount his experience at a real bullfight.

The woman pushed herself up on her elbows, grabbing for the sheet. “Well, it’s obvious you weren’t paying attention when…”

Armand softly snapped his fingers. “Shhh…”

The woman blinked rapidly, but lay back down. The confusion trick would only last a moment. He needed to work fast if he wanted to win.

He focused his attention on the area between her eyes. Reading her thoughts would take a great reserve of his energy, but that could be replenished. He inspected her aura. It was steadily growing, fueled by her desire and her indignation. He licked his lips, tasting brandy and salt.

What was her name?

A series of letters flipped through his brain, like cylinders on a slot machine. At last they stopped on four letters: K A T E.

He knew with certainty that her name was Kate.

“So?” She undid the top button of her blouse again, revealing the hollow of her bare neck. “Tell me my name and you’ll get everything you deserve.”

She was offering him a treat, like one would a dog that performed a particularly clever trick. Armand could have KATE again, if he were a good boy.

Armand was not inclined to be good.

“Your name,” he said, straightening his body onto hers as he bit into the lobe of her ear. “Is Edna.”

Two

Autumn arrived and the tourists left the mountain village of Santo Aldea in search of sunnier weather, or places with real mountains to ski. Armand thought about leaving, too, as the once blue Spanish skies became nothing more than a colorless painting. But he had come here on a quest to find out more about his father, had saved up money for the better part of a year, living on nothing but eggs, cheap beer, and whatever else he could con some skirt into buying him. He wasn’t about to leave until he knew something.

It had been two weeks since his night with the English woman. She left with her friends for larger cities where they could witness the spectacle known as Day of the Dead, a time when the living honored the deceased with a play and a parade.

Armand had no interest in paying homage to the dead; he rarely paid homage to the living.

With the tourists gone, he was left with only the local women to entertain him; those women were watched carefully by their chastity-defending brothers, fathers, and priests. Armand thought about abstaining altogether, but he knew it would weaken him. He’d take his chances and deal with the consequences later.

There was a heavy nip in the air and he put on his long leather jacket, the one he’d bought for the trip because he thought it would make him less conspicuous. He saw what a joke that was now. The people of this village did not wear jackets that hugged the backs of their knees, nor did the other tourists.

There was only one bar in Santo Aldea, a lively establishment at the far corner of the square that served both drinks and dinners. Unlike the other buildings in the village, it shared no walls with neighboring businesses. It held its own, open hours after the lights went flickering out in the rest of the town.

The cantina was crowded for a Wednesday night, even with the sudden exodus of the other tourists. Armand attributed it to the change in weather, a signal that the festival season had begun. Customers laughed and embellished stories as they swilled their brandy, while an old man played acoustic guitar near the front window.

Armand seated himself on a rickety stool near the end of the counter, lowering his head and listening to the conversations around him. Young men and old men spoke on topics of weather and wars and women.

“…headed for another civil war…”

“…changing world…”

“…Franco can’t live much longer.”

“…Shhh…”

“…he caught his wife…”

The chatter around him grew louder, rumbling together like idling cars on a crowded highway.

These Spaniards, so passionate about everything. It was refreshing actually, after living in California where all his friends talked about was an impending draft. At twenty-five, Armand was too old to be called up for service unless Uncle Sam became really desperate.

Armand shook his head to block out the noise, feeling the swish of his ponytail against his cotton t-shirt. He would have left his auburn hair loose, had it not been for the disapproving stares from some of the older men when he’d first arrived. There would be a time to let it down, but that would come later in the evening.

A conversation to his left caught his attention.

“…and then, Sebastian died…”

Armand jerked his head towards the speaker.

“He did? How?” an older woman asked.

“Yes. They say of a heart attack. We just got the news…”

Armand lowered his eyes. Of course, it wasn’t his father they spoke of. Sebastian Diaz was long dead. Still, he listened whenever the name Sebastian was mentioned.

When he first arrived, he had considered asking the elders about his father, but quickly changed his mind. Sebastian was most likely deemed a traitor, having left Spain during the revolution only to end up fighting on the side of the Allies during World War II.

True, times were changing, but not fast enough, and there were those with long memories who might not take too kindly to the son of Sebastian Diaz. If he was going to find out anything, he’d have to discover it on his own.

A slick-haired, mustached gentleman sidled up beside Armand and elbowed him in the ribs. His chin nodded towards a young woman at the far corner of the bar. Her ankles were crossed and her hands sat folded primly in her lap.

“Nice, huh?” he asked in English.

Since the town had opened itself up to tourism, the locals all learned English and did whatever they could to capture the American dollar.

“Yes, nice,” Armand agreed, studying the woman. Her eyelashes were so long they couldn’t be real, and her hair was the color of midnight, cut above her shoulders.

The man gave Armand a knowing grin, revealing a mouth with two brown teeth. He glanced from side to side and then leaned further in.

“You like? I can arrange for you.” Beads of beer clung to the man’s mustache. “Not too expensive. Not for you, my friend.”

The man continued his pitch, explaining what services were provided and how much each would cost him. Armand was surprised by the man’s audacity. Prostitution was illegal here, for both escort and john, and unlike LA, you wouldn’t just serve a night in the can and pay a fine. You might disappear for weeks, even months.

Perhaps the pimp was paying someone off. Whatever the case, the man didn’t seem too worried about the consequences. Maybe Armand had been overly paranoid about the whole Policia business.

“So what you think? I make special deal for you.”

Armand raised an eyebrow and appraised the woman again. She certainly didn’t look like a lady of the evening. Her clothes were both expensive and modest. Her aura was soft and inviting, not hardened like those of the hookers he knew back home.

The woman caught Armand staring and returned his gaze before demurely lowering her head. The light around her blazed neon-orange.

In that flash, Armand saw that she was no innocent; she was a skilled woman working her craft.

“What you say?” the man asked, his eyes darting around the bar in search of other potential customers. “I have room next door. I let you use for a few pesetas more.”

“No thanks,” Armand said. “Not tonight.”

The man looked disappointed but quickly brightened. “I have others. Younger. Older. Bigger. Smaller. You tell me what you like and we make deal.”

Armand sighed. It wasn’t that he had anything against chippies, he just wasn’t in the mood for that tonight.

“No, thank you,” he said more firmly.

“Okay, then. You come find me anytime you change your mind.”

The man finished his beer and left. Armand pushed the empty stool away with his foot, hoping to discourage anyone else who might want to strike up a conversation.

The bartender poured him a drink and he relaxed, watching as customers continued to filter in. Armand’s desire stirred as he noticed that more than a few were unescorted women. He took a long, slow breath and exhaled, allowing his energy to flow out from him in thin wisps, circulating around the room.

His energy feelers sought out each woman, coiling around her like a vine, tasting her essence. Finding nothing that interested him, he reeled them back in.

The act left him exhausted and he shook like an alcoholic who had gone too long without a drink. He’d been foolish to expend so much of his energy. It would be a sleepless night without a fix, a night of sweats and hallucinations.

He eyed the young prostitute again.

Her life force was strong, if not particularly clean. He could use the pimp’s room for an hour or so, siphon off enough to get him through the next few days. Still, the thought of paying for it was almost as unappealing as the thought of going without.

He tapped his empty glass, signaling to the bartender that he’d like another drink. He loved brandy and had become quite the connoisseur over the last month. It was one of the things the Spaniards did well.

That, and the inquisitions, he thought bitterly.

While he contemplated his next move, an argument started near the front door. Two men shouted at one another, calling out insults. The younger of the two lifted a stool and smashed it into a table close to the guitar player.

His adversaries’ eyes darkened, his energy roiling around him like a building storm.

Armand ate an olive from the tray beside him. He had never been in a fight before and wondered how he’d fare if he had to use his fists instead of his mind to get out of trouble.

A petite woman in a green dress charged into the bar, wagging her finger at the two men.

“Andale!” she yelled.

The stool-thrower reached for another chair when she pressed her finger into his chest.

“Leave, now!” She looked from one to the other. “Leave, or I will call the Policia.”

The men argued with her, though their voices were now subdued. She stamped her foot then pointed to the door.

After several minutes, the men grabbed their hats and left the bar. The woman called the bartender on duty worthless, then put on an apron and began pouring drinks, ignoring the throng of cheering admirers.

She worked here?

Armand gave her a once-over, taking in not only her physical beauty––of which she had a great deal––but also the light that encircled her like a golden nimbus. She wore a pale pink flower in her unbound hair.

“Isabella!” A young man called her over.

Isabella?

A fitting name, Armand decided. The name of a queen.

She floated through the room, smiling as she bantered with the customers. Armand felt strengthened by her light, even at a distance.

After several minutes, she found her way to his side of the bar.

“Another drink?” Isabella asked, her eyes already checking to see who else needed her.

Her lack of interest intrigued him. He wasn't used to being dismissed.

“One more, yes.” He put on a carefree grin and pushed a loose strand of his hair behind his ear. While holding the smile, Armand extended his energy outward, wrapping it around her like a shawl. He trembled with the exertion of the task, but if it worked…

Her aura shimmered as she fully noticed him for the first time. He leaned forward, introducing himself.

“I’m Armand.”

“Your eyes are so beautiful,” she said, her hand clenched around his drink. “They’re green with silver flecks inside. I’ve never seen anything like them before.”

The other bartender approached her from behind, ready to interrupt. Armand briefly redirected his focus, pushing the man away.

The bartender walked off, confused.

“I can’t take credit for my eyes,” Armand said, returning his attention to Isabella. “I got them from my mother.” He took the glass from her and set it down.

“She must be beautiful,” Isabella said, bending forward enough for him to cast a quick peek down her loose blouse. He inched his hand across the counter, until his fingers found her elbow. At his touch, she shivered.

“My mother was very beautiful,” Armand answered. “She was the kindest woman I knew, practically a saint.” He smiled at the memory of her in her white uniform, leaving for work. “She was a nurse.”

“Was? She no longer works in the profession?”

“No, she…” Armand spread his fingers and stared at his drink.

“Oh.” Isabella’s face reddened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. A nurse is a noble profession.” Her light spread out around her, warming them both.

Armand scooped her hands in his. He hadn’t planned on reading her thoughts, but they were so bright he couldn’t help but see them. She was a kind child who had dreamed of becoming a nurse too, a dream killed by her traditionalist father.

“You would have been a great nurse,” Armand said, stroking the tops of her hands. “But everybody helps in their own way. Even here, you help others.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Her eyes softened further and she gave him a grateful smile.

“I hope one day to find a compassionate woman like my mother.”

The golden light around her flickered. “You have no wife, then?”

“No.” He massaged her wrists, her energy pulsating wildly as he touched her. “I guess I haven’t met the right woman, yet.”

Her co-worker reappeared, tapping Isabella on the shoulder and pointing to the room full of ignored customers.

“I’m getting to them,” she said, not hiding the annoyance in her voice. “I won’t be long,” she promised Armand, then left to take orders.

After a short while, she returned.

“Where were we?” she asked.

Armand smiled. “You were about to tell me your dreams.”

“Was I?” She shrugged. “I’m not sure I have any dreams. Getting out of here, maybe.” She opened her arms to show that she meant not only the bar, but the entire town. “What I need is a gypsy to come and tell me my future.”

Armand licked his lips. “You are in luck. I can tell you your future. I have gypsy blood running through my veins.”

“Is that so?” she asked, her eyes flashing. “Will I marry a prince or become a famous actress then? Or perhaps inherit a castle?”

Armand clasped her hands in his, then closed his eyes. “You were named Isabella after your grandmother, correct?”

“Yes,” she said with a startled hesitation. “But that is no secret. You could have found that out from anyone here.”

“True, but I didn’t.”

She trembled slightly and leaned in closer. He could smell the flower in her hair. “What else do you see?”

Armand relaxed his grip. “It will cost you a coin.”

“A coin?”

“Any coin. Your future is worth nothing if it’s free.”

Her eyelashes fluttered thoughtfully.

After a moment she reached into her apron pocket and produced a copper penny. Armand accepted the token, placing it on the counter between them.

He cleared his mind, focusing only on her thoughts. They spun before him like a roulette wheel, starting and stopping, starting and stopping, before settling on the memories of her future.

She had a myriad of roads before her.

Some were bright, such as her father’s attitude softening so that she become a teacher or a nurse. But there were bleaker paths too, falling for men who didn’t love her back or working at this bar until she was old and her spirit deflated.

Isabella’s fate wasn’t sealed like most of the women he’d met. It could go either way.

He quickly withdrew his hands from hers.

“Having trouble seeing my future?” she asked.

“Not at all.”

She tapped her foot on the wooden floor. “I paid you good money. I’m waiting.”

He struggled with his desires. He wanted the woman, but what if he altered her course so that she veered down one of those hopeless roads?

Isabella leaned forward again, allowing him another glimpse down her blouse––this time, most certainly on purpose.

“So?” she asked, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger.

She had chosen her path, on this night at least.

“You want to know your future?” Armand stood and captured her hands on the bar beneath his. “When your shift is over, you will meet me by the fountain in the square. We will share a drink and take a walk,” he whispered. “During that walk I will guide you back to my apartment where I will invite you in. You will hesitate, but follow…”

“That is not…” Isabella shook her head, trying unsuccessfully to pull her hands away.

“…once inside, I will push you against the wall and remove all of your clothing. I’ll run my hands across your body and kiss you until I erase the memories of any other man you’ve ever been with.” He paused, staring into her eyes. “You will not be able to fight me off.”

Her breathing quickened. He sensed her willpower melt. He plucked the pink flower from her hair and rolled the stem between his fingers.

“You will beg me to make love to you…”

“I am not that kind…” she objected, her face flushed to the color of her flower.

“When I’m done with you,” he stopped her, “you will leave, but return to my apartment the next night. And the next.” He slid his hands up to her shoulders, no longer caring who saw him. “And Isabella, you are that kind of girl. All women are, with the right man.”

He picked up the nickel from the counter and showed it to her. “I’ll see you at the fountain in one hour. We’ll throw this in and make a wish.”

He finished his drink in one quick swig then left the bar, feeling her eyes follow him out the door.

Three

Isabella came to the fountain as Armand predicted.

She had ditched her work attire and now wore a bright yellow skirt the color of summer, a fitting accompaniment to the sunny aura that hummed around her. A fresh pink flower was tucked behind her ear.

Armand felt an immediate connection with her, and an inexplicable desire to know everything about her. He had never experienced this with any of the others.

They talked for hours in excited whispers as the fountain burbled behind them, sharing stories and gossiping about the locals. She confessed that although she’d been raised in the village, she envied the freedom of the female tourists who passed through. She planned to leave herself one day, to a place where there were more opportunities for women.

“My mother would have wanted it for me,” she said, a wall of sadness closing in around her. She fluttered her eyelashes, shaking it off. She squared her shoulders and spoke with determination. “I will do it for her, as well as myself.”

Bolstered by her own confession, Armand took a chance.

“Have you ever heard of a man named Sebastian Diaz?” He casually tossed their coin into the fountain as he spoke his father’s name.

Isabella pursed her lips as her eyes drifted to the water.

“No. I don’t think so.” She shook her head. “Well, perhaps. The name does sound familiar, but that is not an uncommon name. Why do you ask?”

“He was a friend of my mother’s. He must have been a good man if he knew her.” He searched for more coins in his pocket.

Isabella stared across the village square, before affixing her eyes to the moon. “I will ask around, then.”

“No, it is not necessary. My mother didn’t know him well. She mentioned they had a brief friendship when she served during the war.”

“When she worked as a nurse?”

Armand nodded, and before Isabella could ask more questions he pulled her into the folds of his arms and kissed her, tasting her light. It was honey to his lips. Without reservation, she reached for his hand and allowed him to escort her back to his apartment.

“Aren’t you worried?” he asked, the sweetness of her kiss still burning his lips as they entered his room.

“Why should I worry?” She smiled enticingly as she shut the door behind them.

He kissed her again, pressing her body into the wall with his own. “You don’t know me. Or the things that I can do to you.”

“But I feel I do know you.”

Armand blinked. He sensed he knew her, too. But how? He stared for a long moment into her chestnut eyes.

She wrapped one leg around his back and then the other. He carried her to his bed and laid her down, his hunger growing. He could sense rather than see her smile.

“Dark be damned!” He went to the window and pulled open the curtains. He needed to see her.

“Come back,” she called, rolling on to her side.

She ran her fingers along the edge of the bed as she took him in. The moonlight streaming through the window caught the nape of her neck and he was overcome by an urgent desire to bury his face in that very spot, in the illuminated crest between her shoulders and her face.

“Take your clothes off for me,” he answered.

Her eyes flashed. “You first.”

He liked her unwillingness to submit to his immediate demands. It aroused his body and his mind.

Armand took his time unbuttoning his dark-green shirt, allowing her eyes time to wander down his muscular chest and slim torso, before settling on the region where his bare skin met his faded jeans. He set the shirt on the back of his chair.

“Your turn,” he grinned, moving towards the bed.

She pulled her dress over her head, letting it drop to the pillow behind her. Her breasts were as full and as white as the moon-stamp on her neck. She covered them with the palms of her hands as he continued his advance.

“Save me,” he said, unbuttoning his jeans and kneeling before her, his breath caressing her ankles.

She sat up. “What do you mean?”

Armand squeezed his eyes shut. He had no idea what he’d meant. He lifted her foot, pressing his lips to her heel. “Nothing.”

“I’ve never been with a man…” she said, her breathing deepening as he crawled his way up her body and pressed her into the mattress.

“No?”

“No.” She pressed her lips together, shaking her head. “I’m a virgin.”

Armand cocked his head, filtering through her many thoughts. He saw Isabella kissing other men, touching them, but never completing the act. She was a virgin. He pressed his cheek to hers, unsure how to proceed.

“It’s okay.” Her hand caught in his hair as she freed it from the rubber band. “I feel so close to you. Like we’ve known each other for years, not hours. I want to.”

He closed his eyes, reading her again. The images that appeared forced his eyes back open. Damn it! He hit the bed with the side of his fist.

“What’s wrong?” She grasped for the sheet lying next to her. “I’m so embarrassed. I threw myself at you, and you don’t even want me. Please don’t tell anyone.”

He looked at her. How could she think he did not desire her? She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. “Yes, yes I do want you.”

“It only has to be for tonight…”

She wasn’t telling the truth.

Isabella believed in signs and earlier that day that she had been fighting with her father. He demanded that she marry a man much older than herself who had a good family and owned some land. She prayed to the Angels to have her burdens lightened, and then, miraculously, Armand appeared. It must be God’s hand. She had no intention of letting him go.

Armand pressed his lips together. This wasn’t the first woman who’d made such assumptions, and he had even played along, but there was something different about Isabella. He sat up and dangled his legs over the side of the bed, his face in his hands.

Isabella climbed to her knees and pressed her naked breasts into his back. She ran her fingers through the long strands of his hair. “I shouldn’t have told you, but I didn’t want you to think I was one of those women.”

“I wish you were.” He had taken his share of those women, Hell, he had taken someone else's share, too. But he had never taken a virgin.

Her warm breath fell upon his neck.

He dropped one of his hands into his lap. He could show her things, of course. Open her up to a new world of pleasure. No real harm in that. Not if she loved it.

“Please,” she whispered. “I’m a grown woman. I know what I want.”

And it wasn’t like he was promising anything. His other hand dropped.

“Armand…”

Her fingers traced a line across the back of his neck. Her aura filled the room, an intoxicating blend of fear and desire.

“I can’t.” He turned to look at her, hardly believing he spoke the words.

“Lay by me.” She patted the mattress beside her, lowering herself down. He obeyed. White-yellow energy rippled around her and he wanted to immerse himself in it. He took her hand again, allowing her thoughts to flood through him: memories of her childhood, Catholic School, news of her mother dying…

She was as broken as he was.

His eyes slid towards the window, staring at the stone wall of the adjacent building outside. “I can never love you. I don’t think I can love anyone.”

She smiled, climbing on top of him, turning his head back to meet hers. “I’m not asking you to.”

Armand’s eyes took in the swell of her breasts, the soft roundedness of her belly. She raised her skirt, allowing him a glimpse of her thighs. She raised it further, revealing the white lace of her panties.

His resolve broke.

If there was a God, as his Catholic mother claimed, at least He would know Armand had tried to be good.

His hands worked on his zipper. He needed to feel her life-force, to understand what it was like to be pure, too.

She lowered her hips, hovering above him. He saw her thoughts without probing––she imagined them falling in love, getting married, moving away and sending for her family. He saw all the hopes she pinned on him.

He squeezed his eyes to block it out. The images broke into confetti.

The pink flower fell from her hair, landing on his chest. He took it, holding it against his heart. If he was going to do it, he was going to make this memorable for her.

“Close your eyes,” he said rolling her onto her back. He looked down at her, tucking his hair behind his ears so that he could see her face. “It will feel like a dream.” He brushed the side of her face with her flower. “A very good dream.”

Four

There are some doors you should not open.

Armand sipped his brandy from the far edge of the town square, watching the people of the village go about their lives with the self-importance one gives the task of buying a loaf of bread or sweeping a sidewalk.

The sun cast a fiery hazy over the landscape, blurring the multi-colored, two and three story buildings into the sleek mosaic pavers that covered the square. The scene resembled a watercolor painting, with no clear edges or images to focus upon.

Armand put on his sunglasses, not to shield his eyes against the setting sun or the hazy watercolor world, but because he felt less conspicuous with them on.

The municipal building clock tower hovered above the town, watching for moral infractions while counting down the hours until judgment. Superstition ran deep in this part of the world, even among the more progressive.

God and his Angels and his Saints saw everything and would reward––or punish––accordingly.

The fountain in the middle of the square was the most obvious reminder of God’s presence here: four laughing cherubs converged around a tall statue of Mother Mary. The cherubs held pens and scrolls in their chubby fingers, recording the deeds of the township while Mother Mary looked on with compassionate eyes, her arms outstretched and ready to receive the worthy.

An arrow of birds flew overhead, chasing the sun. They had the right idea, Armand thought, suddenly missing L.A. Back home, he’d still be in shorts and the women would be in sundresses and bikini tops. Well, at least he had his drink––if he was going to be stuck somewhere so dark and primitive, at least he had his drink.

As he nursed his third brandy of the evening, he watched for Isabella. Her work shift started two hours ago, yet he hadn't seen her enter the bar. Was she ill? He could go in and inquire, but if she was there he’d have to face her, and if she wasn’t…

…if she wasn’t, he didn’t want to know why.

A woman emerged from a shop across from him.

For a moment he was certain it was Isabella. He sat up straight, craning his neck, only to see that the woman was older and rounder than Isabella, her aura the color of ripened fruit.

To hell with it all.

He crinkled the flower in his hands: the flower from Isabella’s hair the first night they made love. Three weeks they were together, and each night she came to him with a new pink flower in her hair, but this one he kept.

He opened his palm and stared at the crushed petals. Why should he care what happened to her? She wasn’t the first woman he’d let go and she wouldn’t be the last.

Feeling the anger rise up in his chest, Armand disentangled himself from the patio chair and stormed towards the fountain.

He hadn’t made his wish the night they tossed Isabella’s coin into the well. He’d make it now.

“I wish to never think of you again.” His words slurred as he dropped the broken flower into the water.

He was drunk, publically drunk, but he didn’t care.

“Take me away!” He beckoned with his fingers, looking up and down the road to see if any of the policia were out, but there was only a handful of people left as day turned to dusk.

“Ah, hell. I can’t even get myself arrested.”

His head pounded like a drum and he pushed his fingers into the sides of his temple to alleviate the pressure. He thought the liquor would have cured it, but it only made it worse.

I just need to sleep.

Sleep.

Now there was an idea.

He hadn’t been lying when he told the English woman he didn’t sleep. Sleep came hard to him. His insomnia was the reason he started drinking and smoking weed at the age of sixteen. Now, the remedies which were meant to help him get through the night were necessary to get him through his days.

He could take some pills, but he had less than a handful left and he wasn’t sure he could get more.

He stared at the cherub nearest him: a fat, winged child with round, mocking eyes. It wrote quickly and Armand stepped backwards, resisting the urge to read the scroll. The pounding in his temples quickened.

Three nights. That’s how long it had been since he had slept. He stopped doing everything the night he said goodbye to Isabella.

They had just made love. She was still in bed, a dreamy expression on her face, her black hair fanned across the white pillow. He dressed, not meeting her eyes as he gave her the speech.

She was a great girl, he said buttoning his jeans, but he just didn’t see a future for them.

Armand remembered the look on her face as if he had taken a picture. Her lips slightly parted, her eyes crinkled, her head cocked to the side.

She smiled a little. “You are joking?”

“It’s not you.” He continued his march across the room, gathering pieces of her clothing and placing them on the foot of the bed. “It’s me. I’m not in any position to continue this relationship. I have to leave soon, you know that. I don’t have a job. You deserve so much better.”

She cried, soundless tears at first, begging him to reconsider.

“It will be better once we are out of here and can share our lives in public,” she said.

Armand lit a joint, inhaling––holding for the count of four, then, slowly exhaling. He continued pacing around the room, listening but not responding.

Next came the screaming and the accusations that he was without a heart and had never loved anyone but himself.

“I know, I know.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I told you in the beginning.” He took another hit from his joint as she cursed him in multiple languages.

Armand had given this speech to enough women to know that she would throw things next: plates, glasses, and his brandy. He readied himself; he might even let her hit him with something.

She needed the absolution. So did he.

But she didn’t throw anything. Instead, once the crying and the screaming were over, she stood in the center of his room with the curtains open and the murky light streaming across her tear-stained face and stared at him.

After a long, terrible silence she spoke her final words to him.

“You’ll pay, Diablo.”

She collected her things and left.

For several days, Armand stayed in his apartment, sure she would return with her father, or the policia.

But no one came.

He should have left town.

That would have been the smart thing to do. If you screw a tourist or two, no one cares, but if you ruin a local woman you’ve got trouble. He’d come to Santo Aldea hoping to learn more about his father, but his father wasn’t here, nor his father’s ghost. There was nothing to keep Armand from leaving.

Except he needed to know that Isabella was okay.

Eventually, Armand had to leave his apartment. His weed and his brandy were gone and he was growing hungry.

Sleep-deprived and shaky from withdrawals, he had staggered through the low arch that led into town, uncombed and un-showered, amazed at how the world went on, even when his life was shit.

“Are you okay?”

Armand jumped, looking for the speaker, but he was still alone by the fountain.

He eyed the scribbling cherub nearest him. By now, Armand’s scroll should be quite long. Where would he send the scroll, he wondered? To heaven or hell? Armand wished for clay to cover the thing’s eyes so it would stop watching him. He waved the statue away and stumbled back to his chair.

“Cheers!” he said, lifting his drink. “Cheers! Here’s to being alone in this screwed up world.”

A woman with a baby walked by. She frowned and gripped her child tighter.

He winked and she quickened her pace.

Armand managed to sit himself back down as his waiter dropped off a cup of hot coffee. “Please,” said the waiter, his eyes darting around the square. “Drink this and try to be more quiet. People, they will start to complain.”

“What people?” Armand opened his arms. “There’s me, and you, and that woman whose pretending she doesn’t hear me…” He raised his voice as the woman disappeared with her child. “And those demon-angels at the fountain.”

The waiter moved his gaze from the fountain back to Armand and made the sign of the cross over his heart.

“Senor, please…”

“Fine. I’ll be quiet.” Even in his state, Armand knew the waiter was right. He didn’t really want to disappear with the policia. He lifted the cup and let the steam rise to his nose.

It calmed him almost at once.

The waiter disappeared and Armand felt the sting of tears in his eyes. Why couldn’t he have stayed with Isabella? He had felt a strong connection to her, but he had meant it when he said he couldn’t love anyone. He might be able to tune into someone’s thoughts but he was incapable of sustaining any deep emotion. There was something missing from him.

“I shouldn’t feel guilty,” he said, as if speaking to a friend across the table. The shops were closing for the night and the only lights left on came from Isabella’s bar. “What’s there to feel guilty about?” he said, his words slurring into one long word.

“It’s just sex. She loved it. She told me she loved it. Why should I feel bad about it?” He felt his eyelids grow heavier with each word. “She had fun. I had fun…”

The world spun around him and he took a long draw of his coffee.

“Well, maybe taking a little bit of her life-force,” he chuckled to himself. “But its not like she needed those last few days. She won’t even miss them when the time comes.”

From the center of the square the cherub watched him, looking more like a gargoyle as the sun disappeared than an angel.

“And what do you get from it?” the cherub asked, his pen poised to write down the answer.

“Power!” Armand slammed his mug onto the table.

How could he explain to the statue that at the moment of a woman’s climax, he would siphon off some of her aura and make a wish? Money, status, charm. Tack on a few extra hours to his own life. Or maybe more energy to perform his tricks and keep the whole cycle going. Sexual energy was raw and untamed. The good stuff.

“I get power,” he repeated, wiping the drool from his lips.

The cherub eyed him. “I see.”

Armand pled his case. “I didn’t ask to be born like this.” He frowned at his offending hands, hands that plucked the flowers from women’s hair then crumbled them. “Take that up with God, okay?”

He took another drink of his coffee, his head clearing. The tears came back into his eyes.

“If I had stayed with Isabella I might have taken too much. I could have killed her. I was doing her a favor when I said goodbye.”

“You didn’t have to take anything.”

“But I did. I did. And I would, for as long as she let me.”

Scribble, scribble, scribble.

The angel lowered his pen. Mother Mary’s arms dropped to her side. Armand’s head hit the table.

Drool spilled from the corner of his mouth. Only half conscious, he drew up the image of Isabella: her arched back, her face between his hands. Their last night together when she whispered that she loved him.

He couldn’t keep a cat alive. He certainly couldn’t keep love alive. He might not even be able to keep her alive.

He closed his eyes, the image of Isabella’s crumbled flower the last thing he remembered before he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

A tap on the shoulder nudged him from his sleep.

Sleep?

He had been sleeping, without dreams or pills.

He rubbed his eyes, aware of the pounding in his head. The sun was out again. Families walked the square. He found his sunglasses on the table and put them on. He must look like shit.

“Señor, will you buy a doll? My grandmother make them homemade?” A young girl in tattered clothes stood before him, her eyes wide and hopeful. A cross hung around her neck. “The doll, she is for to protect you.”

Armand blinked at the girl, not quite comprehending. She stared back, her mouth stretching into a wide smile. He reached into his trench coat pocket and produced a handful of pesetas.

Too much for the doll, he knew, but he didn’t care.

“Gracias! Gracias!” the girl squealed, jumping up and down, her braids bouncing behind her. She gave him the cloth doll and raced off to announce her sale.

Soon he would be swarmed by an army of children, all trying to unload their overpriced goods onto him. Kindness rarely paid.

Armand studied the doll. A sweet but crude thing, with stitches that ran across its face like she’d undergone a bad surgery. He stuffed the doll into his coat pocket where his coins had been.

He was about to leave when a woman on the far side of the square caught his attention. She had brown curls that coiled down her back, a white cotton dress hemmed just above her knees, and a large, floppy hat––the type popular in his mother’s day––which framed her narrow face. She laughed easily as she conversed with a woman who was twice as wide yet inches shorter than herself.

As if she could feel his eyes on her, the woman turned, peering at him over her shoulder. As she stared, the easy manner dissolved from her face.

Once her appraisal of him was complete, her lips slid into a tight smile. Her aura flared around her, a light so blinding he was surprised it wasn’t accompanied by an explosion.

Just as abruptly, her light receded and she turned back to her friend.

“Señor, a coffee?” a young waiter, different from his server last night, asked, as he placed a clean ashtray on the table.

“Yes, a coffee. Do you know who that woman is? That one in the white hat?”

“I know everyone in the village, but this woman I do not know. I have seen her a few times this week, always with the other woman. She doesn't wear a wedding ring so perhaps…” The waiter smiled amorously.

The man continued on about the merits of love and marriage. Armand snapped his fingers to silence him. The waiter blinked in confusion before turning to go.

The woman looked at Armand again, her face caught in an expression between curiosity and amusement. She whispered to her friend, then crossed the courtyard in his direction with long confident strides.

Armand watched as her slim body drew closer. He kept his face stoic as she seated herself at his table.

“You were watching me,” she said, folding her hands in front of her.

Armand shrugged and spread his hands. “You caught me.”

“So I did.”

She reached into her bag and produced a thin cigarette. Armand lit it for her and she took a long drag.

“My last one” she said as she exhaled the smoke from the side of her mouth. “Or at least until the next one.”

She laughed at her joke, then clicked her nails on the table.

“Dora is always after me to stop, but I just can’t. They make one appear so sophisticated, don’t you think?” She continued to puff on her cigarette, blowing rings of smoke into the air.

She was interesting-looking, Armand decided, but not beautiful. Her lips were too thin, her skin too pale, and her breasts too small. Still, she held herself with the manner of a woman who has never been told that she is anything but beautiful.

He continued to study her as she conversed about the Spanish countryside, Franco, and her love of olives. Her features softened as she spoke, her lips becoming fuller, her eyes turning an ethereal shade of blue.

Was she hypnotizing him? He probed her mind but came up empty.

She stopped chattering and regarded him with amused eyes.

“Stop trying to read me,” she laughed, throwing her head back. “And to answer your question, I wasn’t hypnotizing you. I used a Glamour spell. It only works for a short while, but that’s usually enough.”

“How did you know my thoughts?” He leaned forward with new interest. “And enough for what?”

“Enough to get people to pay attention to me, I suppose.” She shrugged, looking for her next cigarette in her petite purse. “As for knowing what’s in your head, I could see it in your energy sphere. I can’t read minds, but I can tune into a person’s emotions. Similar to what you do, I suppose.”

She smiled and batted her fake eyelashes.

“But you…you read minds, don’t you? Interesting. That’s a very rare gift. You must have done something right in a past life to have gotten that one.” She sat back in her chair, assessing him with a frown. “You won’t be able to read me though. I have shields.” She raised a thin eyebrow. “You should learn to block your own thoughts as well. Someone may use them against you one day.”

“Someone?”

“It’s just an expression.” She smiled and flicked an ash on the ground.

A sudden gust of wind caught the woman’s hat, sending it drifting in the direction of the fountain. Armand was about to retrieve it when she stopped him.

“Don’t bother. I’ve kept that one for too long anyways. Sometimes you need to let go of old things to make room for the new.” They watched as the hat skipped across the courtyard before sailing over Mother Mary and into the ethers.

“I’m Sasha,” the woman introduced herself, stamping out her second cigarette and offering him her hand to shake. “I’m an actress. Or was, before the war.”

She couldn’t be more than a handful of years older than himself, not old enough to have seen World War Two. Perhaps it was the Korean War she referred to.

“I’m Armand,” he said, keeping his voice as flat and unaffected as he could.

If she could read him, even his energy, he didn’t want to give her information to use against him.

“You’re American.” She chewed on her bottom lip. Armand noted that she must not be a heavy smoker. Neither her teeth nor her fingers had yellowed. “From California, I’m guessing, by the accent and your clothes.” Her aura flared a fiery white. He rubbed his thumb and middle finger together, trying to conceal his interest.

“Don’t talk much, do you? I’ll bet you are a Scorpio.” Sasha leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “I can tell by your aura. It’s got that used car salesman smell.”

“A Scorpio? I don’t know.” He scratched his head, confused by the conversation. He wasn’t used to being led like this.

“What’s your birth date?”

“November 11th, 1942.”

“I knew it! Only a Scorpio transmits that kind of energy.” Her eyes were sharp, lending her a wisdom that didn’t match the smoothness of her complexion. “You radiate sex, too. That’s another tell. You should learn to put a lid on that or you might attract the wrong type of women.”

Armand grinned and leaned back, bridging his fingers together behind his head. This was the type of conversation he felt more comfortable with.

“Maybe I like the wrong type of women.”

Sasha’s jaw tightened. She leaned forward, a finger pointed at his face. “First off, comb your hair and brush your teeth before you make innuendos. It’s disgusting.”

“Uh...” Armand’s hands dropped to his side.

“Secondly, you’re not as clever and smooth as you think you are. I know who you are and I know what you are. You use women, without giving anything back. You think that because you’re great in the sack––or at least that’s what you tell yourself––that you don’t owe them anything more.” She looked him up and down, the right corner of her mouth curving into a scowl. “You don’t impress me at all.”

“Now listen, lady…” Armand’s face reddened. Any lingering drunkenness from the night before disappeared. “I didn’t invite you to sit down and I sure as hell didn’t ask for your opinions on my lifestyle.” He clenched and unclenched his fists.

A thought occurred to him. Isabella had vowed to pay him back the night she called him diablo. This strange woman could be a part of Isabella’s revenge.

“Give me your palm,” Sasha commanded.

Without waiting she reached across the table and took his still-clenched fists. She turned them face up, just as Armand had done to Isabella the night he’d told her he could predict her future.

He was about to pull away and leave the scene, when he felt Sasha’s energy ripple through him, like small electrical currents. He had never experienced such a sensation before. He opened his hands and watched as she traced the lines on his palms with her fingertips.

Sasha pressed her lips together, staring at his hands for a long time. Too long.

“I see,” she said.

With a shake of her head, she released him.

He shouldn’t ask what she’d seen. If she were sent by Isabella, she would say something meant to emasculate him, words about his inadequate size or his poor lovemaking skills.

Still, he needed to know. Did he have a future at all?

“Tell me what it is,” he demanded.

Sasha tilted her head; there was pity on her face. “You’re all alone in this world, and you always will be alone unless you change your ways.”

Sasha gathered her purse and stood to leave.

Armand grabbed for her hand but found the cool polished glass of her crystal bracelet instead. Colorful sparks shot into the air, so quickly and brightly Armand thought he’d imagined it.

She shook him away. “Scorpios can become the most exalted of all the Zodiac signs.” She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “Or the lowest. The choice is theirs.”

She started to walk away, then stopped. “One thing you must learn, young warlock, is that you will never be as powerful as a female-born witch.”

Armand watched as she crossed the square and returned to her friend, who eyed him suspiciously. They shared a laugh and then locked arms, disappearing down a narrow alley between two shops.

Young warlock? Female-born witch?

The woman wasn’t messing with his head, he realized.

She was just crazy. He must be, too, for talking to her.

His waiter returned to fill his coffee.

“No,” said Armand. “I’ll take a brandy. Keep them coming.”

Five

For the next three days, Armand kept to his rented room, living on the booze and pot he’d acquired during his last outing, the latter a score from his coffee serving waiter.

“It is dangerous,” his waiter said, looking up and down the alleys for sight of the officials. The policia were everywhere, and sometimes they didn’t wear their uniforms.

In between getting drunk and high he nibbled at the eggs, coffee, and pastries his landlady dropped by every afternoon.

“You need to eat,” she insisted, handing him his tray like he were a hospital patient. Armand would have argued had he not caught his own reflection in the mirror. His ribs were showing and the circles beneath his eyes now ringed them completely.

From time to time, he’d peek out the window, down the narrow slab of alley and into the square, contemplating whether it was safe to go outside.

Christ, he thought, searching for shadows in the alley. I’m hiding from two women, and I’ve only screwed one.

He tapped his booted heel against the floor. Why had his conversation with Sasha frightened him? She was just a woman, and a small one at that. But even though he tried to drink her away, her words continued to haunt him.

You’ll die alone.

––Ah, hell. I’m trapped in here like a caged lion.

––Just go home, for God’s sake.

––If I go home I’ll miss it.

––Miss what?

––I don’t know. Shut up. I don’t know.

His temples throbbed and he pushed his fingers into the sides of his head to ease the pressure. He walked the length of the small room and back again, his shoulder-length hair swooping behind him like a fiery cape. He stopped at his dresser and retrieved his pocket watch, feeling the small trace of his father’s energy spread through him. It was enough to remind him why he’d come to Santo Aldea in the first place.

“They’re just women,” he said, pulling on his jeans and tucking the watch into the front pocket. “I’ll give it a few more days, and then I leave. Isabella and that witch be damned.”

He waited until dusk and left his room.

His landlady grinned as she passed him in the hallway, her arms overflowing with clean sheets. “You’re getting out then? Good,” she smiled. “Your father would want that.”

Armand stopped in his tracks. “What did you say about my father?”

But she had already disappeared into another room, closing the door behind her.

The night was as cold and quiet as an old church.

Armand wrapped his arms around his chest as he wandered through the sleeping village like a crazy man, looking for God knows what. Whatever it was, it was the only thing that gave this pilgrimage any meaning.

He’d felt compelled to not only come here, to this small town, but to stay long after he should have gone.

A whistle sounded, an announcement that it was midnight. All citizens were encouraged to be indoors. Two uniformed men marched up one road and down another.

Bad things must only come out after midnight, Armand thought, scanning the dark alleys that surrounded him.

“Bad Things.” He spoke the words aloud that time, watching the steam roll from his mouth like dragon’s breath.

His mother had been fearful of bad things, telling him they lurked in every corner, waiting to get him if he let his guard down. And once, when Armand had successfully predicted that their car would be hit at an intersection by a truck, his mother had looked at him like he were one of those bad things.

Dong!

The church clock counted down another hour. Judgment was coming.

Returning to the square, Armand rubbed his hands together and seated himself on the edge of the fountain, ignoring the cherub’s mocking eyes and the frown that Mother Mary now adopted. Several lights glimmered above the neighborhood shops, bakers and craftsmen getting a jump on tomorrow’s wares.

He was struck again with homesickness.

He’d only been here a short time but he missed the Anaheim lights, the Hollywood sign, and the bars that stayed open until dawn. This Spanish village, with its curfews, its traditions, and its wares, was practically medieval in comparison.

And its bad things.

His father must not have been a great man; great men drew from cities.

Armand laid his back along the fountain’s edge, letting one hand dip into the cold water as he stared upwards into the night. There was no pollution or light to block out the stars here. They hurled themselves across the sky like tinsel on a Christmas tree. He knew he should have been awed by the scene, but he felt even lonelier and less significant than ever––a speck of nothingness in a vast galaxy waiting to swallow him up.

He could count the stars, he thought.

Perhaps he’d fall asleep out here like he had a few nights earlier. He might even have good dreams, ones where his father wasn’t screaming in some foreign trench or his mother wasn’t begging for painkillers as she took her final breath.

But if the policia found him loitering…

Ah, hell. He wasn’t sure the policia even existed.

He reached into his shirt pocket, producing a half-smoked joint. After looking around to make sure that he was alone, he lit it, inhaling deeply. He held the smoke in for the count of three, then released it, coughing softly into the crook of his arm. His shoulders immediately relaxed. He took another hit. The stars began to coalesce into form, like a dot-to-dot puzzle.

He could make out a horse, a bear, a beautiful woman…

The sound of footsteps caught his attention.

Armand quickly tossed the joint into the pool. Lying as still as the statues who watched over him, he listened for the heavy boots of the local police.

Instead, he heard female voices.

Two women emerged from one of the narrow alleys, carrying covered baskets. The lightness in their steps told Armand they held no fear of the dark. He immediately recognized the slim figure as Sasha, and the sizable woman next to her as her friend. The two women proceeded across the square, giggling like teenaged girls.

What are they doing out so late?

They entered another alley and Armand jumped to his feet.

He followed, slinking into the shadows. He had wanted to avoid Sasha before, but now, he was compelled to trail her.

“Ya were lucky! Lucky!” Dora spoke, her voice both stern and lilted.

“Now, Dora. There is no such thing as luck. You must not say that. There is a reason for everything.”

“Humph.”

After a brief silence, Sasha added kindly, “I suppose it was a little lucky that we were there.”

Dora’s broad shoulders softened. “I think there’s more luck ta things than we realize. If it was all pre-ordained they wouldn’t need us.”

“Maybe.” Sasha coiled a strand of her long hair around her fingers. “I just hate to think…”

Armand stumbled on a rock and sent it skittering in their direction. He froze in place, hoping the darkness concealed him.

Sasha’s head jerked in his direction, and she cocked an ear. They were half a block ahead of him. Armand flattened himself against the wall and waited, sure he had been discovered.

“Probably a rat.” Dora stiffened her back. “The town is full o’ them. If ya ask me, they need more cats here. If another plague comes it won’t be the hand o’ God that did it. Will be the lack o’ cats.”

Sasha laughed and the two resumed their walk.

“I should ha’ seen it comin’,” Dora said, as they left the alley and entered a quaint street lined by three-story apartment buildings.

By the look of the buildings, the neighborhood was centuries old. Some were so rundown, a squatter might think twice before staying the night. But others had been lovingly cared for, with bright paint and balconies overflowing with flower boxes. It was one of these that Sasha and Dora approached.

Armand crept from the alley and hid in the shadows of one of the ramshackle buildings, close enough to listen, yet far enough to avoid detection. He hoped.

“My dogs are barkin’.” Dora climbed a small staircase that led to a yellow door beneath a balcony. She lifted a large brass knocker and slammed it into the door twice. “I could sleep fer a kazillion years, if there were such a number.”

Sasha put her finger to her chin. “I suppose there is. If there are infinite numbers there must be an infinite number of names for them.”

Dora smiled, her teeth glowing in the dark.

A porch light flickered on and the door swung open. A rickety old woman appeared, holding a squat red candle that illuminated her lined face.

Sasha handed Dora a basket. “Take this inside. There’s something I need to do.”

Dora nodded disapprovingly.

Sasha whispered something to her and then kissed her on the cheek. Dora and the old woman disappeared inside, closing the door behind them.

Armand pressed himself further into the wall, resisting his urge to call out as he felt something scurry across his foot. He kept his eyes on Sasha as she walked down the row of apartments, her thin dress fluttering around her like a sheet on a clothesline.

When she was far enough ahead, he crouched low and continued to follow, jumping from one concealment to the next.

The cobblestone road she followed was old, built by Romans millennia ago. It was half-covered in earth now, but some of the stones still gleamed in the moonlight, worn smooth by time.

Without warning, Sasha stopped her curious march, closing her eyes and holding her arms straight out to the side. The wind swirled around her and only her, whipping the leaves and dirt at her feet into a small cyclone. She hummed––one long reverberating syllable that carried itself into the night.

With a satisfied smile she opened her eyes and stared into the direction where Armand hid.

Armand’s fingers fumbled through his pockets, searching for a cigarette and his lighter. Embarrassed and angry at himself, he decided to retreat.

As he took a step backwards, Sasha raised the hem of her skirt, revealing thighs that gleamed as white as mountain snow. Except for silver anklets, her feet were bare.

“There may be no such thing as luck,” she called out. “But I leave nothing to chance.”

Holding her skirt, she raised herself to tiptoes.

With a ballerina’s grace she spun in slow circles, the heels of her feet never touching the ground. After several revolutions, she quickened her pace. Her feet made delicate patterns on the earth as the bands around her ankles jangled and clanked and gleamed. Her hair swirled around her, each long curl catching rays of starlight that fell from the sky.

“Blessed be!” she called into the night.

Armand checked his surroundings. They appeared to be alone.

“I praise the stars! I praise the moon! I praise the night!” The sleeve of her dress slipped from her shoulder, revealing her slim neck.

Was she a gypsy? Armand had never seen one, but he’d heard they roamed this part of the world. He swallowed, feeling the heat rise inside him.

Sasha continued her mystical dance, twisting and swaying and leaping, calling out her praises, with only the moon and the stars and himself as audience. Her white aura spread like wildfire around her, lighting up a circle as wide as the cherub fountain.

Armand stood motionless, mesmerized by her power, so much stronger than his, yet effortless. After watching for several more minutes, he stepped from the shadows.

She stopped her dance as suddenly as she’d begun. Sweat glistened on her flushed face.

“It’s about time you showed yourself, Mr. Scorpio. You shouldn’t hide in shadows like a common thief. It’s unbecoming of someone of your abilities.”

Armand’s heart raced. The thought that she knew he was watching her aroused him.

“My lady,” he said, leaving his hiding place and bowing before her.

She lifted her brows, amused. “Don’t play chivalrous with me, Sir.” She pointed a finger. “Chivalrous men don’t watch women in the dark. You’ve been following me.”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“I could feel you. I sensed your presence in the square.”

“Why didn't you say something?”

“I didn't want to alarm Dora. She doesn't like you.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“She thinks you are trouble.” She put a finger to her chin. “Perhaps I should listen to her.”

Armand drew closer, feeling the heat between their two bodies. He touched the side of her face. “I think you like trouble.”

Sasha pulled back, giving him a once-over. “You have the confidence, but do you have the talent to back it up?”

“I’ve never had any complaints.”

Her aura flowed around her, strong and vibrant and sexy. But she wasn’t the only one with abilities.

He concentrated, extending his energy outwards in a red wave that met her white light. The two fields merged, zipping about them in an unending circuit. He suppressed his smile, waiting for her to be overcome.

“Not bad.” She poked at his energy shield with the tip of her finger. Her white light magnified while his red light wavered and then deflated like an old balloon. “Though not very sturdy. Is that all you’ve got?”

Armand stood with his mouth open, speechless.

“Ah, don’t look so hurt,” she said, placing her hands gently on his shoulders. “You aren’t the first man I’ve withered.”

“I have a feeling I won’t be the last, either.”

She laughed gaily, then glanced over his shoulder at the apartment Dora had entered.

Armand looked, too.

Dora’s wide silhouette filled the second story window. Knowing she’d been caught, she clamped the curtains shut and disappeared from view.

“She always worries about me,” Sasha sighed. “You’d think she was the older one.”

“You mean she’s not?”

Sasha gave him a crooked smile. “Warlock, why are you here?”

He scratched his head, confused by the question. “You mean in this town?”

“If that’s where you wish to start.”

He stuffed his hands into his pockets, feeling for his father’s watch. “My father was born here. I thought I could find him.”

“And have you?”

He shook his head. “No, but, to be honest, I haven’t really tried. Not like I should. Something keeps me here, though. I’m not sure why.”

Sasha lowered her eyes thoughtfully. “You’ve been called. Although I’m not sure why, either. That is blocked from me.”

“Called?”

“It’s rare, actually.” She twisted her lips into a half-smile. “There’s no rhyme nor reason for doing anything when you’ve been called. You feel compelled and you have to go.”

He was about to argue that no one had called him and that he was a free man, able to make his own choices. But if that were true, he’d have left the village weeks ago. Or maybe not even come here in the first place.

“Maybe I was called to find you,” he suggested, all flirtation removed from his voice.

Sasha’s face darkened. She let out a heavy sigh. “I accept that as a possibility, though it’s odd we didn’t meet in the States, instead.”

Simultaneously, they lifted their heads to the moon. When Sasha spoke again her voice was softer than before.

“I was called too. A long time ago. I fought it at first, but eventually I gave in. There are invisible forces at work in this world and sometimes I feel like a pawn in one of their games.”

Their?

She turned her eyes on him. “You’re not used to encountering others with gifts, are you? You thought you were the only one.”

Armand let his shoulders drop. “I’ve never considered what I have a gift.”

“You certainly never use it like one.”

Sasha took Armand’s arm and guided him back towards the village square. A rat scurried across their path and Armand resisted the urge to jump back.

Sasha neither screamed nor jumped; instead, she scooped up the creature and whispered to it, releasing it back into the night.

“Aren’t you afraid of disease?” he asked, fighting off his revulsion.

She blew on her hands and they shone an incandescent blue. “Not anymore.” She rubbed them together and wiped them on her skirt. The light was gone.

When they reached the fountain, Armand purposely avoided the cherub’s eyes as he seated himself on the ledge.

“What were you and your friend doing out so late?” he asked as she arranged her dress around her before seating herself primly onto the ledge as well.

“Dora and I had…” Sasha paused, catching herself and clearing her throat. “…work to attend to.”

“Work? What work do you do so late at night?” He was immediately embarrassed by his words as he considered the possibilities. “Oh, uh…”

“Ha! Is that what you think of us? I shall have to tell Dora! That will give her the best laugh ever.”

“I’m sorry.”

She smiled mysteriously, arching her back slightly so that the tips of her hair caught the water behind her. “It is not what you think, though I do my best work at night.”

Her words filled him with desire and the images of her moonlight dance played out in his mind. He kept his expression reserved, careful not to reveal the effect she was having on him.

“What do you do?” he asked, his voice measured.

Her eyes lit up and she grinned at him over her shoulder. “Good things.”

She wasn’t going to give him any more, so he tried to read her thoughts again.

The smile on her face vanished. She pulled her knees into her chest. “I told you, I’m blocked. If you do that again, I might have to punish you.”

“I might like that.”

Sasha clucked her tongue, though Armand was sure her aura shimmered for just a moment.

“If you won’t tell me what you and Dora were doing,” he said. “At least tell me why you came back outside alone.”

“I was waiting for you.”

“Should I take that as a compliment?”

“Take it as you wish.” She piled her hair on top of her head, and bound it with a pin Armand was sure she wasn’t holding before. A lone tendril spiraled down her back. “Since the day we first talked, I’ve felt that we are bound. Don’t you feel it, too?”

“I do.” Armand inched his way closer, brushing her shoulder with his. He was wildly aroused by her words; his thoughts were turning erotic. Images of the two of them in his bed permeated his imagination.

Sasha pulled back, her aura dimming to a chalky gray. “You warlocks! Always on to your next conquest. Do you think I’d let you take from me, like you do your other women?”

“I can’t help my thoughts.”

“Everyone can help their thoughts.”

“Stop speaking to me like a child. And for hell’s sake, stop calling me a warlock. You’ve been watching too much TV.”

Sasha’s eyes gleamed like a cat toying with a mouse. “You don’t like the word warlock? There are other terms, of course. Charlatan. Magician.” She licked her lips. “Diablo.”

Armand stood. Anger raged inside of him. “I knew it! Isabella sent you!”

She didn’t cower, didn’t even flinch.

She dipped a finger into the water and stirred in lazy circles, as if insulting a man twice her size was no more worrisome than forgetting to turn the lights off before leaving the house.

Finally, she spoke. “I have no idea who Isabella is. Now, whatever show you’re about to put on, do it quickly, and then we’ll get back to business.”

Armand held his stance, unsure of what to do. Her aura showed none of the darker colors that indicated deceit. After a long pause, he returned to his seat on the fountain wall.

“You’re a mind trip, lady,” he said, wishing he still had his joint. His buzz had long since worn off, and he wasn’t sure that sobriety was the best condition for him at the moment.

“What can you do?” Sasha asked.

Rubbing his temples, he asked, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

She wriggled her fingers and the blue, glowing light appeared on her hands. She wiped them together and the light was gone. “What…Can…You…Do?”

“I can read people’s thoughts, at least the ones that are most present in their minds. I can scramble them up, too. Works great when it’s time to pay the tab.”

He scratched his head, giving it further consideration. He’d never been asked this question directly, and wasn’t sure how to categorize his abilities.

“I can make suggestions, and sometimes the person will do it. Depends on their age and willpower, though. I can see a person’s life path, too,” he added, remembering Isabella. “But it isn’t always clear.”

Sasha nodded. “Life paths rarely are.”

Chewing on his bottom lip, he thought about his unsuccessful trek to Spain. He had been certain that in taking the trip, he was going to finally have some answers about who he was.

“I’ve tried to see my own path,” he shrugged. “Doesn’t seem to work.”

“If we knew for certain how our lives would turn out, there wouldn’t be much point in living them.” Sasha leaned forward and Armand caught the scent of lavender and roses. “Is there anything else you can do?”

He hesitated. “I can predict what will happen in the near future, but it takes a lot of my energy and I have to really tune into the person or location.”

“Oh! You’re a prophet?”

“I’m no prophet. I can only see what will happen in the next few seconds.” He directed his gaze on the upstairs window of one the shops. “See that light in the window over there? It’s about to go off.”

Three seconds later the light went out. Though Armand’s head pounded with the effort, he smiled at the outcome.

“Oh,” said Sasha, the disappointment clear in her voice. “I had hoped you were a prophet.”

They sat in silence, watching the slow hands of the clock inch forward. Sasha leaned back, staring into the sky.

“We are well into the witching hour,” she said, twining a snake-curl around her fingers. “The hours between midnight and 3 AM are when spirits can commune with the living and the magical creatures of the world are at their most powerful. Demons, Angels, Warlocks…” She gave him a wry smile. “Witches.”

He returned her smile, feeling the connection that comes from camaraderie. “So you confess to being a witch. You do realize this is not a good place to practice your craft?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, shivering. “In a past life, I was killed in this very country. I remember it well.”

“If my mother heard you talk of past lives she’d say that you were going to hell.”

“If your mother saw the things you did in this life, she’d say you were going to hell, too.”

“Touché.” Armand rubbed his hands together for warmth, amazed that Sasha didn’t seem to feel the chill of the night. “Who killed you in your past life? An unrequited love? A jealous woman? How were you accused?”

The dreamy look on Sasha’s face vanished. She gave a quick glance to Mother Mary towering above her.

“I was accused by a warlock who had never come out himself. He was afraid, as we all were, so he sacrificed me, instead.” Her aura flared dangerously bright, sending small sparks into the air.

She might be small, Armand realized, but she was not one to trifle with.

She held her breath, releasing it over the course of several seconds. “It’s okay,” she said, her face softening as she turned to him. “We have karma together. The sooner we work through it, the sooner we can move on.”

Armand was familiar with the term.

His friends were throwing that word around back home. It was bad karma not to pick up a hitchhiker. If you screwed a hooker and didn’t pay her, you’d get bad karma. But he wasn’t sure how it applied to him and Sasha.

“Close your eyes and feel it,” she instructed him.

He did as instructed, letting his mind relax.

All he could hear was the constant tinkling of water on water and Sasha’s soft breathing. Then he glimpsed an image of himself, dressed in a red robe. He stood in a bare room, reading from a large book. A raven hopped near his feet.

He opened his eyes wide, shaking his head in disbelief. “You mean it was me?”

“I think so. But that was lifetimes ago and you were afraid.” She wrapped one of her curls around her finger and leaned forward. “You don’t like being called a warlock. I don’t care for the word witch, myself. It makes me sound old and ugly.”

“I’ve never met a prettier witch.”

“You’ve never met any witches, at least that you were aware of.”

“True. What would you like to be called then?”

“Goddess.”

“Deal. But only if you call me God.”

Her hand flew to her heart in mock horror. “Heresy!” she smiled, her eyes wide. “Especially here!”

Armand shrugged, enjoying their banter. “Okay, but if I agree to call you Goddess then what will you call me?”

“Be lucky that I call you anything at all.”

“Fair enough.”

He peered into her eyes. They were as sharp and strong as polished steel, never missing anything. She might indeed be a goddess.

He flexed his fingers, stretching them before returning his hands to the cold stone ledge. “And the work that you were out doing tonight? Is that the work of a Goddess, or a Witch?”

Sasha pressed her hands into her lap. “Dora wanted to take a walk. She never walks this late but she insisted and I couldn’t let her go out alone. While we were out we came across…” Her face paled and she turned away.

“Yes?”

“A young woman, surrounded by three men. She was screaming.”

Armand felt dread in the pit of his stomach. He dug his nails into the stone to calm his trembling fingers. He sensed that whatever she was about to reveal was somehow linked back to him.

“Go on,” he urged quietly.

Sasha turned back to him. “They had her pushed against the wall behind the bar. Two were holding her arms while the other had her dress hiked up over her hips.” Sasha swallowed, then reached into her pocket and produced an object, handing it to Armand: a pale, pink flower.

He felt Isabella’s energy all over it, and instantly burned with rage.

She gave him a quick pat on the arm. “She’s okay. Fortunately, we arrived before she was harmed. Physically, anyway.”

Armand dipped his head, letting out a breath of relief.

“You know her?” Sasha asked, her eyes falling to the flower.

“Yes. We are…were…friends.”

“Oh.” She nodded to herself. “I don’t know why I didn’t pick up on that. It’s obvious now. See the way the flower vibrates in your hand?”

He checked again. The flower did seem to reverberate in his fingers, its pale yellow light growing brighter. He nodded.

“You were not responsible for this,” Sasha said, placing a warm hand on his knee. “Don’t feel guilty for it.”

“Thank you. Though I find that hard to believe.” He twirled the stem of the flower in his fingers. It was sweet and fragile, just like the woman it belonged to. “You say there were three men. How did you get rid of them?”

Sasha’s steel eyes softened, twinkling with amusement. “That was mostly Dora. She is like a bull when she’s angry! She ran in, waving a talisman, screaming that she’d put a curse on all of them. You should have seen them run. Cowards, the lot of them.” Sasha snorted, slapping her legs as she recalled the scene. “And the best part––the best part––was that the talisman didn’t even work. It was broken. Has been out of magic, since, well, I don’t know how long. But they didn’t know that.”

Armand couldn’t help but laugh.

He had only seen Dora at a distance but he could easily imagine her charging at them, yelling some hoo-doo, voodoo spell. He’d probably be scared shitless, too.

Sasha stood, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. “You may not have been responsible for the woman’s attack, but the two of you are still linked. You have karma with her, too, and if you leave before that’s finished, I’m afraid it will end badly, for one of you.”

He stood, as well. “Aside from taking her with me, I’m not sure what I can do for her.”

“You’ll know,” she said, smiling mysteriously.

A drop of rain hit Armand’s head. He looked up. Clouds were gathering quickly. He removed the cigarette pack from his pocket, lit the last one, inhaled, and handed it to Sasha. The two shared a silent smoke as the rain quickened.

“My last one,” Sasha winked, taking her final drag.

“Mine, too.”

When they were done he placed Isabella’s flower inside the empty cigarette package and put it back in his shirt pocket.

Down one of the alleys came the sound of footsteps. Dora’s large frame emerged from the darkness, wearing only a flannel nightgown and a disapproving scowl.

“Ya shouldn't be out so late,” she said, addressing Sasha as she stormed towards them.

“Now, sister, I’m a grown…”

Dora halted her with a fleshy hand. “I’m not here ta lecture ya. Gather yer things. We are needed, right away.”

Sasha’s face went white and she nodded. She gave Armand an apologetic look as Dora disappeared back into the alley.

“We’ll see each other again.” Sasha called as she ran to catch up with Dora. “Very soon.”

They disappeared, leaving Armand with more questions than answers.

Six

Armand tried to put Sasha out of his mind. He had felt close to her that night at the fountain, but he had also felt close to Isabella, and the flower in his cigarette packet was a reminder of how that turned out.

Women were trouble. He needed a new vice.

It was time to get the hell out of Dodge.

Screw Sasha and her past lives.

Screw Isabella and their link.

Screw his dead father. He’d gone twenty-five years without knowing much about him. He could go twenty-five more. Armand was ready to go back to L.A., where he could drink and smoke and fuck without repercussion. There was a bad scene brewing here, and he wanted no more of it.

His only obstacle was money. He’d spent most of what he’d had. But a few nights with the right people––doing the wrong sort of things––would change all of that. He’d be sitting in first class, guzzling wine and chatting with a short skirt in no time.

The quickest way to a fast fortune, without having to do any real work, was an old-fashioned game of cards.

He had been to Vegas many times and had always come back with enough cash to keep him in booze and women for months. He would have become a professional gambler were it not for two things: it was too easy to win and the pit bosses kept their eyes on serial winners. This wasn’t Vegas, however, and he’d do whatever was necessary to leave this shithole.

Like everything else that was fun, gambling was illegal here, but he’d seen card games being played in the back room of the cantina few times. So he dressed in dark jeans, a white t-shirt, his fringed buckskin vest and his cowboy hat. Then he padded the ones in his wallet between two twenties. He needed to look like a simple American, one with plenty of money but not a lot of sense.

His landlady seemed pleased that he was getting out of his apartment again and urged him to pay a visit to the church while he was out.

“I pray for you,” she said. “I pray for you every day.”

Armand gave her a pat on the bottom as he took a biscuit from her tray.

The sun was out. That was a good sign, if you were one to believe in signs. He made his way to the bar, not even glancing at the fountain. If the angels wanted to record his deeds, that was their deal, but they’d have to find him, first.

Armand strolled into the bar and found a table near the swinging double doors that led to the private room. A sign above the door warned that it was for “Employees Only,” but Armand had seen the undesirables who frequented the room. Unless getting shitfaced was what the employees did on their lunch breaks, he knew the sign was only for show.

“Señor, would like a brandy?” a young waiter that Armand recognized asked, setting a napkin and a small tray of cheeses onto the table. Armand’s eyes darted around the bar, searching for Isabella.

Thankfully, she was nowhere in sight.

“Yes,” Armand said, lifting a finger. “And that will be on the house.”

The waiter blinked and opened his mouth to protest.

“On the house,” he repeated.

The man blinked again, then nodded firmly. “Sí, sí, on the house.”

Armand concealed a smile.

It was such a rush to win, even against the simpleton waiter. He felt like his old self again.

When the server returned, Armand asked him, “Have you seen Isabella?”

The waiter frowned, his mustache drooping around the corners of his mouth.

“No, Señor.” He quickly scanned the room, then leaned in and spoke in a near whisper. “The boss say she has taken ill.”

The waiter shrugged as he walked away, as if to say he didn’t quite believe the boss.

Taken ill? The words made his liquor taste like mud.

Armand slammed his fist into the table, nearly knocking over his drink. A few customers glanced his way and he gave them a friendly wave.

I need to keep my cool, he thought. I do not need to draw any attention to myself now.

His waiter passed by, carrying a tray through the swinging doors. Armand silently rose to his feet and followed him through. Inside the room, a trio of men played cards. Armand moved to introduce himself when the waiter stopped him.

“Señor cannot be in this room,” the waiter explained. “It is for the workers only.”

Armand nodded to the men. “They don’t look like workers.”

“They are…they are my special friends.”

Armand snapped his fingers and warmed his eyes. “They are my friends, too. And I’m going to play cards with my friends. Okay?”

The waiter stared blankly back for a moment, then eagerly nodded. “Sí, Sí. You are playing cards with your friends.”

Armand made his way to the card table.

He immediately recognized the man in the center. It was the same hothead who’d smashed the stool into the bar the night he met Isabella. Armand blocked the image from his head and placed his padded wallet on the table.

“My friends,” he said with a grin. “Have room for another?”

The game was going well. Armand lost the first several hands, even folding when he’d held three aces while his companions held nothing better than a pair of queens between them. But if he wanted to win the big money, the money that would get him back to L.A., he’d have to be patient.

After two hours and several more rounds of drinks––all on the house, courtesy of his young waiter friend––their wagers grew as large as their egos.

Eventually, his patience paid off.

“I bet it all,” said the stool-throwing man, whose name was Josef. His eyebrows knit into a single line across his forehead as he pushed his entire stack of winnings into the center of the table. “I feel lucky,” he said, bobbing his head and grinning.

“Your wife, she is going to kill you if you lose so much,” said his friend. He thumped his chest proudly. “That’s why I don’t get married. No woman to tell me how to spend my money.”

“That’s not the reason,” said the third man. “It’s because no woman can stand your smell.”

They all laughed and Armand joined in.

While they joked about wives or lack thereof, Armand scanned their thoughts. A newsreel of lackluster images played before him: work in the morning, an asshole for a boss, a church service. He tried not to linger on any of these images too long. He only needed to see their cards.

He directed his energy on Josef, who continued to smile as though he held the best hand of his life. Sorting through his drunken brain, Armand saw that Josef held nothing but a pair of fives.

“Who’s in?” Josef asked, his eyes gleaming and his stubby hands already reaching for the pot.

“I do have a wife, and she will kill me if I lose so much,” said the married man, folding his hand in front of him and calling for another beer.

The third man’s face beaded with perspiration. Armand saw that he held a natural straight but was unable to match the bet.

“I’m out, too,” he said, tossing his cards onto the table and leaning backwards. “Josef, if you’re bluffing, I will kill you.”

“He’s too mean to die,” said the other, laughing.

Josef ignored them, his eyes intent on Armand. His bushy brows twitched over the top of his hand. “And you, are you out too, American?”

Armand opened his wallet. He had exactly seven dollars left and he’d need eighty to match the bet. He cleared his throat and then peeled five, one-dollar bills from his roll. “I see your bet and call.”

Josef’s friends shook their heads in anger. Josef rose from his seat, clenching his fists. They were drunk, but they were not fools.

Armand broadcast his dwindling energy in a smooth arc around the table, counting silently to himself: 1…2…3…

Josef threw a glass across the room. It smashed into the wall behind Armand. “Do you think we are stupid?”

4…5.

As suddenly as their anger manifested, it faded. Josef sat down again, looking dumbfounded as he stared at the bills on the table. He rubbed his eyes. They were twenties. The others nodded in agreement.

Armand breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“What do you have?” Armand asked.

Josef’s forehead glistened as he laid out his hand, revealing nothing but the pair of fives Armand had already seen.

“You bet everything on that?” his friend asked in disbelief.

“Shut up!” Josef warned him.

All eyes shifted to Armand. One by one, he flipped over his cards: 8, 2, 2, 4…

Josef licked his lips, his fingers hovering above the pot. He “He’s bluffing, too.”

Armand flicked his final card onto the table. Another 4. “I believe two pairs takes it all,” he said, leaning back and clasping his hands behind his head.

Josef’s eyes turned the color of hot coals.

Before he had time to savor his victory, Armand was pulled from his chair and pushed through the back door leading into a dim alley. His arms were pinned behind him while a hand covered his mouth. If anyone had seen the abduction, they didn’t try to stop it.

“Cheater!” Josef raged, kicking him hard in the stomach. The pain was so terrible Armand’s mind went momentarily black. He doubled over, unable to breathe. Josef lifted his head by his hair, forcing him to meet his eyes. “I don’t know how, but I know you cheat, American.”

Armand tried to protest, but every time he tried to speak, a fist would smash against his jaw. There was no reasoning with them. Their thoughts were all red.

They are going to kill me.

Blood dripped from Armand’s lips and his cheeks swelled.

“No one takes from me!” Josef kicked Armand to the ground.

Armand lifted his head from the ground, wiping the dirt from his bloodied lips. Josef stared down the alley, his attention no longer on Armand; he was recalling another incident that happened in that very alley.

Armand saw it all, how they’d cornered Isabella after work, made lewd suggestions as she tried to get away. She had turned them all down in the past, yet there she was, disappearing into a foreigner’s apartment and not reappearing for days. If she wasn’t going to give it to them, they would take it.

Armand felt a sharp pain in the back of his head as he watched Isabella being thrown against the stone wall, her skirt being ripped from her body…

“You filthy sons of bitches!” Armand sprang to his feet, his eyes becoming slits. He turned his anger on Josef’s companions, pushing them back with the energy produced by his anger. Then he turned on Josef himself.

“You’re a dog,” he said, advancing on the man. “And I’ll make you beg like one.”

Josef swung at Armand’s face. Armand saw the punch coming. Without understanding how he’d done it, Armand momentarily froze time and sidestepped the swing.

“How…?” Josef asked, then swung again.

Armand shut his eyes and imagined that his body was made of iron. He barely felt Josef’s fist connect with his jaw.

Armand opened his eyes to see his assailant screaming as he held his bloodied and broken hand against his chest.

“Diablo!” Josef yelled, looking at his disfigured hand as he backed against the wall.

Armand raised his arms, ready to unleash his full fury. He had no idea what would happen, and he didn’t care. The tips of his fingers glowed blood red.

A sound like rolling thunder echoed through the alley. Everyone held motionless, turning towards the sounds of the reverberating roar. A black horse charged down the narrow road, its blazing eyes wide as it raced straight for them.

“Devil horse!” Josef cried out.

The ground trembled with the stallion’s pounding hooves.

Josef and his friends ran in the opposite direction.

Armand tried to run, too, but his legs refused to move. His heart beat so fiercely he thought his chest would explode. As the horse barreled down upon him, Armand covered his face with his arms and braced himself.

The black horse halted with an unexpected abruptness, so close Armand that could smell its rotted breath. There was now a rider on the beast, a cloaked figure as dark as his steed. The form reached inside the folds of his cape, producing a glimmering object.

A set of silver scales.

“Who are you?” Armand demanded.

The rider pulled back his cape, revealing a fleshless skull with wide, empty sockets where his eyes should have been. Two ember lights burned deeper within.

He laughed and the air grew as cold as a mid-winter’s night.

The rider drew out another object––Isabella’s pink flower. The flower turned black and crumbled apart, sifting through his bony fingers and fluttering to the ground. He pointed a long skeletal finger at Armand.

“You!”

The horse reared up on its hind legs, then raced away, trumpeting down the alleyway only to vanish as it reached the light.

Armand clutched his chest and slumped down against the wall, trying to find his breath. The coldness fell away. He was covered in his own sweat.

He had no explanation for what had happened––how he was able to do those things, or the nature of the cloaked rider or what his presence meant.

He wanted to dismiss it all, but the pain in his ribs and the crumbled black petals that dotted the ground proved he hadn’t imagined any of it.

His mother was right. There were bad things in the world.

And for some reason, those bad things were interested in him.

Seven

Armand straggled back into the bar, his legs hardly obeying him.

He was not afraid that he would meet up with his attackers. He had seen a ghost rider. He wasn’t afraid of anything made of flesh and blood. He was terrified, however, of being stuck in Santo Aldea forever and he meant to get his money.

Limping through the swinging doors, he scooped up his winnings, folding the bills into his wallet and collecting the change into his pockets.

He wiped the blood from his face and hands on a bar towel, then left a few American dollars on the table for the waiter. He limped his way back into the main room and found a seat near the end of the bar. He listened, but didn’t hear one word about a skeletal rider on the loose.

Armand ordered a brandy and swallowed it in one swig. A few more of these and he’d forget about the day completely.

A red-haired woman in an equally red dress eyed him from behind a colorful fan. After several minutes of observation, she approached him, her hips bouncing as she strolled across the floor.

“My name is Margaret.” She folded her fan and settled her ample bottom onto the stool beside him. She gingerly touched his swollen lips, pulling back her finger to reveal a trickle of blood. “Looks like you need someone to kiss this better.”

She wasn’t a local. From her voice he guessed she might be American, too. He was glad; he’d had enough of Spaniards for the time being. He allowed himself to be attended to, wincing as her lips met the bruises on his face.

“Want to have some fun?” she whispered.

He appraised her. Her features were long and drawn but her aura was strong. She’d cost him, and by the looks of that dress, she wasn’t cheap.

But he had money and he was leaving soon…

He took a drink.

… and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be alone. Not with all the bad things running around.

He reached into one of his pants pockets and handed her a handful of pesetas.

She looked at the offering, grimaced, and shook her head. “American dollars. Cash only.”

Reluctantly, he pulled out his wallet and peeled off a twenty.

“Honey,” she said, taking the bill and stuffing it into the crest between her breasts. “When I’m done with you, you’ll think that’s the best money you’ve spent all year.”

“Better be. That may have cost me first class.”

Armand burned with fever. He wiped his forehead to prevent the sweat from dripping down the sides of his face.

They were several hours into a strenuous but enjoyable session, when he began to feel ill.

“What’s wrong?” Margaret straddled him, her breasts pulled out over the top of her bra. “A few bumps and bruises tire you out?” She stuck her bottom lip out, like she was truly disappointed.

He couldn’t bring himself to take much from her.

Her aura was the same grayish-green it had been since they entered his apartment, only now its color and texture no longer stirred him with excitement. Instead, it reminded him of stagnant pond water.

“And here I hoped I’d have a challenge,” she said, her eyes amused. She tucked her breasts back into her bra and searched for her red dress.

“You’ve been in your profession too long.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” She regarded him with a lascivious smile. “It means I know things.”

He pushed her off of him, rolling onto his side. “You’re filthy. Your aura is the color of mud.”

Margaret’s eyes flashed with anger. “I keep myself clean.” She stood, not bothering to cover her nearly naked body, her hair was a wild, red mess. “And if you tell anyone I’m dirty, I’ll slit your throat.”

She put on one heeled shoe and searched for the other.

“You’re angry because you cannot make that thing work again.” She pointed at his wilted manhood. “All men say horrible things to women when it is them to blame.”

In one swift motion Armand sprang from the bed, grabbing both her hands in his. He clenched his fingers around her thin wrists as she squirmed.

“Let me go! You bastard, let me go!”

He pulled her back onto the bed.

“More money,” she demanded as he fell on top of her.

“You’re already getting more than you deserve.” Armand pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, using his free hand to trace the line from the hollow of her neck to her bra.

“I’m not kidding,” she hissed. “If you want the rough stuff, it will cost you extra.”

He pushed her legs open with his knees. He grew sicker by the minute, but he wasn’t about to let her think she had gotten the best of him.

As she fought, Armand hardened again. He had power over her, and not just physically. She wanted to be taken, he could read it in her thoughts. He could do whatever he wanted to her, and not be charged a dollar more.

“You want this, don’t you?” he asked, pressing his lips against hers.

She twisted her neck from side to side. “I… I…”

He reached beneath her bra, grasping a firm breast in his hand. She did have great breasts. “Tell me you want this.”

“I don’t know,” she gasped, arching her back.

Armand grabbed her face in his hand. “Tell me that it’s my money and I can do whatever I want with you.”

She moaned but did not reply.

He flattened his body onto hers. “Count to ten,” he said, his fingers still holding her chin. “And when you get to ten, I have a special surprise for you. Count… now!”

“One. Two. Three.”

“Slower.”

“Yes. One… two… three… four…”

He could hear her heart beating in her chest and see the possibilities race through her mind. Her breathing deepened, her body went limp. “…five…six…”

He bit at her neck. She smelled like bourbon and cigarettes. “You want this, don’t you?”

“Yes. No.” She kicked with her ankles and he maneuvered his legs to pin her down.

“Tell me you want this, or you’ll never find out what happens when you get to ten.”

Her lashes fluttered involuntarily. “I want this.”

Armand had taken only a sampling of her vitality earlier; he would take more now. As he breathed it in, the sick feeling in his stomach deepened to the point of nausea. He swallowed to keep from retching, then crawled off her in disgust.

“Why are you stopping?” She sat up, now covering her nakedness with her hands.

“Leave,” he ordered, running his hands through his matted hair.

“But…”

He went to his bureau and retrieved his wallet. He pulled out five more dollars and threw them at her, the bile rising to his throat. “Leave! Now!”

She gathered the money and pulled on her dress. With one shoe on and the other in her hand, she stumbled out the door.

Armand felt no pity as her dissimilar footsteps pounded down the hallway. It was her aura that had made him sick, and she’d been paid plenty for her troubles.

He pushed his fingers into his temples and sat on the bed. Her stink was all over the sheets so he stripped them off, then flopped down on the bare mattress.

Why had he reacted that way? She wasn’t the first prostitute he’d taken to bed.

Isabella’s face flickered before him. He let it sit there a moment before pushing it away. Another image came forward: Sasha sitting at the fountain.

Call me Goddess.

He lay still, letting the memory linger.

The sickness in his stomach slowly faded away.

Eight

Armand took four sleeping pills––two to knock him out, and two more to make sure he stayed that way. He washed them down with the cold black coffee his landlady had dropped off.

When she’d seen his bare bed, she collected his sheets from the floor and took them to the laundry room, returning with a new set that smelled like vanilla and honey. She made his bed, all the while mumbling to herself, her words vacillating between compassion and disgust at the way he lived his life.

Just like mom.

The image of his mother chasing him around the playground was the last thing he remembered as his eyes melded shut.

It was a dreamless sleep, just the way he liked it, but it was abruptly interrupted by a loud knock on the door.

A female’s voice called for him.

He sat up, the panic rising in his chest as he searched for his clothes. In his groggy state, he couldn’t make out who the voice belonged to. Had Isabella come with her father to finally pay him back? Or maybe Margaret had returned with her pimp to rough him up?

He reached for his watch on the nightstand. 9:45.

If it was the morning, he’d been asleep nearly twelve hours.

He heard the footsteps walk away from his door. His visitor had left. He should leave, too, but where would he go?

There was a rustling noise at his window, behind the closed curtains. There was a crude fire escape outside. Perhaps whoever had been pounding on his door was now trying to find another way in.

He sat motionless, not even daring to breathe.

The curtains fluttered slightly and a sudden, deathly coldness filled the room. The world around him grew hazy and tilted, as if he were looking at it through a distorted lens. He heard the window squeak, followed by creaking footsteps on the floorboards.

Someone was in the room with him.

Armand shifted his eyes from the window to the door. He could make a break for it; he wondered if he possessed the willpower to make his legs move.

The temperature in the room continued to drop.

Armand exhaled slowly, silently watching his breath curl around him.

His eyes begrudgingly turned back to the window.

A shape emerged. It rose from the floor, forming itself into the physique of a man, only taller and devoid of any light, with arms that nearly dragged the ground. Two red dots flickered from its head, watching him.

The creature lowered itself into Armand’s chair, tapping its sinuous fingers against the armrest.

Armand vaulted from his bed, almost tripping over his blankets as he flew towards the door. Whoever was out there in the hall was surely better than what was in here.

He opened the door, shielding his eyes from the heavy light.

The sound of footsteps returned, echoing the sound of his rushing heartbeat. Armand took a quick look at the chair. The creature’s mouth stretched itself into the curve of a smile. The apparition then vaporized, leaving nothing behind.

Firm hands planted themselves on his shoulders, spinning him around. “Are ya okay?”

Armand stood frozen, unable to answer. Dora pushed him aside and entered the room.

Sasha followed, raising her hands. “I can still feel its chill.”

Armand pointed to the now empty chair. “It was there.”

Dora opened a book. “Stand back,” she said, moving in the vicinity of the window. “We know what haunts ya.”

Nine

“Don’t argue with me. Drink it!”

Dora stood over Armand like a drill sergeant, her hawk eyes scrutinizing him as he drank the tea.

It had a bitter taste he found hard to choke down but he wasn’t about to argue it anymore. Though hardly five feet tall, Dora was an imposing woman and Armand knew he wasn’t leaving the table until he’d finished it.

Sitting beside him, Sasha coolly sipped her own tea.

“Is your head clear yet?” she asked, adding a sugar cube to her cup.

“Clear enough.”

To be honest, his head had cleared the moment he saw that thing sitting in his room. If he had tried to dismiss the skeletal rider as a drunken illusion, he had no doubt that what smiled at him in his apartment had been real.

Its appearance had sobered him up like no amount of coffee could.

He hadn’t even needed to explain to the women.

They’d barged in, waving a foul-smelling incense through the room while reciting Latin, dousing the chair in sprinklets of water. After several minutes, they announced the room clean and escorted Armand out of his apartment and over to theirs. He had been sitting in their kitchen for nearly three hours now, feeling humiliated at having run from a ghost, and worse, having the two women know it.

“I’m done,” Armand pushed his empty cup back to Dora who immediately refilled it. He shook his head and slammed his palms on the table. “No. I mean I’m done with all of this.”

“Ya’ll drink till I tell ya to stop. And then ya’ll drink some more.” She was a broad woman, built like a football player, and Armand wasn’t sure that he could break past her, even on his best day.

He stared into the newly refilled cup, the bitter scent curling his nose.

Dora crossed her arms and he resigned himself to another helping of the foul concoction.

Sasha leaned forward and whispered. “It doesn’t taste very good, but you should drink as much as you can. Dora specializes in herb-crafting. You’ll feel good as new in no time.”

Armand watched the steam rise up from the cup.

“To tell you the truth,” he whispered back, “I’m not sure I remember what new feels like.”

Sasha smiled while Dora continued her stare down.

“I sense your visitor is gone for now,” Sasha said, in a voice now loud enough for Dora to hear. “But I think you should stay here for the night. Whatever portal it passed through may still be open until the spell takes full effect. In your current state, you’d be an easy vessel.”

Armand put his cup down and rubbed at a spot between his eyebrows. “My current state happens to be my only state, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Then you’re lucky they haven’t gotten to you sooner.”

Dora harrumphed and shook her head. Her mousey gray-brown curls didn’t move. “I fail ta see what is so special about him. He’s average, at best. I’ve seen carnival workers with more talent than he has.” She looked him up and down, unimpressed by her appraisal. “A common charlatan.”

Sasha leisurely stretched her arms, as if she had conversations like this every day. “Don’t be so hasty to judge, Dora. He may not look like much, but he does have abilities.”

Dora eyed him again, her nostrils flaring. “Abilities. We all have abilities.” She smiled, her eyes mocking him. “Prove me wrong. Show us what sort o’ abilities ya have.”

The women kept their eyes fixed on him.

He knew he didn’t need to prove himself, especially to a couple of chicks with more than a few marbles loose. But he did want to wipe that smirk from Dora’s face. To pull that off, he’d need to do something more impressive than predicting that a light would go off. He rolled his shoulders back and went to the kitchen window.

He shaped his energy into a long heavy arc that spread out from the window to the street outside.

Like puzzle pieces, the immediate future fell into place in his mind. He beckoned for the others to join him.

“Do you see that little girl out there? In a few seconds she’ll trip and fall. Then she’ll cry and some bigger kid will help her up.”

Just as he envisioned, the little girl tripped and fell, hitting her lip on a sharp stone. When she wiped her mouth and saw the blood she cried out.

An older boy emerged from one of the more run-down apartments and scooped her up, carrying her inside.

Dora took another glance out the window then returned to the table.

“See?” Sasha placed her hands on Dora’s shoulders. “He is gifted.”

“Humph. If he were really that great he would have stopped it from happening in the first place.”

Dora brewed more tea while Sasha paced and Armand took his seat at the table, biting into one of the hard biscuits Dora had baked up earlier. It was as tasteless as cardboard but with every bite he could feel a bit of his energy restored.

“The good news is that I sense your apparition was only there to scare you,” Sasha said, wringing her hands.

Armand stopped eating. “How in the hell is that good news? Lady, I saw a ghost. And I feel like an idiot just for saying it.”

Sasha halted her march. “For your information, that was not a ghost you saw. It was a demon, or at least one of their minions.”

“What are you talking…”

“…and demons,” she interrupted, “aren’t anything to mess with. If it just wanted to feed off of your anger or your fear, consider yourself lucky.”

Armand dropped his half-eaten biscuit and pushed his fingers into his temples. The pounding in his brain had returned. Things had gotten too weird, too fast, and it was all he could do to keep from going ape.

“It might be the sleeping pills or the booze or the fact I haven’t watched a goddamned TV show or even heard a normal song in well over a month, but you almost had me believing in this shit. With your weird dances and your fake Latin.” He looked from Dora to Sasha. “If you two want to live your life like every day is Halloween, that’s your thing. I don’t believe in witches and I don’t believe in demons.”

Sasha narrowed her eyes. “Well, I suggest you start.” She brushed a lock of hair from her face. “I don’t care if you believe in what Dora and I do, but as far as demons go, disbelief is the greatest weapon they have. They’ve spent millennia trying to make people like you think they are nothing but myth. But I assure you, warlock, they are as real as you and me.”

“I need a shower.” Armand stood, shaking the crumbs from his hands onto the floor.

Dora retrieved a broom and immediately started sweeping. “Ya got that right.”

“It’s the last door on the left.” Sasha pointed down the shadowy hallway.

Armand remembered the creature in his chair and a shiver crawled down his spine. He suddenly wasn’t keen on being alone at the moment, no matter what he told the women he didn’t believe in.

Sasha handed him a bar of soap. “Before you go, can you tell us if you’ve encountered anything like this before?”

“Huh?” He looked at the soap in his hand, then down the hallway again. “Why?”

“Because your energy, combined with your abilities, might be particularly appealing to those types. They feed off those who are gifted, especially the untrained.”

Armand hesitated, wondering how much to reveal. At last, he shrugged. What was one more egg to add to the cuckoo’s nest?

“I saw a cloaked rider on a dark horse,” he confessed, almost laughing at the absurdity of it.

Dora and Sasha exchanged glances.

“When?” Sasha asked.

“Yesterday. In the alley.”

Dora swallowed. When she spoke again her voice wavered. “Did the rider…speak, or show ya anything?”

Armand tightened his grip around the soap. “Yes. He said ‘you,’ and showed me a set of silver…”

“… scales,” Sasha finished.

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh, dear,” Dora now poured herself a cup of tea, her fingers trembling so badly she could hardly keep the pot steady.

“Oh, dear? What does that mean? You’ve heard of this horse guy before?”

Sasha nodded. “It means stage three has begun.”

She pressed her hands to her chest in a prayer posture, her eyes darting between Dora and Armand. Finally, she took a deep breath and exhaled, nodding reassuringly to herself.

“Stage three.” Dora picked up her cup, spilling some of the tea in the process. “I thought we’d have more time. It hasn’t been that long since the last one.”

“The last one of what?” Armand demanded.

Sasha ignored Armand and spoke straight to Dora.

“The world is speeding up. There’s nothing we can do about it.” She paused, turning her attention to the window. Outside, three small girls were skipping rope. “It’s time to head home, Dora. And Armand will be coming with us.”

Armand blinked rapidly. “Where is home and why do I need to go with you?”

Dora lifted her chin, the cup in her hand still trembling. “Dark Root, Oregon. It is time for us to build The Council.”

“You two seem like nice women and all, but I don’t think I’ll be going with you to Dark Root.” Armand thrust his hands into his pocket as he stood before the fountain.

The cherubs chirped and gurgled, recording all of the bad things that he was doing, while ignoring the bad things that freely roamed the land.

Sasha stood before him in a sleeveless, blue cotton dress, not at all cold as the temperature dropped. She turned her eyes on the horizon, watching as the setting sun cast a pink film across the otherwise gray landscape.

“We have no choice,” she said, her voice far away.

She might not think she had a choice, but he certainly did. His life was back in California. Why the hell would he go to some hick town he’d never even heard of until tonight?

“You’ll go because it’s the right thing to do,” Sasha said, crossing her arms to face him.

His mouth fell open. “I thought you couldn’t read minds,” he said, feeling as though he’d been caught pilfering from the church collection bowl.

She shook her head. “It was a guess, based on your silence. And no, I can’t read minds. That is a very rare gift, and for good reason. Someone who has access to other’s thoughts can cause all sorts of trouble.”

She looked him up and down, as if to prove her point.

Armand couldn’t argue.

He had discovered his gift when he was in the second grade. He used it to know when the teacher was having a bad day and how to make that day even worse. It served her right. She was the only teacher who assigned homework on the weekend.

He never told anyone about his gift, though a few had guessed. His mother learned about it only in her last year, when he’d confronted her with the cancer she had kept hidden.

After that, she was more worried about his soul than her own.

Armand stared at Sasha’s feet, aware of how exposed he felt. He had spent his whole life hiding who he was, and yet she seemed to know him completely.

“I don’t read thoughts,” she repeated calmly. “But I can feel and see energy. And there’s a lot that can be surmised by every flicker of an aura.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Yes. I agree.”

Sasha stepped forward, closing the gap between them, her slim body only a breath from his. He took her hands, surprised at how easily the energy flowed between them. Visible cords of red and white light wound themselves around one another, passing between them.

“We’re the same,” he said. “I never thought I’d meet another.” His voice tightened and he wished he had a drink.

“The same isn’t always good. Think about magnets.” She lowered her eyes and thought for a moment. “There are more of us, scattered across the world, but Dora and I were sent specifically for you.”

“That can’t be right. I’m no good.” He took one tiny step closer, linking his arms loosely around her waist, breathing in her lavender and roses scent.

“I don’t know why you were picked, either,” she sighed. “Dora saw it in her visions, that we were to come here and find our first disciple.” She sighed again, heavier this time. “I never ignore Dora’s visions. Not anymore.”

There was a sadness in her voice that made Armand feel strangely protective. He tightened his embrace.

“You’ll come with us,” she said resolutely. Her body tensed in his arms.

He lifted her pointy chin, staring into her bewitching eyes. He had felt a glimmer of a connection with Isabella, but nothing compared to the way he felt now.

“If I come with you, what will we do?” He brushed her lips with his. Not quite a kiss, but it was enough, for now.

“I’m not sure. I only know that I’m supposed to take you to Dark Root and form The Council.” She gritted her teeth and pulled away. “If only Dora’s visions were clearer. It sounds silly, I know, even to me. I’m sorry I don’t have better answers.”

Armand had never thought of himself as a spiritual person, but he was beginning to consider that something else was at work in the world, beyond what he could see and hear.

His abilities alone were proof of that.

Sasha linked arms with him and the two strolled along the stone road that cut through the square. The lights were out in all of the nearby shops and the sun had fully set, yet Armand could still make out every detail of her face.

He leaned against the wall of the bakery, the smell of the day’s bread still strong in the air.

“If I told you that I sleep with women to… ”

He clamped his mouth shut, immediately regretting his words. He hoped that she really couldn’t read minds as a reel of his sexual encounters played through his mind.

Sasha’s energy changed from warmth to ice. He didn’t need to read minds to know that she was jealous.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Sometimes I forget…”

“Don’t be,” she shrugged, her aura pulling in. “I’m no angel myself.”

Now it was Armand who was jealous.

The thought of another man touching her, any man, triggered a strange need to possess her. He dug his nails into the palms of his hands to keep from saying anything.

“Let’s stop this,” she said, shaking her head. “We have no claims on one another. And it is no secret why you seduce women you don’t care about. Just like demons feed off fear, you feed off a woman’s sexual energy. All warlocks do.”

When he didn’t respond, she laughed. “You seem embarrassed. You shouldn’t be. That’s in the past. At least, I hope. But done correctly, sex is a beautiful thing.”

Armand raised an eyebrow. “Not according to my mother.”

“Love and sex are the most powerful forms of connection. It’s great when they go together, but they don’t have to.

“…Still, you must be careful,” she continued. “You can connect too much. It is easy to create false expectations.”

He remembered Isabella.

“Yes,” he nodded, placing his hand over his shirt pocket where her flower had once been.

“Dora doesn’t trust you,” Sasha said, changing the subject. “Doesn’t trust any warlock, in fact. I can’t say that I blame her. Men only care about power. All the wars that have ever been fought can attest to that.”

“That’s not a fair statement. I’m sure there are plenty of men who care about things other than themselves.”

“Like you?” Sasha glided towards a pole where the children hung ribbons and danced. She twirled herself around it, her eyes never leaving Armand’s.

“But you trust me enough to take me to Dark Root?”

She shrugged. “As I’ve said, I have no choice.”

Three white birds gathered at his feet, pecking at the bits of food that had been left behind by bakery customers. They took the last of the crumbs and flew away, small flecks of alabaster against the evening sky. Armand remembered the black bird in his windowsill, and its unholy caw.

The memory still sent shivers down his back.

“I’m here looking for my father,” he confessed as she continued her twirl. “He lived in this village before the revolution.”

Sasha returned to Armand’s side. “What’s his name? I can try to get a read on him, to see if any of his energy still lingers here.”

Armand’s pulse quickened. He had tried to do that himself, but it hadn’t worked. Perhaps she could.

“His name was Sebastian Diaz.”

She raised her hands, her fingers working circles in the air. She spoke to the moon and the winds.

Finally, she shook her head. “I’m sorry. He doesn’t want you to find him.”

Armand pressed his palms into his temples. He had suspected as much. “I could have read my mother’s thoughts to find out more, but I could never bring myself to do it. I was afraid of what I’d discover.”

“I didn’t know my father, either.” Sasha smiled sadly. “My mother says he died before I was born.”

A strong breeze swept through and Sasha shivered, though Armand was not convinced it had to do with her being cold.

“Let’s head back,” he said.

As they walked, she asked, “Your mother was a religious woman?”

“To say the least! I blame communion for my love of wine.” He smiled, remembering all the Sundays they’d spent in church when he wanted to be out playing with his friends.

He’d give anything to have one of those days back with his mother.

Just before they reached her apartment, Sasha halted.

Armand was glad. He wasn’t ready to end the night.

Sasha reached for his hand, her eyes sparkling. “Have you ever made love to a woman without taking from her?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do.”

He thought about it. Even with Isabella he had taken. “No, I guess I haven’t.”

She opened her apartment door. Smiling at him over her shoulder, she asked, “Care to give it a try?”

Ten

Armand smiled down at Sasha’s lovely face. His wet hair hung in limp strands that draped her cheeks. They had been going at it for hours now; him on top, then her, then back again. His knees trembled, his heart raced, and his body threatened to give out.

But Sasha wasn’t tired. In fact, she seemed more invigorated with each passing minute.

With what remained of his strength he rolled off of her, soaked in his own perspiration.

“That was nice,” Sasha said, grasping his hand and kissing the tips of his fingers.

“Nice?” He turned his head in her direction, staring at her in disbelief.

“Okay, very nice. How would you describe it?”

The word amazing came to mind, followed by surreal.

He hadn’t siphoned from her, and not because he didn’t try. But knowing that he couldn’t take from her had allowed him to be more present in the experience itself. It was the best sex he’d ever had, but it had left him physically depleted.

She crawled out of her bed and pulled on her blue dress. Checking her reflection in the vanity mirror, she twined her damp curls into a braid.

“Shall we find something to eat?” she said. “Sex always makes me hungry.”

He had thought himself an expert on the subject of making love, but after his round with Sasha he felt like a teenaged boy. A lightning bolt of jealousy shot through him as he imagined how many lovers had helped propel her to mastery in the bedroom.

“Oh, don’t sulk,” she said, sensing the change in his mood. “You knew I wasn’t a virgin.”

Folding his arms behind his head, he watched as she continued to primp. “I don’t care what you’ve done in the past,” he lied.

“Then you’d be the first one.”

Sasha left the room and Armand watched the clock as he dabbed his wet face with her sheet. It smelled of roses. Ten minutes later she returned with a tray of sandwiches cut into small triangles. She sat at the edge of the bed, placing the tray between them.

“We shouldn’t tell Dora.” Sasha finished one sandwich and started on another. “She might not approve, especially since you are coming with us.”

She handed him a sandwich and he pushed it away.

“I still never said I was coming with you.”

“No,” she said, “but you implied it.”

He enjoyed that he was getting to her. He needed to feel in control again.

“Why do women always assume that sex comes with a contract?” For good measure, he glanced at the tray of sandwiches, which was disappearing quickly. “And if you keep eating like that, you’ll get fat.”

Sasha bunched her lips and Armand readied himself for a rebuttal. Instead, she set the tray on the floor and lay down beside him.

“I didn’t assume anything.” She kissed his bare chest, working her way to his navel. “I was referring to what you said before we made love.”

“You can never believe anything a man says when he’s trying to get in your pants.” He closed his eyes, luxuriating in the feel of her warm lips on his bare skin.

“Oh?”

He could feel the warmth of her breath grazing the tops of his thighs. He arched his hips, willing her lips to make contact, but that only succeeding in making her pull further away.

“You mean you aren’t ready to fall in love and start a family?” she said.

His eyes snapped open. “Ah, hell. When did I say that?”

“Right before you…” She blew across his navel.

“You’re toying with me, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“You keep kissing me like that and I’ll do anything you want.”

“Spoken like a true man.”  Her lips wound their way back up his chest, sending pleasurable shivers across his body.

Armand relaxed, immersing himself in the sensation.

“But I will do this.” She directed him to a sitting position against the headboard. She hiked her skirt and straddled him, her bare legs warm and inviting. “I didn’t let you take from me earlier. You must be exhausted.”

She blew on her hands and her fingertips glowed an enticing blue. She placed them on his chest. Armand felt his energy return. In fact, he felt even stronger now than he did before their tryst. She removed her hands and the blue light faded away.

“There, all better.”

He suckled her neck with renewed desire, tasting the salt of her sweat. He was hungry again. Ravenous, in fact. “I think I could love you,” he whispered.

Her body stiffened. The light around her snuffed, like someone had blown out a candle.

She touched his cheek, almost with pity. “You mean it, don’t you?”

He shook his head, about to protest.

Sasha pressed a finger to his lips. “I’m sorry, but I can never love you.” She kissed his hand and left her lips there. “I don’t think I can ever love anyone.”

Armand felt a stabbing sensation in his chest. He lifted her face to meet his.

“I was teasing,” he grinned. “We’re the same, remember? I don’t think I can love anyone, either.”

Sasha gave him a quick nod. Her light returned, setting the room aglow.

“Who needs love?” she asked, her nails digging into his shoulders as her hips slid closer to his.

Armand wrapped his arms around the small of her waist. “Certainly not me.”

“I don’ know why ya insist on takin’ him.” Dora took a long swill from her teacup, grimaced, then added honey. “This is so bad even I can’t drink it straight.”

“Now, Dora, we have to. You know he is the reason we were led here.”

“Ya sure it wasn’t fer the girl?”

“Well…” Sasha puckered her lips, stirring her own cup with a teaspoon. “He may have something to do with the girl’s condition.”

“I don’ like it. Don’ like warlocks o’ any kind. Why are ya always cavortin’ around with them? Find yerself another hobby.”

Sasha smiled, lifting the cup to her lips. “It might do you some good to find a similar hobby. Maybe then you wouldn’t be so grumpy all the time.”

Armand watched the women from the top of the landing where the basement stairwell met the kitchen.

He’d just woken up, and according to the clock on the kitchen wall directly in front of him, he’d been out awhile. When he’d come to, he’d forgotten where he was until the scent of lavender and roses hit him.

He stood there quietly, undecided if he should continue to eavesdrop or announce his presence. He was curious about Sasha’s hobby and Dora’s distrust of warlocks, but he felt foolish lurking in the shadows. He was about to cough and make an entrance when Sasha spoke his name.

“Armand may be a warlock, but I believe he’s a good soul.”

Dora slammed her cup into its corresponding saucer.

“Good soul?” She leaned forward, her thick brows knitting together over her keen hawk eyes. “Mark my words. He’ll turn on ya like cream left out o’ the icebox. In my opinion, there shouldn’t be any warlocks on The Council at all.”

She gathered up her dishes and marched to the sink, clanging saucers and cups together while cursing under her breath.

Sasha followed, gently placing her own cup inside the soapy water.

“If we don’t train him, someone else will. The third horseman has come. What else can we do?” She rested a hand on the back of Dora’s shoulders. The two women stared out the window, into the coral sunlight of the December morning.

“If the Dark Army wants him, there’s nothin’ we can do ta stop it,” Dora answered. “Even in Dark Root.”

Sasha sighed. Armand noticed her hair was loose and wild. “We will put up the shield,” she said. “If we do it right, nothing can get through.”

Several minutes passed before Dora spoke again.

At last, she shook the dishwater from her hands, then dried them on her apron. “Would take at least seven o’ us ta perform the ritual. We’d need a full Council.”

“Well, we’ve got three, with him. Four if we include Larinda.”

Dora’s eyes shadowed. “Ya don’ mean to include her, too? After all the trouble she put ya through?”

“She’s family, Dora. Family forgives.”

“Humph! If it weren’t fer her, Robbie would still be alive, family or not!” Dora elbowed past Sasha and disappeared into the adjoining living room.

Sasha stared after but didn’t follow.

Armand took a quiet step backwards. Dark Army? Council? Train him? He didn’t like the sound of any of it. He wondered if he had somehow gotten involved in a religious nut-cult. They were popping up all around San Francisco.

He decided right then that he would leave as soon as possible. He’d be cutting it close, but he probably had enough dough to catch a bus to the city and hop a plane.

At this point, he’d swim back to the States if he had to.

Besides, Sasha had already said she couldn’t love him. She was using him, just like he’d used the others.

His Karma, he guessed.

Armand took another step back, feeling for the narrow stair below him. He missed and lost his balance.

Tumbling down the sleek wooden stairs, his head hit the hard basement floor.

Eleven

“Idiot.”

It was Dora’s voice that brought him back, her square face staring at him, shoving a cup of her infamous tea in his face. “Drink it,” she ordered.

Armand sickened at the smell and turned his head away.

“It will help with the headache,” Sasha said reassuringly. His head rested in her lap.

He tried to sit, but was struck back down by a sharp pain that shot from his foot through his entire body.

“I don’t think it’s my head.” He nodded at his ankle.

Dora carefully drew his pants leg up, revealing a black and purple area the size of a fist.

He wriggled it, and let out an involuntary yelp.

“That’ll take more than tea.” Dora took the cup and lumbered back up the stairs.

“We need pain killers, Dora,” Sasha called after her. “The good stuff, if we have any.”

Armand patted down his shirt pocket, hoping he’d still had some of his stash. Coming up empty, he tossed his head back into Sasha’s lap. If someone had set fire to his foot, it probably would have hurt less. He prayed that the good stuff Sasha referred to was really, really good.

Dora returned holding a jar. Stooping beside him, she opened his mouth and popped two pills inside. “Do ya need help chewin’ them, too?”

“I can do it myself, thanks.” He lifted his head, recognizing the taste as aspirin. “Well, witch,” he turned back to Sasha. “Have any magical remedies for my ankle?”

“He’s not worth it,” Dora said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Ya’ll regret it.”

“I was kidding,” Armand said, relaxing as the aspirin began to take effect. “Keep your voodoo practices to yourself. I’m going to find a doctor. They must have one, even in a third-world village like this.”

Reaching for the stair railing, Armand pulled himself to standing. He squared his shoulders and planted his injured foot on the floor, bracing himself for the pain.

“Mother fuck!” he yelled, losing his grip and sitting back down.

His ankle was more than sprained, and possibly broken.

“I’m using it, Dora,” Sasha said, heading towards her bedroom. “And that is that.”

Armand couldn’t tell how long Sasha was gone.

Dora stood vigil, her face pasted into an expression that told him she’d gladly let him rot on the floor, if it were up to her.

The aspirin was taking effect, at least, the horrible pain in his ankle receding to a bearable throb.

“We’re all out o’ medicine,” Dora informed him. “Let’s hope ya fall asleep before this dose wears off, or it might be a hard night fer you.”

At last, Armand heard Sasha’s footsteps near his head. She wore a red, hooded robe, and now wielded a short gnarled stick with a pointed end.

“What the…” He rubbed his eyes.

It really was a cult!

“You’ll be fine,” Sasha reassured him.

She raised the stick high above her head, then thrust it down upon him.

Twelve

Armand rolled onto his side, wincing as he realized he was putting his weight onto his injured ankle. He shut his eyes, readying himself for the pain, but none came.

He opened his eyes again.

He was in Sasha’s bed, naked except for his underwear. He sat up and inspected his foot. The bruising had completely disappeared. Cautiously, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and pressed his feet into the floor.

It was as if nothing had happened.

How long was I out? He scratched his head, suspecting Dora had drugged him with her tea. If he had been unconscious for several days, that would account for part of the healing. But not all of it.

He found his clothes in the wardrobe, clean and pressed.

The door opened as he dressed, and Sasha smiled lazily at him, wearing the same white dress he’d first met her in.

“Well, hello, sleepy-head.”

“I’m leaving,” he said, buttoning his shirt.

“But you just got here.”

“How long was I sleeping?”

“All night. I hope you dreamed.”

Yes, he had. Dark horses and whispering cherubs and pale pink flowers. He felt like he hadn’t slept at all.

“What did you do to my ankle?” he asked as he pulled on a sock. “Are you a nurse?”

Sasha put her hands on her hips. “Why do men always assume a woman with any medical training is a nurse? Why not a doctor? Times have changed, Armand, and they are going to keep changing. You’d better get used to it.”

He sighed, his patience wearing thin. “So you’re a doctor then?”

“No, but I don’t appreciate assumptions.”

“Good god, woman, do you always have to play mind games?” He grabbed his wallet from the dresser and limped past her, his subconscious still not believing his ankle had fully healed.

“You can’t go back to your apartment,” she said, when he was halfway down the hall.

“I won’t.”

“You can’t go into the village, either.”

“The hell I can’t.”

She caught up to him, grabbing him by the crook of his arm. “Armand, listen to me, please. There are people looking for you right now. People you don’t want to mess with.”

Armand froze. “What people?”

“The police. They mean to take you in.”

“What? You’ll say anything to get me to stay here, won’t you?”

Sasha glanced down the hall, as if those people might be right here in the house with them. “Plain-clothed officers have been watching you since you arrived. Your escapades are an insult to everything they believe in.”

Armand braced his hands against the walls of the narrow hallway. “And how do you know all this?”

“They were at the door this morning. Dora covered for you.”

“This isn’t some kind of ruse so that I have no choice but to stay down here in the cellar with you and Colonel Klink, is it?”

Sasha’s face hardened. “You think far too highly of yourself. If I wanted to keep you here, I wouldn’t have fixed your ankle.” She looked at his foot. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Storming back down the hall, she slammed her bedroom door behind her.

He bent down and inspected his ankle once again, still unsure how she’d fixed it. The image of her in a red cloak, holding the gnarled stick returned.

There are bad things in this world.

Sasha might be one of them.

Dressed in one of Dora’s raincoats, Armand puffed on a cigarette stolen from Sasha’s purse as he paced the cobblestone road outside the women’s apartment.

Every sound made him jump. First demons and now the Spanish police. There was no hiding in this town, from the living or the undead.

The clock on the old municipal tower announced that it was four in the afternoon. Most of the shops had closed up, only to reopen later in the day. Not that he had any intention of visiting them. He planned to lie low for now, until he figured out how to get out of town unnoticed.

He could hitchhike. Many tourists bragged about thumbing it across the entire European continent. But what if he got picked up by the wrong person? In a place like this, they probably still had bounties.

He took another drag of the cigarette, letting the familiar sensation of nicotine fill his lungs. His mother had smoked for most of her life and he’d acquired the habit by snatching smokes from her purse.

Of course, that was before the government deemed it unhealthy. On her deathbed, he promised her he’d quit, but he hadn’t specified when. Maybe when he was out of here, he’d make a fresh start in L.A., breathing in the pollution instead.

For now, smoking was one of the few legal reprieves he had from all the craziness.

He tapped a long ash on the ground as an idea began to take form. These women really wanted him to go with them. If he played along, acting like he was gung-ho-joe about it, they might help smuggle him out of town. It would be easy for them. The policia weren’t looking for women.

He could pretend his way all the way to freedom, then ditch them once the plane landed on U.S. soil. They might even pay for his plane ticket.

He’d have to play it cool, of course.

The plan, though a sound one, somehow left him cold. He couldn’t deceive Sasha, even if she was a pain in his ass.

He decided not to go with them, but they might help him anyway, if he asked.

Armand stamped out his cigarette.

Feeling like a beaten dog, he returned to Sasha’s apartment, angry that he was at her mercy. Angrier still that she knew it.

Thirteen

The room was dark, lit up only by the lightning that slashed across the night sky. Outside the bedroom, window Nature was putting on quite a show. The last silver blaze practically ripped the sky apart.

Armand sat in Dora’s bed, smoking as he watched the spectacle. As usual, he couldn’t sleep, but it wasn’t the storm that kept him up. It was the sound of Sasha and Dora’s footsteps, parading up and down the hallway all night.

“As soon as the storm is over,” he thought. “I’ll tell them I’m catching the next plane out of here. If they’re as righteous as they claim to be, they’ll help me. If not, screw them. I’ll walk to the nearest city myself.”

The thunder sounded like cannon fire and the old building quaked. This wasn’t any storm, it was THE storm. He didn’t know Spain had such weather.

Another thing left out of the travel brochures.

Light suddenly flooded the room. Armand turned to see Sasha standing in the doorway with a large basket draped over her arm.

“Get up,” she said. “We have to go.”

“I already told you I’m not going back to Dark Land with you.”

“It’s Dark Root, and that’s not where we’re going. There’s been an emergency.”

“Ah, hell, lady. Do I look like I’d be any use in an emergency? Get me a drink and we’ll talk about it.”

Sasha answered by throwing him his clothes.

Armand pulled on his corduroy jeans, paisley shirt, his trench coat, and his cowboy hat to help keep the rain off of his head, all the while wondering what kind of emergency could possibly call them out in a storm like this?

But these two whackos had no sense of time or even temperature. They probably didn’t even notice it was raining.

With the cigarette still in his mouth, he followed her down the hall, mumbling out loud that this “better be good.”

A man in a long jacket stood in the front doorway, clutching his wet hat.

Armand panicked. Was this a trap?

He did a quick scan of the man’s mind. He was not a policeman; he was a grieving father.

Dora emerged from the kitchen, carrying a cup of one of her concoctions. She handed it to the man and motioned for him to take a seat near the fireplace.

“Gracias, no,” the man said, his eyes full of worry. “There is no time,” he explained, looking at each of them in turn.

When his eyes met Armand’s they flickered with anger.

Armand read the man’s thoughts again.

He was Isabella’s father.

Sasha put on her raincoat. “He is right,” she said. “There is very little time.”

They tramped through the night, following the man into rain so thick Armand couldn’t see three feet ahead of him.

“Where the hell are we going?” he asked aloud, his feet seemingly finding every puddle along the way. “And why does it have to be now?”

Sasha stopped in her tracks and Armand bumped into her.

“This is partly your mess,” she said. “Therefore, you will help to clean it up.”

She raised her chin and returned to her march, sloshing through the rain as the man led them further away from the village and into the outskirts of town.

They picked their way down a slippery dirt road, grasping at tree branches for support until they came upon a small house. The man opened the door and they entered into a room as dark as the night outside.

“I am sorry,” the man apologized. “The power, it is out.”

“I don’t like this,” Armand whispered. “Every horror movie I’ve ever watched has a scene like this. I hope you have your gym shoes on.”

Sasha shushed him. “Dora, did you bring the candles?”

Dora’s shadow rummaged through her large bag, her breathing labored.

At last, she withdrew a candle and lit it.

Armand squinted as his eyes fought to adjust. The room had been cleared of all furniture except for a makeshift bed on the floor. A young woman lay on the mat, her eyes wide and staring upwards as a dozen statues of the Virgin Mary and at least as many crucifixes held vigil on stands and shelves around her.

The woman rolled her head to face Armand. “I knew you’d return for me.” She licked her lips and grinned.

That can’t be Isabella. She was so thin and pale. Her hair had turned the color of ash. And the voice. It wasn’t hers.

Armand inched closer. She looked so different, but even with only one candle to see by, there was no denying this was her.

“It hurts,” she said in a child’s voice, lifting her hands to show him that they were tied. Her ankles were bound as well.

“What the hell have you done to her?” Armand grabbed her father by the collar and pulled him up on his toes.

“We had to tie her,” the man insisted, his eyes darting around the room. “She has the diablo inside her.”

Isabelle turned her head towards her father and hissed. A statue of the Virgin Mary fell from its shelf. “Cállate!”

“He did the right thing,” Sasha stepped between the two men. “If she hadn’t been bound, she might have hurt herself or worse.”

Isabella turned her attention to Dora, her eyes filling with tears. “You remind me of my mother. Please untie me. I promise to be good.”

“Ya can’t fool me. I’ve seen yer kind before.”

Armand pushed his fingers through his hair. “What the hell is wrong with her?”

“She’s possessed,” Sasha answered.

“Possessed?” Armand knew what possession was. His mother often talked about the devil getting in you. But Isabella was a good soul, not one of those bad things. “She can’t be. How?”

Sasha took a deep breath, glancing from the girl’s father, then back to Armand. Speaking in a tone that only he could hear, she said, “You weakened her by taking too much of her life force. Her light has always been attractive to the other side, and when she was vulnerable…one of its minions stepped in.”

Armand began to comprehend and knew she spoke the truth. He buried his face in his hands, and dropped to his knees. “Oh, God, Isabella. I’m so sorry.”

From the corner of his eye, Armand saw Dora remove a purple vial from her bag. She uncapped it, placing a dot of its contents on the young woman’s forehead. Isabella screamed as the oil seared her skin.

“You’re hurting her!” Armand grabbed at the vial “Stop!”

“She’s not hurt, and if you keep interrupting you’ll make things worse.” Sasha pulled a large book from Dora’s bag and flipped through its pages. “I know it’s hard, but remember, this isn’t Isabella. She’s just a vessel.”

Armand sat back on his heels, watching as Dora continued her work.

Sasha turned to Isabella’s father, who was now holding a crucifix near his daughter’s feet. “How long has she been like this?”

He shook his head. “Only tonight is she this bad. But for a few weeks she has been acting strange. I thought it was because she…” He looked briefly at Armand, the anger returning to his eyes. “Sometimes love makes you act crazy.”

“Yes!” Isabella spit on Armand. “I loved you. You did this to me.”

The floor around her began to vibrate, a horrible hum that spread out across the room. Armand planted his hands to the ground to keep from toppling over. Dora dropped her vial. Sasha kept reading even as she struggled to stay on her feet. Isabella’s father held tight to his crucifix.

The house roared. Armand was sure it would be torn apart, nail by nail. One after the other, the Virgin Mary statues and crucifixes crashed to the ground.

Isabella lifted her neck, contorting it into an impossible position. With a cruel smile she spoke. “I’ll say hello to your mother.”

Armand scrambled backwards. “I’m out of here. I’ll take my chances in the can.”

“Ya can’t leave!” Dora yelled to be heard over the rumbling of the room.

“To hell I can’t!” He turned the doorknob and pulled. It wouldn’t budge.

“We’ve sealed the house,” Sasha said, her eyes never leaving her page in the book. “No one goes in or out without my consent.”

Isabella giggled, arching her back and kicking her bound ankles on the floor.

That was it! He was tired of the town and witches and religious nuts. He wanted out, and he was getting out now!

Armand channeled his anger at the door. A clear beam erupted from his palms, splintering the door in two.

He pointed a finger at Sasha. “That’s a warning for you. Never try and control me.”

He braced himself and headed back into the storm.

The wind fought back.

Armand bent forward as the rain slashed at him, his long auburn hair clinging to his face. He followed the dirt road––now not much more than a muddy trench––and sloshed his way back to the village square.

I’ll say hello to your mother.

If he hadn’t left, he would have snapped her neck. And then they’d both be in hell.

The rain poured down in one long sheet. Armand stumbled through it, bumping his knee on something hard. Looking up, he saw the statue of Mother Mary. Her angels smiled at him, amused.

Clean up your own mess.

How could he? Even the witches couldn’t rid the girl of her demon.

But then again, how could they? Isabella had no faith in witchery. All of her faith was in God.

Ah, hell.

Until Isabella met him she’d been a good girl, obeying the rules of her father and the church. But after he seduced her, she identified herself as a fallen woman. He sensed that now––could feel her distress. She was no longer worthy of the good, but there were bad things waiting to comfort her.

He had failed her in two ways. No wonder she was an easy vessel.

Sterling cords of light cracked the sky like a bullwhip. Armand slumped down on the fountain, casting his gaze upwards. He lifted his hands in prayer. He still didn’t believe in Heaven or God, but Isabella did.

The rain continued to pour, drenching him to the bone.

After several minutes it subsided just slightly and he stood. Two roads were visible: one that led away from Santo Aldea and one that led to Isabella’s.

Mary’s eyes flashed and the cherub continued its frenzied scrawling.

He looked in both directions. Pulling his jacket tight around him, he chose his road.

Fourteen

“So, you’re back.”

Armand marched past Sasha, straight for Isabella.

Her eyes were closed, but when she sensed his presence they clicked open, as wide and innocent as a doll’s. Her cracked lips formed a tight grin.

Dora stood above Isabella, reciting strange words read from her book, while dangling a pendulum above the girl. Armand pushed the woman aside.

“What do ya think yer doin’?” Dora demanded. Armand ignored her as he worked at the ties on Isabella’s hands. Dora grabbed at him. “Ya can’t do that!”

“The hell I can’t.”

Once her hands were free, he unbound her ankles. Careful not to hurt her, he picked her up. She weighed as little as a child.

“We need to get her to the church.”

“No!” Isabella kicked with her unbound feet as Armand carried her through the door. “You’ll kill me! You’ll kill me!”

“Quiet, demon!”

Sasha called to him from the doorway. “There is nothing that can be done for her there that we can’t do here.”

He stopped to look at her. “This isn’t about what we can do.”

“He could be right.” Dora grabbed her coat and followed him out. “Her belief may be stronger than our magic.”

Sasha sighed and snatched her raincoat.

“Tell him to stay here,” Armand motioned to Isabella’s father. “She has enough guilt. She doesn’t need more.”

They pushed through the rain. Armand covered Isabella’s face with his hat to keep her dry. Her muffled voice cursed him through the fabric, then offered up her body to use as he pleased––anything to keep from going to the church. He ignored it all, even the reference to his dead mother rotting in a cold, dark place, all alone.

The enormous church sat on the opposite edge of town.

Judging by the appearance of the crumbling gray stonework, the oversized stained-glass windows, and the chiseled marble angels that guarded the door, it was built centuries ago. An arched wooden door beckoned from atop the steep staircase.

“It’s going to be locked,” Sasha said.

“The hell it is.”

Armand thrust his palm forward and the door swung open.

He turned to the women. “Can you two enter a church?”

“If you can, we certainly can.” Sasha lifted her chin and strode past him.

The sanctuary was cold and moist, the scent of mold clinging to the air. They made their way down the long aisle, past rows of worn benches, towards the lectern at the front of the room.

All the while, Armand had the uneasy feeling that he was being watched. On the walls above him, paintings of Saints looked down upon them.

Isabella’s protests grew more violent with each step. “I’ll kill you! Cut out your heart and eat it!”

“Shut up,” he ordered. “Or I’ll tie you back up and leave you here.”

At the top of the aisle and up a wide set of stairs an imposing crucifix hung from the wall. Armand laid her before the crucifix on a red carpet runner that cut the length of the stage.

“Now what?” he asked, looking to Dora and Sasha.

“It was yer idea to bring her here,” Dora said. “Ya better have a plan.”

Armand knelt beside the possessed woman, attempting to read her thoughts. There was not much left of his former lover. Her mind had turned to darkness and hate.

“It hurts, it hurts,” she whimpered, rolling her head along the carpet. Invisible claws slashed at her cheeks, tearing deep gashes into her once smooth face.

Armand stared helplessly as she cried out in pain.

Dora produced a stick from her bag. It was the same gnarled wand Sasha had used on his ankle.

Sasha took the wand and waved it over Isabella’s head. The tip glowed an incandescent green. Almost instantly, the wounds on Isabella’s face sealed shut. But as Sasha repaired one wound, another ripped open. Soon, Sasha’s knees trembled and her own white aura dimmed with the effort.

“She won’ be able ta keep it goin’,” Dora informed him. “It’s takin’ all her strength.”

Armand looked around the church. He was certain he had brought Isabella to the right place, though he had no idea what to do next.

He spied a thick tome on the lectern: a Catholic Bible. He also found a string of rosary beads. He took both.

Placing the beads around Isabella’s neck, he read random passages from the archaic book while Sasha continued to heal her wounds. Isabella hissed and snarled, clawing blindly at the air around her.

“Get a cross,” Sasha commanded.

Dora found a small, wooden crucifix in one of the side rooms and thrust it towards Armand.

“It will burn you if you touch it,” Isabella warned him.

He feared she might be right. He had lost all faith the night his mother died, and hadn’t set foot in a church since. But he was his mother’s son. Maybe there was enough of her inside of him to keep him safe.

He took the relic, gripping it firmly between his hands. “Demon, release the girl!”

Isabella shrieked, cursing him in an indecipherable language.

“Release her!”

To their right, a stained-glass window shattered. Armand winced in pain as a hail-sized piece of glass imbedded itself into his shoulder.

“She’s mine!” a voice said.

Gouges formed on Isabella’s arms. Blood dripped from her wounds, running down her body in smooth rivulets.

Dora hastily lit two white candles while Sasha continued her healing, her body trembling as she fought to keep the girl alive.

Seconds passed, perhaps minutes, when Sasha stumbled backwards, dropping her wand. She wiped the sweat from her face. “I’m not sure what we can do. The entity that resides in her is an old spirit, stronger than all of us.”

Isabella lifted her neck and cackled in triumph.

“We need a priest,” Armand said. “Stay here with her. I’ll find one.”

He raced down the darkened corridors that surrounded the sanctuary like a maze. Lightning illuminated the windows along the way––kaleidoscopic scenes, each more horrible than the last. Angels battling demons, lions feasting on martyrs, witches burning on the stake.

“Is anyone here?” Armand banged on every door.

All was quiet. There was one final door, straight ahead.

He opened it and was hit by an icy blast.

He emerged outside, standing in a cemetery. Tombstones as far as he could see, carefully guarded by gargoyle statues and trees with long bare limbs that beckoned him with crooked fingers.

His eyes skimmed the nearest stones: Father Bartholomew Sanchez, 1629. Father Antonia Hernandez, 1845. Father Gabriel Velasquez, 1914.

Here lay the compendium of priests who had overseen the church since its inception.

Armand backed towards the door to reenter the church when a flash of lightning cast its momentary spotlight on a headstone near the far iron gate. Even at a distance, Armand could read the inscription: Father Sebastian Diaz, 1941.

His father.

Fifteen

Armand dropped to his knees before the tombstone, in reverence and disbelief.

Could this really be his father’s grave?

He rubbed mud from the stone with the sleeve of his shirt, reading the inscription. 1913-1941. That would have made him 28, matching what his mother had told him.

But a priest?

He sifted through his coat pocket, removing several pesetas and the doll the little girl had sold him in the square. He returned them to his pockets and searched again, this time finding the watch. He squinted, as if inspecting it for the first time.

Swirls and geometric shapes were etched across the casing, details he had never paid attention to before. And then he saw it, a tiny cross in the center of the face.

It was true.

Armand sat back on his heels, letting the weight of the mud pull him down.

My virtuous mother, impregnated by a priest?

Sasha said his father didn’t want to be found. Now he knew why.

A strong hand gripped his shoulder and he jumped, certain the hand belonged to Sebastian Diaz.

It was Dora. Her eyes were filled with both urgency and, surprisingly, compassion. “There’s time fer grievin’ later. If we don’ go now, we’ll lose them both.”

Armand looked at the door that led to the church, then back at his father’s stone.

He touched the marker, feeling a vitality flow into him that was at once familiar and foreign, deep and uplifting. He wiped the mud from his knees and followed Dora inside.

Isabella jerked on the floor, crying in pain, the carpet beneath her stained with blood.

Sasha knelt over the girl, attending to her once again, but her face was pale and her aura all but gone.

Armand realized she had been feeding Isabella her own life force to keep her alive.

“Tell her to stop,” Armand ordered Dora.

Dora shook her head. “Sasha won’ give up on the girl. It’s not in her nature.”

Armand’s hands clamped around his father’s watch and pulled Sasha from the girl. Sasha looked ready to argue, but fell backwards. Dora caught her before she hit the ground.

Clasping Isabella’s wrists in one hand, he held his father’s pocket watch in the other.

“Let whatever happens, happen,” he said. “And stand back.”

Gathering his resolve, he cupped his mouth over Isabella’s. He’d taken from her before; he’d take from her again.

He inhaled deeply, sucking in her life force. It smelled like soured milk. He turned his head to the side for a breath.

“Come into me!” he shouted, then returned his lips to hers.

Her body tremored. Her legs and arms shook violently as the demon fought to keep control.

She pushed at his head, trying to break their connection.

“Take me, damn it! I’m the one you want!” He inhaled one last time, so deeply it burned his lungs.

He could feel it then: the long slow churn of a malignant presence exiting Isabella’s body, sucked from her belly and into her throat. The entity hesitated before entering its new host, then slid like an eel into the hole of a new den.

Isabella choked, spewing vomit.

Dora rushed to her side, clearing her mouth and nose.

Armand felt the demon’s essence flow through every part of him, and with it, the sensation of overwhelming power. He felt taller, stronger, and indestructible. He stretched his arms, turning his head from side to side to witness the crimson sparks that launched from his fingertips.

Now, this was power. He could have everything he wanted. Money, sex. Immortality.

Isabella hadn’t been able to control the demon, but he could.

He smiled at Sasha.

“Dora…” Her eyes widened with fear.

Armand pointed to a large painting of an angel.

The picture melted in its frame.

“Dora!” Sasha screamed as Armand advanced.

“We need a conduit!” Dora yelled back.

Their voices sounded strange to Armand, as if he were listening to them speak through a pane of glass. He seized Sasha by the shoulders, remembering the night they screwed. She hadn’t allowed him to take anything from her.

He’d take all he wanted now, show her that he was not anyone to challenge.

Sasha pulled away, backing down the aisle. “Dora, hurry!”

She held her wand before her like a sword. Some of her life-light had returned with her fear.

Armand licked his lips. Fear was delicious.

She began waving the wand in a wide arc and a clear bubble formed around her.

Armand struggled against the barrier, knowing that she couldn’t hold it long in her weakened state.

Dora rushed down the aisle, forcing herself between Sasha and Armand.

He blinked, then laughed. “Move!”

“Ya’ll have to get through me to get to her.”

Armand cocked his head and grinned. “I’ll enjoy this.”

He clutched Dora’s shoulders, focusing all of his energy on her. Red cables of light shot through his arms and into hers.

Dora cried out with pain yet managed to thrust her hand into his coat pocket, removing the doll. She held it aloft as the dark energy coursed directly through her body and into the effigy.

“No!” he screamed, watching his power empty into the simple toy.

The doll became a flame, and then a burnt rag.

Collapsing onto the ground, Armand felt empty. Of everything.

Sasha crawled to him, smoothing his hair from his face. Laying her head on his chest, she announced, “The demon is caged.”

Sixteen

Dora was quick with a shovel, digging the hole so swiftly and efficiently Armand was now questioning everything he thought he knew about the woman.

It was a small grave, but in a cemetery this crowded there wasn’t much room.

“Want the honors?” she asked, shaking the dirt from her dress.

Armand hesitated, though he understood it had to be him. He had channeled the beast. It was his demon to put to rest.

He took what was left of the doll, now wrapped between two pieces of stained glass and bound tightly with twine, and set it in the hole beside his father’s tombstone. His father would watch over it from the afterlife, helping ensure it did no further harm in this world. Before covering it with dirt, he decided to add one more item to the grave.

“You sure you want to do that?” Sasha asked as Armand placed the watch in the hole.

“Yes. I thought it was all I had of my father, but I was wrong.”

He filled in the hole and tapped it flat, setting the small wooden cross and the rosary beads on top of it.

Dora shook her head. “I’m goin’ ta check on the girl.”

Their eyes followed her in.

“So what really saved her?” Armand asked as Dora’s broad body disappeared into the church.

“Faith. It’s what saves us all.” Sasha looked up, fingering the crystal bracelet on her wrist. “You know, I think we all work for the same boss, we’re just in different offices.” She put her arm around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder.

Armand nodded, but he still had one more question for her. “I still don’t understand how my father could have been a priest. Aren’t priests supposed to be pure?”

“And what makes you think he wasn’t?”

“I’m his bastard child.” He stared again at the date of his father’s death. 1941. His mother was pregnant then. “I still have no idea how they met, or how he really died.”

Sasha lifted her head to meet his eyes. “Armand, your mother was a witch. When she was younger, at least. She kept that from you.”

“What?”

“I wasn’t able to get a read on your father, but your mother is all over you. You got your abilities from her, and your penchant for trouble.”

“But it was my father who…”

“…was under her spell.” Sasha picked up a stone, rolling it in her hands. “She did it for love, at least, and gave up the craft shortly after you were born. She never believed that it was wrong, but it was her way of honoring your father. Her secret would have stayed with her, had she not had a child with the same abilities.”

Armand swallowed, almost afraid to ask. “Did she…?” he put his fingers to his neck in a slicing motion.

“No.” She smiled. “He was already sick. When he died your mother converted to Catholicism to honor him.”

Armand rubbed the sides of his temples, wishing he had some more of Dora’s special aspirin, or even her god-awful tea. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I could only see part of the story until today. I’m sorry.” She glanced back at the church. “We’ve sent for Isabella’s father. She’ll be fine.”

“Can she get past this? She hates herself now. It could happen again.”

“I spoke with her a few minutes ago and she confessed everything. When you broke up with her she sought revenge by making a deal with a demon. She gave herself to him, in return for ‘making you pay.’” She shrugged. “I guess it worked, but not in the way she intended.”

“But she was so good. How could she have bargained with a demon?”

“Armand, you’re not the only one who struggles. We all do. It’s up to each of us to balance our scales.” Sasha smiled, and tossed her rock to the ground. “I wouldn’t worry too much about your part in this, either. I cast a forget spell on her. The last two months will be blurry. Sorry, but she’s not going to remember you as the man who made her a woman.”

Armand returned the smile. “Too bad. That would have been a really good memory for her.”

He laced his hands behind his head. The rain had ended and the first glimmer of pink appeared on the horizon. “I’m not sure what to do now.”

Sasha took his hand and they wound their way through the cemetery, looking at the names of those who had already come and gone. “Life’s short. Take a chance.”

“Even after what’s happened, you still want me to come with you?”

“Someone’s got to train you. You’re a powerful…man. I can’t let you run around untrained. Who knows how many women you’ll scorn? Then we’ll have demons running all over the place.”

Beneath an old withered tree, Armand pressed Sasha to the iron gate and tasted her lips. Her white aura flickered around her, fully restored.

“Am I more powerful than you?” he asked.

“Maybe. But I doubt it.”

“I’m sure I am.”

“Come with me then, and prove it.”

He pressed in tighter, aware of the strength of her life force. It was sweet and seductive, yet nourishing.

“As I’ve told you before, I can never love you,” she said, lifting her defiant chin.

“You don’t need to,” he said, kissing her again as his hand moved up her skirt. “So long as I own you.”

“Hmm…we’ll see who owns who.”

He made love to her there in the mud. She allowed him to take from her, and she took from him in return. Afterwards she put her head on his chest.

“You’re coming with us. Times are dark, Armand. You’ll help change the fate of the world.”

He kissed the top of her head and considered.

He had no stake in the world, but he knew he needed her, for many reasons.

“Yes, I’ll go with you,” he said, stroking her hair. “But just be warned…I can never love you either.”

She traced his lips with her finger. “You don’t need to, so long as I own you.”

The End

About the Author

April spent her childhood with her fortune-telling mother and her get-rich-quick-scheming stepfather: traveling the carnival circuit, selling products door to door, and living in an abandoned miner's shack in the Superstition Mountains of Arizona. During her travels she met many interesting people who have found their way into her novels.

Later, April went to live with her martial artist father and spent her days twirling swords and performing karate chops–skills she now only uses on her husband when he's forgotten to take out the recycling.

When she isn't writing, April enjoys Zumba, reading, Netflix, and video games. She is also an avid collector on anything related to: psychology, sociology, the occult, and world religion.

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https://www.facebook.com/AprilAasheimWriter

Sign up for my mailing list at:

http://www.aprilaasheimwriter.com

Twitter: @aprilaasheim

More in the Witches of Dark Root Series:

The Witches of Dark Root (Daughters of Dark Root Series, Book 1)

The Magick of Dark Root (Daughters of Dark Root Series, Book 2)

Coming Spring/Summer 2015: The Curse of Dark Root (Daughters of Dark Root Series, Book 3)

Other books by April Aasheim

The Universe is a Very Big Place (A quirky, romantic comedy)

JUMP TO...

NEW REVELATIONS by HEATHER TOPHAM WOOD

ARMAND by APRIL AASHEIM

TUESDAY’S CHILD by DALE MAYER

JUST A LITTLE NUDGE by JESI LEA RYAN

HAUNTED ON BOURBON STREET by DEANNA CHASE

SPIRITS AMONG US by MORGAN HANNAH MACDONAND

LONDON by JC ANDRIJESKI

AMONG THE LIVING by JORDAN CASTILLO PRICE

VAMPIRE VACATION by C.J. ELLISSON

TOUCHED by HAZEL HUNTER

TUESDAY’S CHILD

A Psychic Visions Novel

BY DALE MAYER

What she doesn't want...is exactly what he needs.

Shunned and ridiculed all her life for something she can't control, Samantha Blair hides her psychic abilities and lives on the fringes of society. Against her will, however, she's tapped into a killer–or rather, his victims. Each woman's murder, blow-by-blow, ravages her mind until their death releases her back to her body. Sam knows she must go to the authorities, but will the rugged, no-nonsense detective in charge of tracking down the killer believe her?

Detective Brandt Sutherland only trusts hard evidence, yet Sam's visions offer clues he needs to catch a killer. The more he learns about her incredible abilities, however, the clearer it becomes that Sam's visions have put her in the killer's line of fire. Now Brandt must save her from something he cannot see or understand...and risk losing his heart in the process.

As danger and desire collide, passion raises the stakes in a game Sam and Brandt don't dare lose.

Heat Level: 3

CHAPTER ONE

2:35 am, March 15th

Samantha Blair struggled against phantom restraints. No, not again.

This wasn't her room or her bed, and it sure as hell wasn't her body. Tears welled and trickled slowly from eyes not her own. Then the pain started. Still, she couldn't move. She could only endure. Terror clawed at her soul while dying nerves screamed.

The attack became a frenzy of stabs and slices, snatching all thought away. Her body jerked and arched in a macabre dance. Black spots blurred her vision, and still the slaughter continued.

Sam screamed. The terror was hers, but the cracked, broken voice was not.

Confusion reigned as her mind grappled with reality. What was going on?

Understanding crashed in on her. With it came despair and horror.

She'd become a visitor in someone else's nightmare. Locked inside a horrifying energy warp, she'd linked to this poor woman whose life dripped away from multiple gashes.

Another psychic vision.

The knife slashed down, impaling the woman's abdomen, splitting her wide from ribcage to pelvis. Her agonized scream echoed on forever in Sam's mind. She cringed.

The other woman slipped into unconsciousness. Sam wasn't offered the same gift. Now, the pain was Sam's alone. The stab wounds and broken bones became Sam's to experience even though they weren't hers.

The woman's head cocked to one side, her cheek resting on the blood-soaked bedding. From the new vantage point, Sam's horrified gaze locked on a bloody knife held high by a man dressed in black from the top of his head down. Only his eyes showed, glowing with feverish delight. She shuddered. Please, dear God, let it end soon.

The attacker's fury died suddenly. A fine tremor shook his arm as fatigue set in. "Shit." He removed his glove and scratched beneath the fabric.

In the waning moonlight, from the corner of her eye, Sam caught the metallic glint of a ring on his hand. It mattered. She knew it did. She struggled to imprint the image before the opportunity was lost. Her eyes drifted closed. In the darkness of her mind, the wait was endless.

Sam's soul wept. Oh, God, she hated this. Why? Why was she here? She couldn't help the woman. She couldn't even help herself.

She welcomed the next blow – so light only a minor flinch undulated through the dreadfully damaged woman. Her tortured spirit stirred deep within the rolling waves of blackness, struggling for freedom from this nightmare. With one last surge of energy, the woman opened her eyes, and locked onto the white rings of the mask staring back. In ever-slowing heartbeats, her circle of vision narrowed until the two soulless orbs blended into one small band before it blinked out altogether. The silence, when it came, was absolute.

Gratefully, Sam relaxed into death.

Twenty minutes later, she bolted upright in her own bed. Survival instincts screamed at her to run. White agony dropped her in place.

"Ohh," she cried out. Fearing more pain, she slid her hands over her belly. Her fingers slipped along the raw edges of a deep slash. Searing pain made her gasp and twist away. Hot tears poured. Warm, sticky liquid coated her fingers. "Oh. God. Oh God, oh God," she chanted.

Staring in confusion around her, fear, panic, and finally, recognition seeped into her dazed mind. Early morning rays highlighted the water stains shining through the slap-dash coat of whitewash on the ceiling and the banged up suitcases, open on the floor. An empty room – an empty life. A remnant of a foster-care childhood.

She was home.

Memories swamped her, flooding her senses with yet more hurt. Sam broke down. Like an animal, she tried to curl into a tiny ball only to scream again as pain jackknifed through her. Torn edges of muscle tissue and flesh rubbed against each other, and broken ribs creaked with her slightest movement. Blood slipped over her torn breasts to soak the sheets below.

The smell. Wet wool fought with the unique and unforgettable smell of fresh blood.

Sam caught her breath and froze, her face hot, tight with agony. "Shit, shit, and shit!" She swore under her breath like a mantra.

Tremors wracked her tiny frame, keeping the pain alive as she morphed through realities. Transition time. What a joke. That always brought images of new age mumbo jumbo to mind. Nothing light and airy could describe this. Each blow leveled at the victim had manifested in her own body. This was hard-core healing – time when bones knitted, sliced ligaments and muscle tissue grew back together, and time for skin to stitch itself closed.

Sam understood her injuries had something to do with her imperfect control, paired with her inability to accept her gifts. Apparently, if she could surmount the latter the first would diminish. She didn't quite understand how or why. Or what to do about it. Her body somehow always healed, the physical and mental scars always remained. She was a mess.

The physical process usually took anywhere from ten to twenty minutes – depending on the injuries. The mental confusion, disconnectedness, sense of isolation took longer to disappear. She paid a high price for moving too soon. Shuddering, Sam reached for the frayed edges of her control. It wouldn't be much longer. She hoped.

Nothing could stop the hot tears leaking from her closed eyelids.

This session had been bad. Apart from the broken ribs, there were so many stab wounds. She'd never experienced one so physically damaging. Nervously, she wondered at the extent of her blood loss. If she didn't learn how to disconnect, these visions could be the end of her – literally.

Just like that poor woman.

Sam hated that these episodes were changing, growing, developing. So powerful and so ugly, they made her sick to her soul.

Several minutes later, Sam raised her head to survey the bed. The pain was manageable, although she wouldn't be able to move her limbs yet. Blood had soaked the top of the many Thrift Store blankets piled high on the bed. Her hollowed belly had become a vessel for the cooling puddle of blood. Shit. The stuff was everywhere.

The metallic taste clung to her lips and teeth. She rolled the disgusting spit around the inside of her mouth, waiting. She wanted to run away – from the memories, the visions, her life. But knowing that pain simmered beneath the surface, waiting to rip her apart, stopped her. Weary, ageless patience added to the bleakness in her heart.

Ten more minutes passed. Now, she should be good to go. Lifting her head, she spat the bloody gob onto the waiting wad of tissue and noted the time.

Transition had taken fifteen minutes this morning.

She was improving.

Oh God. Sam broke into sobs again. When would this end? Other psychics found things or heard things. Many of them saw events before they happened. She saw violence – not only saw, but experienced it too.

Occasional shudders wracked her frame from the coldness that seemed destined to live in her veins. The odd straggling sniffle escaped. She couldn't remember when she'd last been warm. Dropping the top blood-soaked blanket to the floor, Sam tugged the motley collection of covers tighter around her skinny frame. Warmth was a comfort that belonged to others.

She wasn't so lucky. She walked with one foot on the dark side – whether she liked it or not. And that was the problem. She'd been running for a long time. Then she'd landed at this cabin and had been hiding ever since. That was no answer either.

Her resolve firmed. Enough was enough. It was time to gain control. Time to do something. This monster had to be stopped. Now.

Christ, she was tired of waking up dead.

CHAPTER TWO

10:23 am, 16th May

The police station, a huge stonework building, towered above Sam, blending into the gray skies above. Or maybe she just felt small. Insignificant. She couldn't imagine choosing to spend time in this depressing place. It only needed gargoyles hanging from the dormers to complete the picture of doom.

The entire idea of what these people did defeated her. She understood the necessity, yet given her insider knowledge, this whole human viciousness thing was too much. She wouldn't be here now except another woman had been murdered.

Given her past interactions with the police, even that wouldn't have been enough to make her sign up for more. The last cop she'd dealt with had been one bad-assed bastard.

No. The ring had brought her here.

This morning's killer had worn a similar ring to the one Sam had seen several months ago in another vision. She'd caught only a brief glimpse of it then, with the memory surviving transition to burn an indelible mark on her heart. Even the mask and gloves had looked similar. The biggest nail in this guy's coffin had been the energy. Like DNA, energy was unique, a personalized signature so to speak. Both killers had the same energy, the same variations in wavelengths and ripples. Even the same type of vibration. But that was hardly police evidence.

Knowing that some asshole had killed again, filled her heart with sorrow and slowed her steps. Several fat raindrops splattered her face – the joys of living along coastal Oregon.

The weather didn't bother her; the crowds and noise did. And the smell. Exhaust, sweat, and perfumes mixed to become something only a city dweller could love. No, the outlying community of Parksville suited her perfectly. The trip into Portland was only twenty minutes on a good day.

Strangers with umbrellas shouldered past her. Would any of them believe her if she told them about the murders she'd witnessed, experienced? She'd faced distrust and skepticism with every foster family. As a precocious six-year-old, she'd told her foster mother's coworker to look after her son better. She'd been punished at the time. But when the boy had drowned in his backyard pool, Sam had really suffered. She'd been dumped back into the system and the label 'odd' had been added to her file. Her gift scared people.

Today, she had no choice. She had to come here. She couldn't stand by and let this guy kill again. Still, it was a long shot to ask the police to believe her when she couldn't supply a time frame, a name, or even the location of victim or killer. She just didn't know.

She squared her shoulders. Hitched up her faded jeans. No more. Disbelief or not, she had to do this. She ran up the last few steps.

The interior of the station felt no less imposing. Twenty-foot ceilings lined with dark wood created a doomsday atmosphere. Great. She lined up and waited. When her turn arrived, she stepped to the counter.

The officer glanced at her. "Can I help you, miss?"

Wiping her damp palms on the front of her jeans, she took a deep breath and muttered, "Yes." She paused, eyeing him carefully. How could she tell the good cops from the bad ones?

The older-looking officer, his expression encouraging and steadfast, helped calm her nerves. Except her ability to judge people had never been good. Sam hesitated a moment longer before the words blurted out on their own accord. "I need to talk to someone about a murder."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Two murders." Even she recognized the apology in her voice.

His eyes widened.

Okay, she sounded like she had one screw loose. Still there wasn't any delicate way to approach this. She dropped her gaze to her tattered sneakers, almost hidden beneath her overly long pants.

"What murders, miss?" His voice, so kind and gentle, contrasted with the sharpness of his gaze.

Shifting, she glanced around. She didn't want to talk about this out in the open. The line of people started several feet behind her. Still... She leaned closer. "Please, I need to speak with someone in private."

She twisted the ribbing of her forest green sweater around her fingers – a response to the intensity of his gaze. Catching herself, she stilled, as if locked in space and time. Not so her stomach, which roiled in defiance. This had to happen now, or she'd never be able to force herself back again.

When he nodded, she breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Go take a seat. I'll contact someone."

Sam spun away and stumbled into the next person in the line behind her. Flushing with embarrassment, she apologized and retreated to a chair against the far wall. She closed her eyes and rubbed her face as she tried to calm her breathing. She'd made it this far. The rest...well...she could only hope it would be just as easy.

It wasn't.

"Okay. Let's go over this one more time." The no-nonsense officer sat across from her in the small office. His crew cut had just enough silver at the tips to make him distinguished-looking, accenting what she suspected would be a black and white attitude.

He scratched on the paper pad for a moment and frowned. He tossed his pen and opened a drawer to search for another one. "Two women have been murdered? You just don't know who?" He glanced from his notes to her, in inquiry.

She shook her head. "No, I don't."

"Right," he continued, staring at her. "You don't know by whom? You say one man killed both women, but you don't know that for sure? And you don't know where these women could be. Is that correct?"

Sam nodded again. Her fingers clenched together on her lap.

"Therefore these women, if they existed and if they were murdered, could have lived anywhere in the world – right?" He quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Right, but..."

"Just answer the question. Could these women and their supposed killer be, for example, in England?"

Her shoulders sagged. Why couldn't anything be easy? "Theoretically, yes. But I'm not––"

"I have enough dead women right here in Portland to go after. Why would I waste time working on a 'possible two more' that could have happened anywhere? Not only that...you're saying that one woman was strangled and then stabbed and the other one was just stabbed. That's not normal. Killers tend to stick to the same method for all their kills." His annoyance pinned her in place. "Prove that a crime has happened."

The detective tilted his head back, his arms gestured widely. "Show me a body, either here or somewhere else, and I'll be happy to contact law enforcement for that area. Until then...if you don't have anything else, why don't we call it a day?" He waved in the direction of the door.

Sam stared at the irate officer, her initial optimism long gone. The problem was, everything he'd said was true. She didn't have anything concrete to tell him. She'd hoped the description of the ring would help validate her story. Frustration fueled her irritation. Both boiled over.

"It's because of my abilities that I know these murders occurred close-by." Sam poked her finger toward the floor. "I'm not strong enough to pick up images from so far away. These are your cases – you just need to identify them."

"How?" he snarled. "You've given me no physical descriptions, no names, and no location markers. How can I identify them?"

All the fight slipped down her back and drained out her toes. She studied him for a long moment. How could she get through to him? "The first woman will be in your case files and for this morning's victim...chances are it hasn't been called in yet. I'd hoped that knowing there was more than one victim would make you take notice." She paused. "Can't you use the ring to track the killer down?" She leaned closer. "He will kill again, you know. You will remember this conversation later."

He shrugged, his eyes darting to the open doorway. He was obviously wishing she'd disappear, preferably forever.

Sam assessed his face and found only disbelief. Her shoulders sagged. It wasn't his fault. He'd reacted as she'd expected. Skeptical and derisive. Sam flipped her braid over her back and rose. She'd tried. There'd be no help here.

"Fine. I don't have any proof, and I didn't think you'd believe me, but...well, I had to try."

She straightened her back, thanked the glowering officer, and escaped into the hallway. Ahead, the front glass wall glinted with bouncing sunlight. Freedom beckoned. Her pace quickened. By the time she'd rounded the corner and caught sight of the front entrance, she'd broken into a half run.

11:10 am

Detective Brandt Sutherland smiled at the young rookie. "Thanks, Jennie, I appreciate this."

Pink bloomed across her features, accenting her age, as did the ponytail high on the back of her head. Did they still wear those in school? As a new recruit, her arrival last week had caused quite a stir, her fresh innocence a joy to the department full of jaded detectives.

"Sure, any time." She gave him a shy tilt of her lips at first, which then turned into a real grin before she hurried back to her desk. Still in the hallway, Brandt opened the file and glanced at the photos. His stomach dropped. His mood plummeted further as he checked out the other pictures in the stack. Another one. Damn it.

A commotion down the hall caught his attention. Glancing up, he frowned. What was that? A small bundle of moving clothing and flying hair bolted toward him. Brandt jumped out of the way. His open file smashed against his chest, only to end up in her path anyway as the tiny woman dodged sideways in a last-ditch attempt to miss him.

"Easy does it. Watch where you're going." He reached out to steady her as she stumbled. His hand never quite connected as she slipped away like thin air.

Huge chocolate eyes, framed by long velvet lashes, flashed. "Excuse me," muttered the waif before she continued her sprint to the front door, her long braid streaming behind her.

"Wait," he shouted, but she'd gone, leaving Brandt with an impression of soft doe eyes – evocatively large, yet filled with unfathomable pain. Brandt felt like he'd just been kicked in the stomach – or lower. Mixed impressions from those eyes, flooded his mind. Frustration. Defeat. Pleading for help, but no longer expecting to receive any. Yet, he could have sworn he sensed steel running through her spine. Somewhere along the line, life had knocked her down, but not out. Never out.

He took several steps after her, only to watch her bolt out the front door.

Who the hell was she? He shook his head in bemusement. Two seconds and he'd felt enough for a psychological profile. Yeah, right. Still, how could anyone have that much torment going on and still function? Staring after her, he wished she hadn't escaped quite so fast. He didn't know what she needed or why, but surely he could have helped somehow.

His curiosity aroused, he walked into the office at the end of the hall, and studied the lone occupant. "Kevin, were you just talking to that young lady?"

"What young lady?" Detective Kevin Bresson looked up from his keyboard, his gray eyes confused and disoriented. Reaching up, he jerked on the knot of his tie.

"The tiny one that's all eyes."

Kevin's brows beetled together and then comprehension hit. "Oh, the skinny one." He shook his head and grimaced. "Jesus, I'd stay away from her, if I were you."

Brandt stared toward the front entrance, unable to forget her haunting image. Or his inclination to follow her. A compulsion he had trouble explaining even to himself. "Why?"

"The moon must be full or close to it – the wackos are coming out of the woodwork."

"She's nuts?" Brandt pulled back slightly, jarred by Kevin's comment. "No way."

"Yup, crazy as a bedbug." Kevin checked his desk calendar, pointed on today's date. "Look at that. I'm right. It is a full moon tonight."

Brandt readily admitted he didn't know much about the cosmos, still he'd have bet his last dollar there'd been sanity in those eyes. There'd also been a hint of desperation, as if she'd hit the end of her rope maybe, but at least she'd known it.

"So what did she want?" Brandt worked to keep the interest out of his voice.

Kevin tossed his pen down on the desk and leaned back. "She tried to tell me this crazy-ass story about waking up inside another woman while she was being murdered." Kevin snorted. "I've heard a lot of stories over the years, but that one topped my list."

Brandt straightened, stepped closer. "She's a psychic?" He didn't quite know how he felt about that.

Kevin shot him a disgusted frown. "If she is, she's not a very good one."

Brandt frowned. "Why? What did she have to say?"

"Something about a killer murdering two women. Both times, she says she witnessed the murders as they happened, from inside the dead women's bodies." Kevin shrugged as if to say People, what can you do? "Even odder, she says this killer used a different MO each time."

That was unusual, yet not unheard of. He only had to think of the animal he was hunting. If he was right about him, this guy constantly changed his methods.

"Did she offer any proof? Some way to identify the killer? Did she know who the women were?" At Kevin's shaking head, Brandt felt pity for the woman. He hadn't been here at this station for long and he didn’t hold a position that invited confidences – only, detectives were the same across the country. Some were good cops with limited imagination, some had too much imagination and had a hard time playing by the rules. Kevin appeared to be squarely on the side of the disbelievers and rule makers.

Brandt, well, he'd admittedly done more rule breaking than was probably good for him. Old-fashioned detective work did the job most times, but not always. And he didn't give a damn where the help came from, as long as it came. He couldn't resist asking, "Anything concrete?"

"Nope," Kevin answered with a superior half-smile. "I told you – lots of nothing."

Brandt stared out the hallway teeming with people. It had to be lunchtime. "Damn." Just before walking through the doorway, he turned back one last time. "Nothing useful?"

"Nope, nada."

Disgusted, Brandt walked away. At least that partly explained the panic in her eyes.

"Except the ring," Kevin called out, snickering.

Brandt spun around. "Ring? What ring?" He walked over and put his palms on the desk. "You didn't mention a ring."

Kevin leaned back in surprise, his hand stalled in midair. "Hey, easy. I didn't think anything she said mattered."

"Fair enough." Grappling for patience, Brandt threw himself down in the chair. "What did she say?"

"Fine." Kevin shifted to the side and reached for his notebook. He flipped through the pages until he found what he wanted. "She didn't say much," he said, frowning at his notes. "She woke up twice 'inside' different women while they were being murdered. She sees what the women see and when they die, she snaps back into her own body."

Brandt frowned, puzzled. "Odd ability to have. Where does the ring fit in?"

"She said that when staring out of the women's eyes..." Kevin rolled his eyes at that. "She couldn't see much of the attacker because he wore a full ski mask, like a balaclava. You know the ones with only eye holes and a mouth hole. She remembers his eyes being black and dead looking. And..." he paused for effect.

Brandt glared at him in annoyance. "Come on…come on. Stop the melodrama."

"Jeez, you're a pain in the ass today. What gives?"

Brandt rolled his eyes. Camaraderie was slowly developing with Kevin. Brandt had joined the East Precinct four weeks ago, but on a temporary basis. His boss had arranged for Brandt to have an office and access to all files, current and cold, as he searched for information on a potential serial killer, before heading up a task force if his findings warranted one.

He'd come into contact with this killer years ago and had run him to ground in Portland a year ago. Then nothing. A year. He couldn't believe they still didn't have a lead. This killer had become his nemesis. His Waterloo.

Most of the guys here had accepted him. It would take time to develop more than that. Time he didn't have.

"Fine then." Quirking one eyebrow, Kevin continued to read. "She mentioned seeing a ring during the one murder, and then she thought she recognized it again during the second one," he said in an exaggerated voice.

"Did she describe it?"

Kevin nodded and glanced down at his notes. "Some sort of four-leaf-clover pattern with a diamond in each of the leaves. A snake, or something similar, coils between them. According to her, one of the stones was missing."

Brandt sharpened his gaze. "Color? Size? Gold? Silver?"

Kevin searched again through his notes and shook his head. Casting an eye at Brandt, he said, "She didn't say and...honestly, I didn't ask. I thought she was off her rocker." He scrunched his shoulder. "Jesus, her cases aren't even related, yet she says it 'feels' like the same killer. Something about having the same energy signature. Whatever the hell that means." He dropped his gaze, a frown furrowing his brow as he doodled on the corner of his notepad. "I gather you're not dismissing her story?"

Brandt considered that. He'd used psychics before. In fact, he'd been friends with Stefan Kronos for a long time. The reclusive psychic was a difficult person to get close to. And even more difficult to be close with. The man was painfully honest. Brandt knew what valuable information they could give, but also knew using them could be a crapshoot.

"I don't know what to think. The changing MO thing is unusual, but it happens. That's why I'm here, after all. Still, if she had concrete information, it would have been easy enough to check out against our cases. But she didn't though, did she?"

Kevin shook his head. "Not really. The last murder happened this morning, which could mean that we haven't found the victim yet, or it happened in a different country and we'll never hear anything about her. Oh yeah, this morning's victim had a tiled ceiling with deep crown moldings and frilly pink bedding. That is, if any of this can be counted on." He waited a heartbeat. "Here. Go for it. I'll log it in, but you can have this." He ripped off several pages from his notebook. "Personally, I think it's all bullshit."

Brandt half nodded and walked back to his office. Bullshit or not, he'd still check it out.

An hour later, Brandt slumped back in his computer chair, stumped. Killers were normally predictable in their methods. They stayed with what worked and few killers changed that. Those that did had been in business for a long time. They'd evolved. This made them incredibly difficult to hunt – as he well knew.

He checked Kevin's notes again. With only a comment or two on the women's hair and the way they'd died – it would be hard to identify the victims. He had too many possibles to sort through. In a busy metropolis like Portland, murder was an everyday affair.

Speaking into empty air, he said, "This is ridiculous. I need details, damn it."

He needed a time frame or details of the victims themselves. How could Kevin not have asked for more? Not that he could blame Kevin. The city was overrun with nutcases. Who could tell them from the normal people these days?

He scratched down a couple more questions before returning to his screen. This particular nut had a name – Samantha Blair. He tried to fit the name to the image of the skinny, panicked woman from the hallway.

Back at his screen, he brought up all the information the database had to offer, which was scant at best. She was twenty-eight years old with no priors, no outstanding warrants, and no tickets or parking violations.

The phone rang, interrupting his search.

"Hello."

"Hi, sweetie. How are you today?"

Brandt leaned back with a grimace. "Mom, I'm fine. I told you yesterday, the headache was gone when I got home. Nothing to worry about."

"Yes, dear. I just wanted to call and make sure you're feeling better."

"I am. How are you? Are you ready to leave that place yet?" Brandt pivoted in his chair to stare out the window. The sun had managed to streak through a few of the gray rain clouds, lighting the sky with colored swaths.

His mom should be sitting out on her little deck in the assisted living center a few miles out of town. She'd been happy there – too happy. This was supposed to be a temporary situation. Somehow, every time he mentioned her leaving, her lung condition or diabetes acted up or she came up with some other excuse to stay a little longer. The center didn't mind. They were in the process of adding a new wing to accommodate more seniors. His mom had money and paid her way. It was to be closer to her that he'd requested the switch in location to this particular station.

"I'm not that good. My hip has mostly healed, but it still feels weak." She sniffled slightly.

Brandt grinned. What her hip had to do with a fake cold was anyone's guess, still she pulled out a sniffle every time.

Her voice almost back to normal, she asked, "Do you have time for lunch today?"

"No. Today's not good."

"Oh dear. Well, how about tomorrow then?"

"Mom, I'd love to if it's just the two of us. No more prospective girlfriends, okay?"

"Now honey, I wouldn't do that. You explained how you felt about my 'interfering,' as you called it. But, still," the raspy voice dropped to a sad whisper, "I do want to see you settled before I die."

"Oh, hell," Brandt muttered. The sweet long-suffering tones somehow managed to convey lost hopes and dire endings soon to come. "Mom, you aren't dying. And I am in the hands of a good woman. Many good women in fact." Her shocked gasp made him grin.

"Don't say that. You need a wife, not those...those," she spluttered.

He couldn't help but chuckle at her outrage. She deserved it for her constant interfering in his private life. Her persistence came closer to smothering than loving.

Brandt groaned under his breath. He straightened, stretching his back. "Enough about my girlfriends. Mom is there anything else you need, because I've got work to do."

"No, I'll save it for lunch tomorrow at the Rock Cafe. Be there at one o'clock like you promised."

Brandt's chair snapped forward, his feet hitting the floor hard. "What? What's this?" She'd hung up on him. "Damn it."

Irritated, he stared at the phone in his hand. His mother's machinations were legendary, and though he hated being outmaneuvered, it was his fault. He'd been letting her get away with this for thirty-four years, so there'd be no changing the status quo now.

Good humor restored, he turned back to his computer screen. According to Kevin, Samantha lived in the nearby community of Parksville where she worked at a local vet's office part-time. The sparse facts didn't begin to explain the haunted weariness that had so touched him. He'd seen a similar look in the families of victims and those at the bottom of their world.

He forced his attention back to Kevin's notes. It appeared Samantha had said something about both women having long hair. The one from several months ago had been a blonde who'd been strangled. So, how many unsolved cases could he find with long-haired murdered victims?

His fingers flew across the keyboard. Three cases listed for the last year. One of them flagged as possible prey of the Bastard, the serial killer he'd followed to Portland. A killer that had been active for decades, possibly all over the States, with no one connecting the dots – until Brandt.

This killer's victims were always young, beautiful women that were either happily married or in strong, committed relationships. All had been raped. And that's where the similarities ended. Some women were strangled in their beds, some stabbed in their living rooms, others tortured for hours. Portland was the geographical center of the most recent attacks.

The police had an old DNA sample that had degraded over the years and a couple of hairs from very early cases – and no one to check them against. This asshole had started his career before the labs became so sophisticated. He'd adapted and learned well. To date, they had no fingerprints and no hits on any databases.

That's why Brandt had trouble convincing his boss that they had a serial killer. Hence his job, pulling together everything he could find to get the backing for the task force to hunt down this asshole.

A knock sounded on the door. "Move it, Brandt. We've got another one."

CHAPTER THREE

11:27 am

Sam sat in her dilapidated Nissan truck at the stop light. Who was that man she'd mowed down in the hallway? It might have been a fleeting contact, but he'd left a hell of an impression. Strong, determined, surprised and even concerned. Sam wrapped her arms around her chest. Not likely.

A honk from behind catapulted her forward. She drove down Main Street before pulling into the almost empty parking lot at the vet's office, her insides finally unfurling and relaxing after the tough morning. The animals always helped. It's not that she didn't like people, because she did. But the foster home mill hadn't given her much opportunity to understand close relationships.

Whenever she'd tried to get close to another child, either they or she'd ended up shipped out within a few months. Sam had grown up watching the various dynamics around her in bewilderment. From loving kindness, to sibling fighting, to lovers breaking up and making up, everyone appeared to understand some secret rules to making relationships work.

Everyone but her.

She'd tried several relationships, even had several short-lived affairs. In the last few years, they'd been nonexistent.

Sam locked her car and walked through the rear door of the vet hospital – her kind of place. She had a kinship with animals. They'd become her saving grace in an increasingly dismal and lonely world. She stashed her purse in the furthest back cupboard, peeled off her sweater, and tossed it on top. Then she tucked in her t-shirt and got to work.

Moving through the cages, Sam grinned at Casper, a tabby cat who'd lost his leg in a car accident. "Hey buddy, how're you doing?" She opened the door and reached inside. Instantly, the cat's heavy guttural engine kicked in. She pulled the big softy out of the cage, careful for his new stump. The bandage had stayed dry at least. That had to be a good sign. She gave him a quick cuddle. "Okay, Casper, back you go. I'll get you fresh water. And how about a clean blanket?"

Sam bustled about taking comfort in the mundane and in the service of others – animal others. She hummed along until she came to the last cage. Inside, a heavily bandaged German shepherd glared at her. She halted at the hideous warning growl.

She stretched out a hand to snag the chart hanging from the front of the cage.

The growls increased in volume.

Sam stepped back to give the injured animal more space. She'd intruded in his comfort zone, something she could respect. Bending to his level, she spoke in a soft voice. Without his trust, taking care of him wouldn't be pleasant for either of them. And this guy looked like he'd seen the worst humanity had to offer.

The growl deepened, but stayed low key – a warning without heat.

Sam could respect that, too. She sat cross-legged at the edge of his space and continued to talk to him until he calmed down.

"Hey, Sam. I didn't hear you come in." Lucy, the gregarious vet assistant's voice boomed throughout the furthest corners of the room, giving Sam no opportunity to ignore it. She hunched her shoulders at the intrusion, keeping her eyes locked on the dog.

"I came in the back," she called out in a low voice.

The dog stared at her.

Sam shifted slightly and narrowed her gaze. The shepherd's gaze followed every movement. She grimaced. Strange, but she could almost sense his interest.

"There you are. What are you doing sitting on the bare floor like that? You're going to catch a cold." Lucy's voice sounded behind Sam's shoulder.

Sam jerked then twisted around to greet the large older woman, and for a startling moment saw another Lucy instead – Sam's murdered best friend Lucy, from a decade ago. The long familiar brown hair appeared braided off to one side, with her sweet smile spread across her face. The image was old and faded and yet still heart wrenchingly clear.

Pangs of guilt wiggled in Sam's belly. The dog's low growl tore through the image. Sam shook herself, concentrating on the office manager and not her old friend. "Hi, Lucy."

The older woman fisted her hands on ample hips. "Come on out front and have a warm cup of tea."

Sam glanced at the dog. His black gaze locked on the two women.

Lucy reached down a beefy hand to help Sam get to her feet. Sam winced. This morning's vision had left her stiff and sore. Her police disaster had left her aching.

With slow careful movements, Sam brushed off her clothes and hung the chart back on the dog's crate.

"Jesus girl, you're freezing. Lord, this child can't even take care of herself, let alone no animals."

Sam shook her head at Lucy's habit of directing comments to the almighty above. Still, she had a point. Cold, Sam's constant companion, had settled deeper in her bones. She found herself propelled to the front offices and the small cozy lunchroom. There, a hearty nudge pushed her to the closest chair. Within minutes, a hot cup of strong tea with a gentle serving of cream arrived before her.

Lucy, with a second cup of tea, took the chair opposite Sam.

Unable – and unwilling – to stop them, Sam confronted memories of the other Lucy. That Lucy had loved her tea too. The two of them had shared many cups. During one such moment, Sam had broken her own rule and had trusted her enough to tell her about her 'gift.' Poor Lucy. She'd thought it had been so cool. Then one night after drinking too many B52s, she'd told everyone, once again making Sam an oddity – an outsider. And reminding Sam of a sad truth – even friends couldn't be trusted. A lesson she hadn't forgotten since. Her friend had died an ugly death. And Sam hadn't been able to help her. More guilt.

Sam sighed.

"Heavy thoughts," said Lucy gently. "Care to share?"

Sam's mouth kicked up at the corners. "Nothing worth sharing," she murmured.

Lucy leaned back with an unsurprised nod. "Just so you know I'm always here if you ever want to talk." After a moment, she continued in a bright cheerful voice. "Here, try one." A plate of cookies appeared beside the hot mug.

"Thanks." And Sam meant it. Choosing a peanut butter cookie, she bit into it. She closed her eyes, a tiny moan escaping. In the darkness, the rich, buttery peanut taste filled her mouth. Delicate yet robust and sooo good.

"Not bad, huh?"

Sam nodded, wasting no time in popping the rest of the morsel into her mouth. Lucy nudged the plate closer. Sam grinned, and snatched up a second cookie. Lucy gave her a fat smile of pleasure.

Her mouth full, Sam considered the woman beside her. This Lucy gave from the heart, freely offering acceptance and reserving judgment. Sam understood the value of the gift. At the same time, all that emotion made her nervous

"Thanks for the tea and cookies." She took her cup to the sink.

"What do you think of our new patient?"

"The German shepherd." Sam spun around. "What happened to him?"

Lucy rose and brought her cup to the sink. "Sarah found him." Lucy turned around, "You remember my daughter, Sarah? She works at the seniors' facility..." Without waiting for a response, she continued talking. "She called in to say a resident had found the dog injured in the parking lot. Dr. Walcott drove over and picked him up."

Sam watched as Lucy turned on the hot water and dribbled a little dish soap over the cup in her hand. Sarah, she vaguely remembered was activity coordinator at a home between here and Portland.

Lucy gazed at Sam. "He was in tough shape. And since he woke up after surgery, well..." She placed the clean cup upside down on the drying rack. "He won't let any of us near him unless he's sedated."

Sam chewed on her bottom lip. "Is he eating? Drinking?"

"Through his IV," Lucy said with a small grim smile. "We'll see what he's like when it comes time to check his wounds. Don't get too attached. His prognosis isn't good."

Already halfway through the doorway leading to the back of the hospital, Sam stilled and glanced back, seeing only concern in the other woman's eyes. Resolutely, Sam headed back her charges.

The shepherd's low growl warned her halfway.

"It's okay, boy. It's just me. I'll be taking care of you. Give you food, fresh water, and friendship. The things that help us get along in life." Although she kept her voice quiet, warm, and even toned, the growl remained the same.

She couldn't blame him.

He might be able to get along without friendships, but she wanted them. Except for her friendship with Lucy, she'd never had that elusive relationship that others took for granted.

Sam approached the dog's cage with care. According to his chart, he'd had surgery to repair internal bleeding and to set a shattered leg. On top of that, he'd suffered several broken ribs, a dislocated collarbone and was missing a huge patch of skin on both hindquarters. Written in red and circled were the words: aggressive and dangerous. The growling stopped.

Sam squatted down to stare into his eyes. The dog should have a name. He didn't give a damn. But a name gave the dog a presence, an existence...an identity.

"How about..." she thought for a long moment. "I know, how about we call you Major?"

The dog exploded into snarls and hideous barking, his ears flattened, and absolute hate filled his eyes.

"Jesus!" Sam skittered to the far corner of the room – her hand to her chest – sure her heart would break free of its rib cage.

"Is everything okay back here?"

Sam turned in surprise to see one of the vets standing behind her, frowning. "Sorry," she yelled over the din of the other animals that had picked up the shepherd's fear. She waited for the animals to calm down before continuing. "I'd thought of a brilliant name for the shepherd, but from his reaction, I think he hates it."

The vet walked over and bent down to assess his patient. "It could have been your tone of voice or the inflection in the way you said the name. He'd been abused, even before this accident." After a thoughtful pause, he added, "I'm not sure, but it might have been kinder to have put him down."

"No." Sam stared at him in horror. "Don't say that. He'll come around." At his doubtful look, she continued, "I know he will. Give him a chance."

That she seemed to be asking the vet to give her a chance hung heavy in the room, yet she didn't think he understood that.

He stared at her, shrewdness, and wisdom in his eyes.

Then again, maybe she'd misjudged him. She shifted, uneasy under the intense gaze.

"We'll see. We'll have lots of opportunity to assess his progress as he recuperates."

Sam had to be satisfied with that. She knew the dog was worth saving and so, damn it, was she. Her salvation and that of the dog's were tied together in some unfathomable way. She could sense it. She'd fight tooth and nail to keep him safe.

In so doing, maybe she could save herself.

11:45 am

The Bastard had been busy.

Brandt grimly surveyed the room. The woman lay sprawled across the bed, killed by multiple stab wounds if the massive blood loss was anything to go by. Any number of perps could have done this, but Brandt knew the scene would be clean. Squeaky clean, just like every other one he blamed on this asshole.

And the woman would have drugs in her bloodstream, just enough so she wouldn't have been able to struggle – at least not much. A signature obvious from the more recent cases. Brandt frowned. This case would move to the head of Brandt's list. Ammunition for a task force to put this asshole behind bars.

His fists clenched and unclenched. Christ, he wanted to kill the Bastard himself.

Blood spattered the walls, carpet, the trashed bedding…a few drops even going so far as to hit the ceiling. A large pool of black blood had congealed on the floor beside the night table. This woman hadn't been murdered – she'd been butchered. She had to have been in a drugged sleep at the time of the attack. The only signs of struggle were on the bed, and not many of them, at that.

She also had long brown hair with a hint of a curl in it at the ends. Or would have had if the stands weren't flattened by the weight of the dried blood. The bedding was some kind of ruffled rose paisley thing. Two points to Samantha Blair. Deep crown moldings on the ceiling gave her a third.

"Brandt, the young man who called this in is waiting out back."

Adam was the youngest member of the team, with only six months’ experience behind him. Always pale, today his red hair and freckles stood out more than ever, giving his face a clownish appearance. He tried to look anywhere but at the body on the bed. "Kevin said you can take the lead. He'll be here soon."

Another test. Fine with him.

"Then, let's go have a talk with the guy out back." Brandt headed outside of the brick house to question the waiting man. Tall, slim, and overwrought, the mid-twenties man sat on the brick step, his hair was brush-cut and his head cradled by his folded arms. His blue shirt was soaked with tears and his shoulders heaved and shuddered even as Brandt watched.

Brandt waited to give the young man a moment. "Jason Dean?"

The younger man snapped to his feet, nodding in between the tears. "Yes, that's me. Is...is she being taken away now?" He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, like a young child.

Brandt glanced back inside the small dwelling swollen with law enforcement and CSI. "Soon. The coroner isn't quite done yet."

The man's face paled even further, and his bottom lip trembled. He took several deep, bracing breaths and nodded.

With gentle coaxing, Brandt managed to get the whole story out of him.

They both worked for the same company and had been going out for close to a year now. They'd gone out for dinner and drinks last night before returning to her place. He'd stayed for several hours, leaving around one-thirty in the morning. When she hadn't shown up at work, he'd called numerous times and then had slipped over to check on her.

After finishing with Jason, Brandt walked back inside to wait. Within minutes, Kevin arrived with the other two homicide detectives on the team, Daniel and Seth. Brandt paced back and forth in the hallway, chewing on the information in his mind while he filled them in on what he knew.

"It's him, isn't it? The one you're always talking about?" Daniel, the second youngest member on the team asked, a frown wrapped around his forehead. He tucked his thumb into his pant pockets. Daniel’s paunch matched his wife's five-months-pregnant belly – a fact the team teased him about mercilessly.

Each team member in the East Precinct pulled long hours. Brandt respected that. He wasn't here to rock the boat. But any cases that could be the Bastard's, he wanted in on. Simple. And so far, nothing. Except more bodies.

Grimly, Brandt watched as the gurney was wheeled into the bedroom.

"Chances are good it's him. Toxicology should confirm it." Brandt leaned against the bedroom wall and tried to assess the scene – a difficult task with his emotions still unsettled. He'd have to wait for the tests to come back to know for sure.

She'd been deliberately arranged with her legs splayed wide apart, her arms above her head. Open display, mocking and degrading her for maximum humiliation. Another similarity between the killer's victims, posed…yet not always in the same way.

Irrational rage from a rational mind.

"Okay, we're ready to move the body." One of the CSI team spoke to them.

Brandt nodded. "Thanks. How's the scene? Are you going to be able to get much?"

The investigator shook his head. "Not much. The scene is clean. We might find something when we run our tests, but I'm not counting on it."

"Her name was Mandy Saxon," said Brandt abruptly. Her purse sat on the kitchen table, unopened and undisturbed, along with a briefcase of work she'd brought home. She'd been an accountant, a thirty-year-old junior member of a successful firm here in Portland, with her whole life ahead of her.

Now it was all behind her.

Stone-faced, the detectives watched two men bag and load the body onto the gurney before wheeling it out the door. Brandt would catch up with her at the morgue tomorrow.

Turning back, he caught sight of the coroner leaving.

"James, have you got a time of death?"

The grizzled coroner answered, "The best I can do at the moment, is between two and five." James shook his head. "I'll have more after the autopsy." The coroner walked out after smacking Adam's shoulder.

Turning back to the crime scene, Brandt watched as one of the CSI officers picked a tiny object off the carpet with tweezers. He waited until the item had been bagged and tagged.

"Stanley, what did you find?"

The man stood, holding the bag aloft for Brandt to see. "It appears to be a diamond or a zirconium. Have to wait until I get it back to the lab to know for sure."

Brandt stared at the tiny twinkling object. "Earring?" It could be the right size. He turned toward the open doorway. The stretcher had long gone. He'd have to wait to check what jewelry the victim wore.

He walked over to the open jewelry box on the dresser to rummage through the few quality items inside. All the settings appeared intact. None matched the stone.

Stanley, who'd worked alongside Kevin and his team for over a decade, joined him. "I'll run it through some tests. It's pretty small, probably part of a design."

Like a four leaf-clover design? Brandt couldn't remember the exact details of Ms. Blair's statement. Had the ring always been missing one jewel or only the last time she'd seen it? Had she even mentioned that detail? He'd have to wait until he got back to the office to be sure – but it felt right.

That waif's story sounded beyond wild, but that look in her eye had been real. Whatever demon drove her, she believed in it. Staring down at the tiny jewel, Brandt realized he couldn't discount it either.

"Okay, keep me posted."

Stanley nodded and headed back to his kit with the evidence bag.

It took another hour before the room emptied, leaving only the brutal evidence of death behind. Bloodstains perpetuated the smell of death. Vestiges of violence remained behind. Brandt swore he could almost see and hear the play-by-play of her death from the scene laid out before him.

He didn't have psychic abilities in the normal sense, still, like many of his coworkers, he had a strong intuition. Whether it had developed through his years of police work or through his long friendship with Stefan, didn't matter. He'd learned a long time ago to listen to it.

And right now, it was screaming at him.

2:20 pm

Kevin Bresson pulled into the station parking lot. Lunch was over and the place was packed as usual. Around the back of the building, he found a spot and parked. "Home sweet home," he said to Adam, who was sitting in the passenger seat beside him.

"If you say so."

Kevin glanced over at him. "Can't be cynical at your age. Come on, you haven't been on the force long enough for that. Give it a decade or two like me – then you've earned the right to be sour."

Adam got out and closed the door of the black SUV. He waited while Kevin grabbed his bag before walking to the rear entrance.

"I'm not being cynical, exactly. But it's a little hard to stay positive when you come from scenes like that one."

Kevin's normally stern face darkened. "I know what you mean."

Adam held the door open for him. "Do you think Brandt is right? That there's a serial killer working here?"

Kevin's pace never slowed as he headed for the elevator that would take them to their third floor offices. "I don't know. I've only seen some of the evidence. It would take more to convince me fully. Still, he has got a couple of valid arguments. Too many to discount his theory."

"He thinks this is another one."

"And that's possible. We'll work on it the same as every other case, and either he'll pull it for his list or he won't. We have enough work to do without keeping tabs on what he's up to."

"Right."

Kevin entered the waiting elevator with Adam on his heels. He was tired and fed up. The last thing he wanted was for Brandt to be correct and that a serial killer had been operating under their noses for decades. Just as the door was about to shut, a yell went up.

Kevin stopped the doors from closing long enough for Dillon Hathaway to get on.

"Thanks Kevin."

Dillon grinned that affable smile that always pissed Kevin right off.

"I hear you caught another bad one this morning. Let me know if you need any of my expertise to close this for you."

Kevin stiffened. Just because the 'kid' had a couple of college degrees didn't make him better than the veterans on the force. Now if Dillon had some experience to go with that piece of paper then people might be more inclined to listen. As it was, Dillon, in his late twenties, had only about six months of experience. Kevin wondered why he hadn't gone into business. He had that wheeling dealing kind of attitude and dressed the part too. He'd have done well.

Covertly, he studied Dillon's designer suit and lavender shirt. No wonder the guys in the department laughed at him. Although, it was his insufferable know-it-all attitude that made everyone want to kick his ass.

Adam wouldn't stay quiet. Kevin shot him a warning look, but it was too late.

"I think we can handle it. Other people, beside you, know how to do their jobs, you know."

Grinning, Dillon put his hands out in front of him in exaggerated supplication. "Hey, no problem, Adam. Just wanted to let you know that you can call on me any time. But I understand pride. So just trundle along in your usual way."

Kevin clenched his jaw and rolled his eyes. He did take pride in the number of cases he'd closed over the years. But no matter how many he solved or how many assholes he put behind bars, there were always a dozen more ready to take their place. If Brandt was right, they were in trouble. A serial killer with the skills to stay undetected for decades was just bad news – for everyone.

But working with Brandt was a different story than asking this young upstart for help. Brandt might be new to the department, but Kevin respected the man – unlike Dillon. Brandt was a straight up kind of guy who you could count on in a tight spot. What made working with him hard was his special assignment status. Not that he played the maverick card, but he worked with his own agenda.

Kevin wasn't sure what Brandt did all day exactly, only that he showed up for their meetings and any crime scenes that fit the parameters he was searching for. Cushy job if you could get it. As long as he stayed out of Kevin's way then he could work on all the task force preparations he wanted to – no harm done.

The elevator opened. Kevin, already focused on his job at hand, pushed all worries of Detective Brandt Sutherland from his mind.

CHAPTER FOUR

3:45 pm

Sam hit the next rut hard, bouncing across it before she had a chance to maneuver her truck to the left. Her driveway had more potholes and grooves than drivable surface – a free bonus with the cheap rent. Her little pickup shook hard with the next hit and never had a chance to stop trembling before it bounced again.

Sam grimaced. She'd soon be black and blue just from the trip home. Great, more bruises. As if she needed more pain. Turning the last corner, she leaned forward to see her favorite view.

The tree line opened to the full valley and lake. Glittering water glistened for miles. She lived for this moment. The hills and mountains in the horizon bled into wonderful shades of blue and the trees...the greens and yellows, an oil canvas of joy. She smiled. This vista sustained her soul as food never could.

Parking the truck, Sam hopped out. Off to the left she could see her small cabin nestled just far enough back from the shore to give a front yard. She realized once again how blessed she was to have been given a chance to live there. A perfect place to stop running.

When she'd found it, the owners – an older couple – hadn't wanted to rent it out. She'd been in dire straits and once they'd sensed that, their attitude had changed.

Sam appreciated their change of heart. Life had dished out a couple of bad months. She winced. Who could talk in terms of months? Her life had been a cesspool for years.

The sun twinkled overhead. She smiled at the sky. Opening the driver's door, she started to hop back in when pain lashed through her. Black tentacles reached inside her skull and clutched her brain, dropping her to her knees.

She cried out, her hands cradling her temple. She doubled over, rocking back and forth, as darkness filled her mind. Her chest constricted. She struggled to breathe. Then she started to panic.

Just before she lost control, the curtain of blackness ripped aside. Sam breathed hard, struggling with the new images. They weren't of her truck or of the woods around her.

She stood outside a coffee shop in an area she didn't recognize. The only familiar thing came from behind her. A feeling, a gaze, an energy. Comprehension hit her slowly. "No," she cried, her hands covering her eyes. Pain seared her heart as her mind finally understood. Nothing could stop the tears from welling up and tumbling down her cheeks.

The killer had just found another victim.

3:55 pm

Brandt preferred to gain information in a less formal way, yet his badge did loosen tongues. Or it had until Parksville. The rotund postal clerk hadn't recognized Sam's name until Brandt gave her a description. She'd clammed up immediately, to stare at him suspiciously. When he brought out his badge, she became even more belligerent – if possible.

"You can ask your questions over at the vet hospital as she works there part-time." She turned away to speak with another customer.

Dismissed, Brandt left – his curiosity aroused. He walked across the street to the Parksville Veterinarian Hospital and asked his questions there.

"Sorry, we don't give out personal information on our staff." The older woman was striking in her own way, except for the waves of protectiveness rolling off her. Odd, she too saw him as the enemy. Not an unusual reaction from the drug runners and hookers on the streets, but from someone who looked more at home dishing out apple pie and lemonade – very strange.

Brandt turned his badge her way.

She raised one eyebrow, yet didn't relax. Instead, she held out her hand. Brandt passed over his badge and watched as she wrote down the information before passing it back.

"Now, can you provide me with her address, please?" he said in his most official voice.

She appeared to consider his words. What required consideration he couldn't begin to understand. "Excuse me," he snapped. "Does she work here or not?"

"Yes, that's true. She does." The dragon smiled as if happy to be able to answer him.

"Good. I need her address and her phone number." Using his well-honed eagle eye, he stared her down.

To no effect.

"I don't think she has a phone." She assessed him again, with that same calculating look of his grandmother. "Why the interest?"

"It's personal, ma'am." Brandt had been thinking to save Samantha unnecessary questions about the police looking for her. Then he saw her knowing glance and groaned. Heat flooded his face.

The older woman smiled.

Brandt shuffled his feet as if still in high school himself.

Her smile widened.

Shit. Brandt couldn't believe it. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and tried to regain control of the wayward conversation.

"Police business," he clarified, hoping to get this conversation back on the right direction.

After another long look, the dragon, as if realizing he couldn't be put off, walked toward the desk, wrote something on a small scratch pad, and held it out to him. "Here you go – her address. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have to take care of our customers." She motioned to several people waiting behind him. "Hello Mrs. Caruthers. What's the problem with Prissy?"

Brandt snatched up the paper and strode through the front glass doors. Once outside, he glanced down at the address.

"Shit." She'd given him the same PO Box address he already had. Technically, she'd done what he'd asked, while avoiding giving him what he needed.

"Is there a problem, sir?" A competent-looking older man approached him. "I'm Dr. Wascott. This is my office. Maybe I can help you?"

Brandt smiled, happy to find someone normal in the town. "I'm Detective Sutherland." Brandt once again reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge. "I'm looking for directions to Samantha Blair's place."

"Oh." The older man smiled, his bushy brows giving him a Rip Van Winkle look. "That's easy. She's at the old Coulson homestead." He turned and pointed out the direction. "Head up the highway to the large gingerbread-looking house. Turn right onto the dirt road past the house and follow it all the way down to the lake. She's pretty isolated down there, but seems to enjoy it." He opened the front door of his office. "There's no problem, I hope?" He paused and looked back at Brandt, one eyebrow raised.

Brandt shook his head, tucking the slip of paper into his shirt pocket. "Not at all, I'm just checking on some information she gave us."

"Didn't think so. She's not the type." Smiling, the vet walked inside, the glass door shutting behind him.

Brant stared up the road. A gingerbread house – that should be easy.

4:09 pm

Sam dragged her sorry ass out of the truck and up the wooden stairs. The vision had left her feeling as if she'd gained a hundred pounds. Every shuffling step had become an effort. That insight into a killer's mind had been downright unpleasant. Knowing he'd found another woman, hurt her. That she'd had the vision at all terrified her. It was yet another sign her 'talent' was changing. And she didn't like it one bit. Her head throbbed from the remnants of sensory overload.

Moses barked excitedly, his madcap tail waving in the wind. He shoved his wet nose into her hand.

"Hey boy. Sorry to be so long today." She scratched the big dog's head. The golden haired Heinz 57 mix easily came to her mid-thigh. She smiled at the oversized black paws. Moses had been the main man in her life for a long time.

Shifting her library books, picked up over her lunch break, she strode up the front steps. On psychic phenomena, these books might hold the answers to her perpetual problem. At one time, she'd asked experts for help. Unfortunately, she'd chosen the wrong kind of expert.

Images of padded walls and needles slammed into her mind. Ruthless, and with more experience than she'd like to admit, she slammed them right back out again.

Moses slumped to the deck in his usual jumble of muscle and sinew, thumped his tail once, and fell back asleep.

"Good companion you are, Moses."

His tail thumped again, but he couldn't be bothered raising his head. Sam bent down to stroke his back. Her fingers slipped in and out of the thick golden pelt, enjoying the silky contact. A great sigh erupted from him, and he relaxed even further.

Sam laughed at his total exit from the world. He had the right idea. She needed sleep, too.

Exhaustion from her vision had caught up to her. Even running a hand over her forehead brought a tremor to her spine. After putting on the teakettle, she walked into the bathroom, dampened a washcloth, and wiped her face. The cool wetness helped refresh her.

Catching sight of her face, she winced. Her porcelain skin – always translucent – now seemed paper thin, transparent even. She looked friggin' awful. She closed her eyes, shocked at how far her health had sunk. If she didn't find answers soon, her 'gifts' would kill her.

She was halfway there now.

While she walked through the tiny cabin, loneliness crept in. She stared at the plain walls, her hip propped against the counter and a hot cup of tea warming her hands. The support walls were old logs and the floorboards had been cut from hewn wood. They'd worn down in places and would have some incredible stories to tell if they could talk. Unfortunately, in her case, they could. Depending on the day and the strength of her energy as to what signals she picked up, the stories went from unsettling to downright nervy.

Moses raised his bushy head and growled. Sam glanced around, puzzled. "What's the matter, Moses?"

He growled again, staring at the place where the driveway drove out of the evergreens at the top of the ridge.

Sam gazed out the living room window, but couldn't see anything. Living out here, wildlife often shared her space. She loved watching the deer make their way to the river for a drink. Thus far she'd also seen raccoons, coyotes, and once, in the evening, a bear. If the animals left her in peace then she'd be happy to return the courtesy.

A faint rumbling told her what she needed to know. A vehicle. She retreated into the house, a leery eye on the driveway. It didn't take long before a black pickup bounced into view and rolled to a stop at the porch stairs.

A tall, rugged man got out, removed his sunglasses, and tossed them on the dash. He appeared vaguely familiar, yet she couldn't place him. Using the one gift that she'd come to accept, Sam assessed the waves of determination pouring from his shoulders. This man was nobody's fool. And he wanted something from her.

Moses growled again.

That face. The lock of brown hair falling down on one side, piercing eyes and a 'take no prisoner' attitude, dressed in denim. He was a cop. Recognition flickered. He was the man she'd almost run into at the police station. Curiosity and fear mingled. What could he want? Her stomach acid bubbled as tension knotted her spine. She chewed her fingernail as his six-foot frame climbed the stairs.

The heavy pounding on the other side of her head startled her. She cursed silently, but with full force, letting it bounce around inside her mind. She wiped her moist palms on her jeans, and opened the door.

"Yes?"

His brow furrowed. "Samantha Blair?

She frowned. "Maybe. Who's asking?"

An odd light shone deep in his Lake Tahoe blue eyes. "Detective Brandt Sutherland, at your service, ma'am."

"Your badge, please," she said.

His eyebrow quirked, still he didn't say anything. He reached into a back pocket and withdrew it for her.

Sam plucked it from his fingers. She read the number on it several times, committing it to memory.

He reached for the badge. "Satisfied?"

Sam handed it back to him. "Maybe. What can I do for you?"

Tucking his badge away, he stared at her, an odd glint in his eye. "You spoke with Detective Kevin Bresson at the station this morning, correct?"

Nerves knotted her stomach tighter, pulling down the corner of her mouth. Sam frowned at him. What was he up to? "Yes. You saw me there." Her stomach heaved. "What's this about?"

He shifted his weight. Why? He didn't seem the type to feel discomfort about much in life.

"May I come in?"

She considered his request for a long moment before opening the door wide.

Moses followed, staying close to her side, and nudged her leg. She dropped her hand to his head, reassured by his warm presence. "Good boy, Moses."

Big brown eyes laughed up at her, his tongue lolling to one side.

"Moses, is that his name?"

Sam nodded slowly, studying this lean muscular male, hands fisted on his hips, as he watched her. Raw sex appeal oozed naturally from his very presence. She frowned. He was too damn appealing. She didn't like that. Cops were not her favorite people. Sexy ones definitely didn't make her list.

Glancing around the small living space, she realized she didn't know what to do. She'd never had any company here before. Did a police visit count as company? Did she sit down with him? Offer him a cup of tea or what? Awkward – and hating the uncertainty – she repeated abruptly, "What do you want?"

He surveyed the simple living room, walked over to an old sofa, and stopped. "May I sit down?"

With a new perspective, Sam saw the threadbare furniture for what it was – shabby signs of dire poverty. It wouldn't have mattered any other time – after all, she lived it. She didn't understand why it mattered now. "Sure."

She sat on the couch opposite, trying to understand why he intrigued her. He glowed – with life, with health. He had so much vitality that everything around him paled by comparison. His energy was a beacon she couldn't help but find attractive – the lure of warmth and strength, something she'd experienced little in life. He dwarfed everything in the small open room. Sam felt tiny, insignificant against his more dynamic presence.

He reached across and placed his huge hand over hers.

Sam froze. His touch burned into her icy hands. Heat flared. So did confusion. Attraction. Hatred. Pain. Heat. Everything rolled together. Her gaze flew up to meet his.

He squeezed her fingers. Only then did she notice she'd been twisting her fingers around and around in a nervous pattern. A habit she'd tried to break for years. She yanked both hands back and tucked them under her thighs, leaning back. Heat still pulsed inside her veins. Heat she wanted to nestle closer to, yet couldn't explain why. Or didn't dare try. Nervous energy bubbled up. She clamped down hard and forced her errant muscles into stillness. Sam waited for him to speak.

"Are you okay?"

She jerked her head up and down.

"Good. Then let's go over the statement you gave Detective Bresson."

"Why? He didn't believe me."

"But maybe I will," he countered. "So, please, from the beginning."

The beginning. She cast a careful eye over him.

He prompted. "You said you woke up inside a woman's body as she was being murdered?"

Oh, that beginning. Relief blossomed, and she settled back into the couch. Slowly, succinctly, she explained her story again.

"Any idea if his ring had real diamonds in it?"

She glanced at him in surprise. "No. I wouldn't know the difference."

"Could you see the woman's hair?"

"This one had long brown hair. I think it had a slight curl to it."

He raised an eyebrow at her and pursed his lips. "Curly?"

Sam swallowed hard several times, overwhelmed with the memory. Soft and feathery, the dead woman's beautiful curls had stroked against her neck with every twist and turn of her head as she fought for her life.

Locking down her grief and stiffening her spine, Sam explained. "I could feel it curling around my neck."

The look on his face eased.

Sam had no idea if he believed her or not.

"Can you tell me anything about his height, the clothes he wore, the type of mask he had on...anything?"

His mask. Shivers raced down her spine. The madness in those eyes – those glowing orbs still made her nightmares hell. Green neon had shone with joy at the pain he had inflicted.

Sam could hardly speak. Her voice hoarse from unshed tears, she explained what little she'd seen, and the impression the killer had left on her. She hunched her shoulders against the lingering horror, hating the power the memories held over her.

He asked a few more questions. She slid into monosyllabic answers, wishing he'd finish and leave.

Finally, he snapped his notebook closed and tucked it into his shirt pocket. "Thanks." He stood and walked to the door, and turned back to face her, pulling out a business card.

"I don't know if I believe you or if what you've given us even helps, but I appreciate you having come in to share your information. If you think of anything else, please let me know." He nodded politely and walked out.

Now that he appeared ready to leave, Sam's emotions scattered. She didn't know what to make of him. His presence confused her. Interested her. Intrigued her. Memories dictated that she should be angry, scared even. But she was none of those.

Sam trailed him onto the porch. The detective hopped into his truck and drove off. He never looked back.

Sam stayed, bemused, until his truck bounced and shuddered out of sight. For the first time in years, a faint hope came into being. Maybe something could be done after all.

"And just what the hell was that all about, Moses?"

His heavy tail brushed over the wooden planks. Not much of an answer, still it was the only one she was going to get. She headed back inside, Moses at her heels. A chill settled into the room – or maybe it was into her soul.

She wandered around the now seemingly overlarge, empty space...lonely space. The ancient floors creaked under every step in a rhythm that was almost comforting.

The detective probably considered her a suspect by now and if not he would soon. That's how they worked. The police were suspicious of anyone odd. She knew that. She'd come under their scrutiny more than once. But especially from one detective.

Her thoughts blackened at the reminder. That man had been out to get her, and she'd only been trying to help. Damn him.

Even if this detective did put her on his suspect list, she had no one to blame but herself. She'd known it was likely to happen. Still, she'd had to do something. Those women had no one else.

A shiver of apprehension raised goose bumps on her arms. The last thing Sam wanted was to have her life examined under a microscope. She avoided people because she couldn't stand their questions. And sooner or later, everyone asked questions.

5:19 pm

Brandt grinned at his mother's antics. He'd stopped in at her self-contained unit in the seniors' complex, for coffee and to apologize for canceling out on lunch tomorrow. It didn't take more than a few minutes to realize that some things never change.

A beautiful young woman, Lisa, knocked on the door not five minutes after he arrived. Maisy wasted no time inviting her in to meet Brandt.

An obvious setup, yet no different from what his mother put him through on a regular basis in her quest to see him married. Not that old age had crept into her bones, nor had her health deteriorated. Still, she sought grandkids in the worst way. And she had no compunction about using underhanded methods in achieving these goals.

Studying Lisa more closely, he could see the classical beauty his mother would think appropriate. Baby blue eyes with a guileless innocence, long straight blond hair and a slim, but curvy shape. And none of it mattered to him.

All he could see were Sam's haunting eyes. He had no idea if Sam's body curved or bumped. He knew she had a slight build and that she didn't eat enough. With her oversized sweater on, not much else showed. He didn't quite know how he felt about this interest, but was willing to see where it went.

He understood that his 'type' was fluid and fluctuated on impulse. He considered that normal. That didn't mean he chose to go out with all of the women who appeared on his radar.

"Brandt. Brandt?"

Brandt focused on his mother and smiled sheepishly. Her knowing smirk immediately put him on his guard. With a sinking feeling, he realized he'd been staring at Lisa too long. He groaned softly. Maisy's smirk widened.

"Now Brandt, I know she's adorable. Do try to concentrate, dear."

He rolled his eyes and stood up. "I'm sorry, ladies. You'll have to excuse me. It's time for me to head out."

"Oh, no," Maisy cried out. "You never stay for a real visit. Won't you stay for dinner at least?"

Trust her to ignore the fact that he'd been here for dinner just a couple days ago. Today, he'd come straight from Samantha's hideaway, needing a touch of normalcy after seeing her. Only to realize that he preferred Sam to the Lisas of the world. How contrary could he be?

He excused himself from dinner and said his good-byes. The sky had clouded over giving an unusual darkness to the horizon. Once in his truck, his mind immediately returned to the tiny woman with a huge impact. Sam and that overgrown mutt, Moses, had chosen a singular existence out in the middle of nowhere. The dog had been protective when Brandt first arrived. After a once-over he'd gone and lain down. A guard dog would never have done that.

Pulling off to the side of the road, he called into the office for updates. Then he tried calling Stefan, his difficult, contrary, and incredibly gifted psychic friend. And left another message.

Given the lateness of the hour, he decided to go home and mull over the contrariness of human attraction.

CHAPTER FIVE

11:05 pm

Lying in bed that night, Sam couldn't sleep. Her overwrought mind refused to let up. The tantalizing possibility that she was meant to do something with this gift worried at the frayed edges of her mind. Depressed and unsettled, she fell into a fitful sleep, her dreams dark and disjointed pieces of past visions.

Screams jarred her from a deep sleep. Confusion turned to fear when Sam realized the horrific sounds were coming from her own mouth. Even worse, she had no idea where she was.

Terror overwhelmed her. Her fingers spasmed in a death grip around a strange steering wheel as the car she drove careened further out of control. Still trying to toss off the remnants of sleep, Sam yanked hard on the wheel in a futile attempt to turn it. The mid-sized car plowed through a steel barricade to hang suspended in midair before plummeting to the rocks below. Screams ripped from her throat and she reefed again on the useless steering wheel, helpless to stop the deadly impact. Her foot pounded on worthless brakes. The front grill of the car crumpled and metal buckled upward. The car slammed into the first of the rocks below, snapping her forward into the windshield.

Agonizing pain radiated off her shattered spine. Grinding metal, exploding glass, and continuous crunching sounds filled the air as first the bumper flew off, then the rear window shattered outward. The car tumbled, smashed on a huge rock, careened to the left and flipped end over end before coming to a hard landing on its wheels, right side up at the bottom of the cliff.

Then utter silence.

Sam trembled. Shock and pain pulsed through her veins even as her blood dripped out one beat at a time onto the shredded seat beside her. God, she didn't want to die.

She wanted to live. Please, dear God.

Someone help!

Blood streamed over her face, her spine...where a shearing heat set off continuous stabbing pain. The steering wheel jammed into her ribs. The front dash had crumpled into a mess of twisted steel and plastic. The famous Mercedes emblem now hung drunk in midair over the remains of the once beautiful cream leather seats.

Sam couldn't feel her right arm. And wished she couldn't feel her left. She closed her eyes, willing away the image of bone shards that had sliced through her sweater, a few loose strands of wool clinging to the ends. Heart wrenching sobs poured from her throat, tears coated her cheeks. She was alone. And dying.

A brilliant flash of light engulfed the car as the fuel from the pierced gas line flashed into flames. Heat seared her lungs and scorched her hair, the strands melting against the inside of her car window. Panicked, she screamed as flames licked at her feet, burning, and cooking the flesh right off her bones.

Agony. Pain. Terror.

A voice whispered through the blackness of her mind, so odd, so different it caught her attention. She strained to hear the words.

"Let go. It's time to let go."

Sam stared through the flames, stunned. Let go of what? She couldn't hear over the roaring fire and could barely see, but knowing that someone was there stirred her survival instinct and she started fighting against the seatbelt jammed at her side. She was saved. Just another minute and they'd open the door to pull her free. She'd be fine.

"Please hurry," she cried out.

"Let go. You don't need to be in there. Let it all go, and come with me."

She peered through the golden orange windshield to see a strange male face peering at her through the flames.

He smiled.

"Come with me."

"I want to, damn it. Can't you see I'm trapped?" she screamed, her vocals crisping in the heat.

"Release yourself. Come with me. Say yes."

The pain hit a crescendo. She twisted against it, hearing her spine splinter. The car seat melted into her skin. So much pain, she couldn't breathe. Blackness crowded into her mind, blessed quiet, soothing darkness. She reached for it.

"Let go. You don't need to go through this. Hurry."

She started. Why wasn't he opening the door or getting others to help? He should be trying to save her. Shouldn't he? Sam, so confused and so tired she could barely feel the pain overtaking her body. Where had he gone? She tried to concentrate. His face was now only a vague outline that rippled with the heat waves. A soft smile played at the corner of his mouth. The flames burned around him, weird as they centered him in the warm glow. She wanted to be with him. To live.

"Here, take my hand."

Dazed and on the brink of death, Sam focused on the hand reaching for her. She struggled to raise the charred piece of flesh that had been her arm and reached out to grasp his.

She was free.

Overwhelmed, cries of relief escaped. She turned to hug her savior, her head just reaching his shoulder. He stood beside her, the same radiant beaming look on his face. His blond hair glowed, and he had the brightest teeth.

She sighed. This beautiful man pointed to her right arm. Confused, Sam glanced down at her burned arm, realizing she could feel none of her injuries. Just like her other one, her broken arm had miraculously healed – whole, smooth, and soft. Her skin hadn't looked this good in ten years.

Realization hit.

She spun around to find a massive fireball below. What the hell? She had to be dead. But instead of the horror or shock, she expected to feel, she felt good. In fact, she felt great. She turned to the ever-smiling stranger.

"Let's go, sweetheart."

Sam didn't know why he'd called her that, but she bloomed under his loving gaze. Honestly, she was so damned grateful to be out of the car, she let him get away with it.

Holding hands, they floated higher into the cloudless blue sky. Then when the crash site below had become a tiny speck, Sam felt a hard flick on her arm and the words, "Thanks. I can take it from here."

And she woke up.

6:05 am, June 16th

Stunned and disoriented, Sam lay rigid in bed. The sense of loss overwhelmed her. He was gone. She needed his gentle warmth. He made her feel loved and cared for. Bereft, hot tears welled at the corners of her eyes. She didn't want to be back here in her own body. She wanted to be that other woman. That lucky woman.

Sam stopped in shock. That woman was dead! How lucky could that woman be? She'd be fine now, happy and at peace...with that man at her side. Lucky to be so loved.

And who the hell was he?

Sam couldn't believe her vision. Even now, instead of being overwhelmed with shock and pain, she felt uplifted.

Mystified, she questioned the difference this time. Not the death itself, that part unfortunately, had been normal, right down to the excruciating pain. But afterwards...? She didn't know who the man had been or what he might have been to the victim, but he'd cared about her. She wished she'd had her wits about her to talk to him at the time. Now it was too late.

There'd been one other major difference in this vision.

Always before, Sam had been forced to endure the horror of what one human being could inflict on another. This had been her first accident. Or was it?

What's the chance someone killed the woman to make it appear like an accident?

Sam narrowed her eyes, thinking. Given her relationship to violence – and there's no doubt the woman had died a violent death, had foul play been involved? Sam replayed the video locked into her psyche. The brakes hadn't responded, neither had her steering wheel – then they weren't built for flying. Suspicion remained. Intuitively, she felt more was involved. But could she prove it? No. She did know the woman had not been sleeping at the wheel or drunk. Living her last moments had given Sam clarity into the woman's mental state. There hadn't been any drugged or hallucination type of sensation.

Her car had to have been sabotaged. Sam snorted and threw back the blankets. So what? Just because she 'thought' foul play had been involved didn't mean it had been. Or that she could convince the police of it.

Grabbing up her journal, she wrote down as many details from this vision as she could. A process she went through every time. The impressions about the man were so clear, so poignant she had to write them down. Finally, she was done. Closing the book, she put it beside her bed, ready for the next time. She stared at it for a long moment. If anyone found her journals...she glanced over at the box beside her suitcase...they'd be used as evidence against her.

She had to question what her role was this time. She hadn't been able to help the poor woman. If she had a 'gift' then she wanted – no needed – to use it to make a difference. And had yet to do so. The idea, the concept...to help the victim find justice tantalized her. And then again, attempting to help these women meant working with the police. Bile immediately bubbled up in her stomach.

Sam leaned over, reaching for clean jeans and a t-shirt – dressing while deep in thought. Making a quick decision, she reached for the card and punched the number on her cell phone before she had a chance to change her mind.

"Hello?"

Fear caught her sideways. Words refused to come out.

"Hello. Who is this?"

The sharp demanding tone made her wince. She glanced at the clock on the stove and grimaced. He'd been asleep.

"God damn it, answer me." Anger reached through the phone to squeeze her vocal cords.

Samantha rushed into speech. "It's me. Huh, hmmm, Samantha Blair."

"Samantha," he said, enunciating the words slow and clear as if trying to place her.

"You came out to my place at the lake to ask me some questions yesterday," Sam started to explain.

"Oh. That Samantha." The anger shifted down to a growl.

She could almost see him shift into gear.

"What can I do for you?"

"Umm." Now that she had him on the phone, she didn't quite know what to say. "I know that some of the stuff that I told you might have been a little difficult to believe." She paused, not quite knowing where to go from here.

"Maybe," he answered, huskiness clouding his voice as if he was still groggy from sleep. It did funny things to her stomach.

She focused on his answer, his wariness. Determinedly, she forged ahead. "I saw an accident happen this morning. I thought if you could verify these details, you might have more faith in the other information I gave you."

Dead silence.

Oh God, why had she called him? She chewed on her bottom lip. What madness possessed her to call? She glanced out the window. It was just starting to get light outside.

"What kind of car accident?" His voice sounded brisker, more alert.

"A woman drove over the cliff and crashed onto the rocks below." She hesitated for a moment then rushed into speech. "The thing is...this time I recognized the spot. She drove off at Emerson Point."

"Emerson Point?" Now she had his attention. He was all business.

Feeling reassured, she continued. "Yes. She went through the guardrail. The car landed on its wheels before exploding."

"Hmmm. Time frame?" He cleared his throat.

That husky sound made her stomach do a slow tumble. Sam struggled to consider his question. But images of him leaning against the head of his bed, running a hand through his ruffled hair, the blankets resting low on his hips made her swallow and close her eyes. What had he asked? Oh yeah, it had been something about time frame. Had the accident been in real time? She cleared her throat. "About thirty, maybe forty minutes ago.."

"You think?"

She hated the apologetic tone in her voice. "I woke as it happened. All I can say is that I think it played out in real time."

More digestive silence.

"Right. Make of car, color, and license plate? Anything specific that you can tell me."

"I experienced her death the same as always. So, I couldn't see the license plate because I was, in effect, driving the car. She drove a dark colored Mercedes. I don't know the model."

"How did you know the type of car then?"

"Because I could see the logo inside the car."

Sam could hear the scratching of pen on paper. She waited.

"Right. Anything else?"

"Her name was Louise." Sam's voice hitched and stopped, surprised. Where had that come from? The name danced through her head. It felt right.

She took a deep breath, knowing this could be the point where he suspended belief. "And I think she was murdered."

6:30 am

Brandt rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Jesus, what a way to wake up. Every time he spoke with this woman, he couldn't get a grip on her. Was she for real?

He threw back his duvet and headed for a shower. At least this time, she'd given him something concrete. If it checked out.

Two hours later, at the station, he stood frowning down at an accident report in his hands. Incomplete as yet, just chicken scratch as the cop on the scene hadn't had a chance to finish the paperwork.

"Jackson, any sign of foul play?" Brandt glanced up from the paper, his piercing gaze nailing the young traffic cop.

"No, sir," Jackson said shifting his large weight from one foot to the other. "Not that I could see."

The younger man rubbed his face, fatigue pulling on his skin, giving him a much older appearance. The job did that to everyone after a while. "There isn't much left. The fire burned everything to ash."

"There weren't any secondary vehicle marks on the highway indicating she might have been forced off the road?"

"No, nothing like that. Her car headed straight for the guard rail, went through and over."

Brandt shot him a hard look. "Suicide?"

Jackson shrugged. "No idea."

He looked like he didn't give a damn. It must have been a long night. Brandt nodded and handed back the report. "We'd better find out." He turned away, heading down the hallway.

"Uh, Brandt, sir?"

Brandt stopped before slowly turning around. "What?"

"Do you know something about this woman? Something that pertains to the case? Because this seems straightforward. Open and shut type of thing."

You mean, ‘you don't want to be bothered’ type of a thing, Brandt thought, his cynicism rising to the surface. Too often, it was more a case of working in the areas where progress could be made and leaving the time-wasting for others. Still, his placement here put him in an awkward position.

"Maybe," Brandt answered. "Then again, maybe not." He turned and walked away. He needed to talk to Samantha again.

The hot July sun shimmered between the leaves to bounce off the hood of his truck as he drove past the gingerbread house. The place was a remarkable landmark. Further down, fir growth grew thick on the left and several poplar groves dotted the fields on the right. Signs of improvement done over the years blended into the natural habitats. Drainage ditches ran along the side of the well-maintained road. Generations had put their heart and soul into developing this place.

Brandt could only wish he had something as nice to pass on to his kids.

Kids. He grimaced. He didn't dare go there. It led to his mother and all her machinations. The truth was, at thirty-five he'd given it a whole lot more thought than he wanted to admit. Especially to his mother. He saw the worst that people could do to each other, and at other times, events were so poignant they made his heart hurt. It was at those times, he gave serious thought to his future. Thankfully, these lapses were short-lived. The divorce rate in his profession was out of this world. He'd be willing to try, but honestly, he'd never met anyone he couldn't live without.

Besides, it would take a unique woman to accept his work.

He rounded the last corner. The old homestead sprawled off to one side, lazy and serene. Except for the dog barking on the porch, the cabin appeared deserted.

Braking, Brandt brought the truck to a gentle stop beside her red one. Was that rust or paint that gave the vehicle its color? He studied it closer as he opened his door and hopped out. It didn't look road safe. He frowned. She needed a better set of wheels.

The screen door banged shut.

Brandt turned quickly. Sam stood, arms akimbo, apparently surprised to see him.

"Louise Enderby drove her Mercedes off the highway between 5:45 and 6:15 this morning," he said as way of greeting. Alarmed, he watched the color drain from her face. Brandt reached out to steady her, except she pulled back before he had a chance to make contact. His left hand still in midair, Brandt blinked at the speed she'd moved to avoid him.

In general, women liked him. He couldn't remember a time when one had avoided his touch. He didn't know if he should be amused or insulted. Instead, he felt oddly hurt.

"Why did you come?" she asked.

He glanced at her in surprise. "I thought you'd like to know."

She frowned. "You could have called me."

"But then I wouldn't be able to see you in person. By the way, was this morning's call an emergency?" He raised his eyebrows.

Samantha frowned. "I couldn't leave her alone in the car."

Interesting wording. Alone. He had to know. "Why?"

Her solemn gaze studied him for a long moment. She sidestepped the answer. "The bastard needs to be caught."

Brandt's heart stalled before starting again – double time. "The bastard?" Did she know about the serial killer he'd been chasing this last year? How could she know anything? Unless she was for real? God, could she help? Hope flared deep within.

"The killer."

Oh, that bastard. Damn. His heart rate returned to normal. "I'd like to ask you a few more questions. May I come in?"

She took a step back, paused, then stepped off to the side giving him room to pass.

Brandt walked inside. It seemed as bleak as he remembered. The threadbare furniture, plank floors – everything clean yet old. Bare kitchen counters…only one mug stood by the sink full of water.

He stopped in the middle of the room and turned to stare at her.

She hadn't moved.

What was wrong? He opened his mouth to ask, when she walked to the stove and put on a teakettle. As usual, she had on a sweater several sizes too big that hung almost to her knees, only this one was a brown cable type of thing. Threadbare jeans and white cotton socks completed the picture. And the perpetual braid down her back. He eyed her outfit. She barely made five feet and her clothes accented her thin frame, but there were hints of curves in all the right places.

"Do you want a cup of tea?"

He'd rather have a coffee, yet with no coffeemaker in sight, there didn't appear to be much choice. And her offer could be deemed a definite step forward in the social game. Even for a prickly female like her.

"Thank you. I'd appreciate that."

He watched as she pulled out a teapot and teabags from the cupboard. She never made idle chitchat or unnecessary movements. Economical all the way. She fascinated him. He couldn't think of another person like her. He walked over and sat on the same sofa as last time. "This is a nice place."

"I like it."

"Have you been here long?"

She shot him a suspicious look. "You mean you don't know already?"

His lips quirked. "I'd like you to tell me."

Samantha shrugged. "I've been here close to six months now."

"And before that."

She rolled her eyes. "Before that, I was somewhere else."

"Of course you were," he murmured. Her full history had been on his desk half an hour after he'd learned the details of the car accident she'd 'seen.' It hadn't taken long as there'd been little to add to what he already knew. Today's accident had opened doors for him. He wanted to learn the extent she was willing to fill in the missing details.

"Did you sabotage her car?"

She froze in the act of pouring water into the teapot. Her back went rigid. Fury visibly radiated through her bunched shoulders, rage-like waves he could almost touch. Ever so slowly, she finished filling the pot and replaced the kettle on the stove. Just as slowly, she turned around.

Brandt prepared to be blasted and found himself stunned at the pain evident in her eyes. Anger, yes, but he'd also hurt her. He grimaced. Damn, he'd judged that badly. He couldn't figure her out and had automatically tried to shock her out of her silence. Instead, it appeared he'd locked her deeper inside.

"I'm sorry. I had to ask."

She stared down at the kitchen floor, the muscles in her jaw twitching. She walked to the small fridge and pulled out a carton of milk. After a long moment, she shuddered once before answering, "When I have these visions, I'm not on the outside looking in. I'm inside these people staring out." She shot him a look. "Believe me, it would be much easier if it were the other way around."

That was understandable. If what she said were true, she must experience what they experience. He didn't think that included the pain – no one could stand that. Still, being inside must forge a personal connection. And how hard would that be given the eventual outcome?

He waited until she'd brought his tea. "Can you do this at will?"

"No."

Did that make it better or worse? Brandt stayed silent. She didn't offer any more information. "What about controlling it?"

"I wish."

"So, what can you do?"

"Endure." She bit her lip afterward, but it was too late. The word had slipped out.

God. Brandt paused, cup midway to the table. So softly spoken, the word said so much. He stared at her. She didn't like her gift. She hadn't learned to live with it yet. Or to control it. It controlled her. A rush of sympathy washed through him. Gifts like these, if real, were very unforgiving.

Few people had strong psychic abilities. Of those, some went insane. Some survived – barely, and a select few learned to control them and lived quite well. From what he'd seen, she could be one of the stronger ones. Except without the control, she was dangerous. Very dangerous.

Stefan had often extolled the dangers of psychic power without training. Brandt narrowed his eyes. Maybe Stefan could help her. If she'd accept any help. He stared at her in consideration.

Uncontrollable power was a disaster waiting to happen.

He should get the hell out and not come back. Even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn't. He couldn't. He needed to learn more about her. To understand her. After confirming the details of this morning's accident, he was willing to buy into her story as a psychic. But his personal interest bothered him. Especially when his better judgment told him to leave her alone.

She sipped her tea, apparently comfortable under the intensity of his gaze. She didn't fidget, move around, or make artificial conversation.

"Well," she asked. "Did you make up your mind?"

He lowered his cup. "About what?"

"Whether to believe me or not."

"I'm willing to believe up to this point. Your information checked out on the car accident and until I find out otherwise, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt."

"Gee, thanks." She peered over the rim of her teacup, derision in her voice .

Exasperated, he said, "You can't expect me to jump for joy over all of this. I'm a cop. I like things to be cut, dried, and clear. I also know that it rarely happens. So if there is information that can help, then I will listen and say thank you."

She stared at him, a frown between her brows.

He had no idea what she was thinking. Samantha had the odd distinction of being the only person to throw him off balance every time he saw her.

She shrugged. "What questions did you come to ask me?"

Damned if he could remember.

He took another drink of tea while he racked his brain. Oh yeah. "I'm hunting a particular killer. I wondered..." He leaned forward. "Can you find people?"

She cocked her head to one side and narrowed her gaze. "I don't know. I've never tried." Almost apologetically, she added, "I don't have any formal training in this."

He nodded. Stefan would have a heyday with her. He thought about it for a half second, then grabbed his notebook from his pocket and wrote down Stefan's phone number. He continued to ask several general questions about her abilities and the things she'd seen.

Ripping the note off, he placed it on the coffee table between them. She could contact Stefan on her own if she wanted to. He asked one last question. "Is there any particular trigger for the visions?"

That caught her off guard. She stared at him, her eyes flat, haunted. "Yes."

"And that is?" he asked.

"Violence."

CHAPTER SIX

10:19 am

"You can't put him to sleep. He's been doing great. I don't understand." Samantha blocked the cage containing Soldier, the name she'd settled on for the injured German shepherd. The rest of the staff faced her as one group.

"Samantha, we warned you about his lack of progress. He isn't adapting to people. No one will be able to handle him. The shelter won't take him now."

"Then why did you save his life?" Damn, she hated to beg, but someone needed to stick up for the dog. "If he was worth saving then, he's worth saving now."

Lucy stepped forward, placing a comforting arm around Sam's shoulder. "Honey, we tried to warn you. We hoped he'd get better, but he hasn't."

"He just needs a little more time." Samantha didn't know what tactic to try next. Her hand clenched again, fingernails sliding into half-moon impressions already there. She knew she had to keep trying. She hated the compassionate looks from her co-workers, hated their detachment. No one had taken the time to get close to Soldier like she had. It wasn't fair.

Just this once, she'd broken her own cardinal rule and gotten close. Too close. Her heart ached. She couldn't stand the thought of something happening to him.

That made it an easy decision.

"I'll take him," she said abruptly.

The room exploded.

"No Samantha, you can't do that. He could be dangerous."

"Sam, that's a bad idea."

"I wouldn't recommend that."

Sam refused to listen. They didn't understand. She had to give Soldier a chance.

"I have to try. He's not comfortable here. If I take him home, he'll have an easier time of it. He needs to learn to trust again. He can't do that here."

"And then what?" Casey, the only female veterinarian on staff, spoke the collective voice of reason. "What if he attacks you?"

"He won't." Sam answered with more confidence than she felt. Stubbornly, she repeated, "I have to try."

Dr. Wascott walked over and squatted down before the German shepherd's cage. Dangerous growls filled the room.

"Sam, I can't let you do that." He sighed. "He's dangerous. I can't have that on my conscience."

"Well, I don't think he is. But, if you give us a chance and it turns out he doesn't improve or gets worse then...then you can put him down."

Standing up, the vet snorted, his hands on his hips, staring at her in concern. "At that point, no one will be able to get close enough and we'll have to shoot him."

Some truth existed in his words, but Sam wouldn't be swayed. Not now that she'd sensed a sign of weakening. "I'll need to borrow a cage to transport him." She double-checked the size of the dog. "And a hand to load him."

"The only way I'll agree is if you keep him in his cage for at least another week." He reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'll come and see him then and re-evaluate. He's too dangerous to be free right now. He could hurt himself and anyone in the vicinity."

Sam interrupted him. "Which is why my place works. There's no one around for miles." Tossing him a smile of thanks, Sam headed out to her pickup to make room in the box.

Moving Soldier went well, with everyone's help. Once Sam made it on the road, she kept checking the rearview mirror to make sure the cage hadn't shifted.

Driving gave her time to think. Like about the name and phone number Detective Sutherland had left behind, with a casual comment. "He's a strong psychic whom I've worked with in the past. Call him if you need someone to talk to."

Then he'd left, seemingly not realizing what a bombshell he'd left behind. Sam had snatched up the paper, read the name Stefan, then tucked the information away in her purse. She'd wanted to grab the cell phone and call right away, but hadn't a clue what to say. Now, excitement bubbled in the back of her mind. Terrifying her with the possibilities. She hadn't been able to call yet. In truth, she'd rather have Brandt with her when she made contact. Less awkward that way.

Sad to say, but this had gone a long way to improving her opinion of this particular detective. She wrinkled up her face at another truth. To have the handsome detective believe her would be great. To earn his respect, now that would be a bonus. There was just something about that look in his eyes. As if he cared. As if he cared about her.

How sexy was that? To actually know that someone was listening, paying attention. Just his focus on her with such intensity made shivers go up her spine. His dynamic features, so alive and always shifting, intrigued her. But then so did his lean muscles cording his neck and forearms.

Goose bumps raised on her arms, even though she drove in the heat of the melting sun. For the first time that she could remember, she'd found a man that intrigued her. She grimaced. That a cop had been the one to bring her dormant sexuality back to life was beyond ironic. Women had been attracted to men in uniform since time began. Just not her. Too many bad memories.

The trip had to be hurting the dog in the back, yet she hadn't heard him complain once. The cabin came into view, surprising her at the speed of today's trip. Once home, she backed the truck up to the porch.

Moses waited, wagging his golden plume of a tail. She hopped out, gave him a swift hug, and went to open the tailgate. It stuck, as usual. She pounded it a couple times before it finally dropped. Moses bounded into the truck box, eager to check out the new arrival.

He loved other dogs. Most of the time, they loved him. Soldier curled a lip, but other than that showed no reaction. Sam watched their interaction carefully. Except for a low warning, Soldier ignored the other dog.

Sam, hands on her hips, spoke to the dogs. "Now would be a good time for the detective to show up. We could use his help – or rather his muscles." The cage rested on an old blanket. She'd had plenty of help loading him, now she'd have to tug on the blanket to drag him off.

Despite working alone, the blanket system worked well. Although, by the time Soldier had been safely moved to the porch and under the overhanging roof, Sam's limbs were shaking from the effort. Soldier never made a sound.

Even now, he lay there and regarded her with his huge eyes blackened with pain. They locked on her as if he understood. Her heart melted a little more.

Sam collapsed beside his cage, her breathing ragged. "There you go, boy. Life will be much nicer here." Using the bottom of her t-shirt, she wiped the rivers of moisture from her forehead.

Moses and Soldier sniffed each other through the steel mesh as Sam rested and watched. The patient needed fresh water, clean blankets, medicine, and food. Lord, she needed food. And a shower.

With full bowls of food and water, Sam returned to see Moses stretched out against the side of the cage, staring at her reproachfully.

"Don't look at me like that. I can't let him free. He might take off." Placing the bowl down, she unclipped the front door.

"Hi, Soldier." Soldier's dark pain-filled gaze locked on hers. He slumped lower.

"Shit. Are you hurt? Damn it. I knew we shouldn't have moved you. I'm so sorry, Soldier. I had to. They were determined to put you down."

He closed his eyes, his mouth growing slack.

Fear clutched her heart. She struggled to open the tight clasp on the cage door. The closure snapped open and she stretched a hand toward him.

He didn't growl and only opened one eye. Pain clouded his gaze, but a much less heated warning remained.

"What's the matter, no more fight left inside? Or are you prepared to give me the benefit of the doubt after rescuing you from there?" She stroked the thick, lush fur. Dried blood decorated his dark coat. As her fingers worked deeper and deeper, she found sand and grime worked in to skin level. "Poor guy. It's been a long time since anyone cared about you, hasn't it?"

Sam's knees and back ached from the cramped position. She scrubbed his back and neck for another moment. While she worked, she told him about his new life, using a quiet calm voice. She didn't know if it helped or not, yet knew it was what she'd like done if she were in the similar situation.

Stupid. It's not as if she'd ever be huddling in a cage. She stopped, her fingers deep in his thick fur, stunned by the correlation. She might not have been in a cage, yet she'd been living as if she were an injured animal anyway. Wary, hiding from the next blow that life would deal her.

She laughed. "Enough for both of us, huh?"

The cage door clipped her as she backed out, making her curse. Moses whined. Soldier even lifted his head. With both dogs' gazes on her, Sam managed to extricate herself from the wire. She stayed on her knees for a long moment, considering the door. If she disliked it, imagine how the dog liked it?

But if she left it open, would he run away? Or worse, get hurt? The cage offered safety for him. But what kind of life did he have without freedom? As he'd still be in the cage, she wouldn't be going against her word to her boss. Not that he'd see it that way.

Moses stuck his nose on her neck, reminding her she'd been motionless for too long.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she gave him a warm hug, burying her face in the thick ruff. "Oh, Moses. Tell me this is going to work out for the best."

She reached down to shut the cage door, and stopped. Both dogs stared at her, ears up. Soldier couldn't go anywhere right now. His injuries would stop him from running away. But what about her agreement with the vet? She made a gut decision.

"Fine. We'll try it your way."

Sam walked into the cabin, the cage door wide open behind her.

7:22 pm

Whistling cheerfully, the tall, heavily built man tugged on the lead he awkwardly held in his left hand along with one of the two dog crates. He should have made two trips, but he'd had enough for today. It was time to head home. Past time.

He'd held his temper all he could this day. He was quite proud of himself. It took inner strength to remain calm when inside he despised being here, despised the people, and particularly despised the women.

He should get an Oscar for that alone.

No one appreciated how hard it was for him here. No one. He was capable of so much more. Still, it was their loss and his gain. He knew he could do more. In fact, he was doing more – they just didn't know about it. A malicious joy seeped through him.

"Hey, Bill."

Jack, one of the organizers, had chased after him and almost reached him. He sighed, took the last few steps to his van, and put down the crates. Damn, these dogs were getting heavier every time he had to take them anywhere.

"Good class today. Thanks, buddy. Did Dolly Seymour ask you about fitting in a new session next week? This would be another private session."

Bill opened the back door to the van. "She mentioned something about it. I haven't confirmed availability yet. I'll have to call her in the morning."

"No problem. This is the same group from last week. They want to work on individual training, so maybe you can see your way into accepting this one."

Bill had a grin plastered on his face. On the inside, though, he was tired of smiling. He was tired of being nice all day, and he was fucking tired of the whole mess. Surely, his luck would change soon and he could split. "No problem. If I can, I will."

"Good enough. We'll see you later then."

Jack headed back into the clubhouse. As he opened the door, a slinky brunette in tight-ass capri pants and a shorty midriff top walked toward him, a tiny white Lhasa Apso sporting a big pink bow, in her arms.

Bill grinned at the beautiful woman walking toward him and stopped loading his stuff into the back of the van to talk with her. "Hi, Caroline."

A bright smile broke across her face. "Thanks for today's class, Bill. I'm just sorry Jared couldn't be here today. He'd have really enjoyed it."

Bill smiled as expected. In truth, if he heard one more thing about her husband, Jared, he was liable to scream. If there was one thing he couldn't stand – it was gushing females, particularly when they were gushing about their males.

Still, he managed to keep an eye on her nicely rounded ass as she walked past to her black Porsche several vehicles down.

He just might have to do something about that...and her.

2:30 am, June 17th

Screams echoed in the darkness. Sam twisted and pulled, struggling to get away from whatever held her fast. She couldn't get free. In a blind panic, she realized her body no longer answered to her commands. Her eyes opened. She shuddered. Shearing pain melded with terror as she took in the blood dripping to the floor. It ran down the folds of the floral bedspread to soak into the cream carpet waiting below.

"Please don't...no more." A voice not her own spoke the words in her head. A blow shattered her breastbone. Her screams poured into the small room. Sam barely flinched. Her attacker laughed.

"Like I'm going to listen to you, bitch. You like this. You must. You let that useless husband of yours beat you all the time." His hideous laughter added to her horror. God, how could he laugh at her? He was an animal. She died a little more at his unexpected pleasure. Monster.

Maybe it had something to do with his unseemly pleasure, or maybe it came from her absolute fury at yet another murder, but somewhere deep inside, Sam's consciousness attempted to reassert itself. In a weird way, she became aware of both worlds at once. Her awareness built, a small step at a time, allowing her to put a slight distance between her and the dying woman's. Fog grew between the two realities, buffering her from the poor woman's pain and fear.

Groggy and disoriented, Sam tried to snap out of the psychic episode fully, only to slam back inside the injured woman. Her body lurched uncontrollably. Sam tried to ward off the oncoming blow, but couldn't make the right arm move.

"Stupid woman. What good are those looks of yours now? It's far too late to run away." The fists lashed out, once, twice and then yet again. Muscles tore and internal organs bled under cracked bones. The poor woman arched her back, lifting high off the bed. Both women screamed. Cries echoed inside and outside of Sam's mind, building, and blending into a crescendo of terror.

"Why are you doing this?" Blood trickled down the corner of her mouth. Sam didn't know who spoke – her or the victim. It didn't matter, the words were the same.

"Because I can, bitch." Mocking laughter echoed through the small room.

"But...?" She gasped, fighting the vomit in the back of her throat. "Why me?"

"You're weak. You deserve killing. Staying with an asshole like that. Besides, I hate him. Maybe the cops will think he's good for this one."

"No," she gasped. "Please, don't."

"Too late."

He raised his fist and landed a blow below her eye socket. Bone shattered, making little scrunching noises. There'd be no white knight coming to the rescue. Ever. There was only Sam and she didn't know how to help.

Through the bloody haze, Sam, desperate to take something useful back with her, struggled to open her good eye. Swollen and bloody and not her own, made the job damn near impossible. Light slid painfully under her sore eyelids. She struggled to bring the scene in focus. The bastard was getting off her bed. Blood splatter covered his shirt and jeans. He wore unrelenting black with the blood standing out in dark wet spots. He wore gloves and a ski mask. Same height and same build.

Same energy pattern. Damn, him again. At least she thought it was him.

Only one eye could see. Sam couldn't even tell if this man wore a ring or not. The light in the room started to fade, as if the sun were setting at rapid speed. Except the curtains were closed and it was the middle of the night.

Her vision narrowed, locked on her killer's face. The circle grew smaller and smaller. Sam knew her time was almost over. She could only watch with painful understanding as the circle of light reduced to a pinpoint before finally, thankfully, blinking out. Forever.

It was over.

Sam woke in her own room, minutes later. For the first time, grief didn't overwhelm her. She was angry. She hurt for the victim and her family. But even more, a deep pulsing fury permeated her soul. That asshole had way too much fun doing what he was doing. He had to be stopped.

When she could, she shifted upright. Pain still coursed through her body, but the anger provided a dense barrier, letting her cut through the pain. Inner excitement grabbed hold. This time she'd had some kind of conscious awareness. She'd kept a part of herself intact while living what that poor woman had experienced.

Poor soul. Sam sniffled. Why was this guy doing this? Surely, he had a reason – more than just for entertainment.

Lying back down, she thought about the details from the vision. Once again, the killer had been fully hidden, so no face or ring showed. There'd been light-colored walls, a plain white ceiling, and a cheap floral bedspread. Again, nothing helpful.

It was six in the morning now. Surely, someone would find the woman today? Depression set in.

Tucking the blankets around her, she reached for the phone. There was no answer at Detective Brandt's number. She hung up. Then changing her mind, she redialed and this time left a message. Afterward, she sat, undecided, before dialing the station.

Five minutes later, she was sorely regretting that action.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, could you repeat that?"

"Could you please have Detective Sutherland call me? I know this sounds bizarre, but I can't give you any more information. A woman has been murdered." Samantha tried to keep her voice from showing her frustration. Just going over the details hurt. Damn it, why wouldn't anyone listen to her?

She cleared her throat from the confused emotions clogging it. "Excuse me, could you just pass the message on, please?" She shifted the phone to the other ear.

"I'll see that he gets your message," replied the cold voice on the other end of the phone.

"Thank you," she answered, and hung up. There was nothing else to do.

It took twenty-five minutes to hear from him.

"Samantha?"

"Yes," she answered, relief rushing through her. "It's me."

"And?" he asked, concern in his voice.

Sam took a deep breath, snuffling back tears. "He's killed again," she whispered.

Dead silence.

She scowled into the phone. She could almost hear the gears in his mind churning at lightning speed.

"Did you see him?"

"I saw him, not the ring. He kept his gloves on the whole time." She shivered at the memory, still fresh in her mind. "He wore all black, including the ski mask."

"Can you identity him in any way?"

Sam shook her head then realized he couldn't see her. "No. Not really. I might recognize him by size, carriage, maybe his way of moving. His gaze..." Sam closed her eyes and swallowed hard, hating the fear clinging to her skin. Some belonged to the various victims and to a certain extent – some of it was hers. The killer breathed evil. She got a grip again. "It won't stand up in court, but I would recognize his energy if I ever saw him again – at least I think so."

"What does that mean?" His sharp voice cut through the lines.

She stiffened. "When he kills he lets himself enjoy it. Energy has its own individual pattern and changes with moods, etc." She paused for a moment. "I think I might recognize it again, but I can't say for sure."

"Hmm."

Sam waited in edgy silence.

"Is there anything you can tell me about the victim?"

"Like what?" She relaxed slightly. With it, fatigue set in. She was so tired.

"Like where she lives, a house, an apartment...something to help us find her faster."

Samantha sighed. "When you're being attacked, you don't think, 'I'm so and so and live at 146 Pine Street.' Women think about being rescued, and why them, and toward the end..." Sam caught back a hiccup of a sob. "Toward the end," she continued, her voice a hint above a whisper, "they only think of those they're leaving behind – their loved ones." Sam could barely hear him through the chaos of her emotions, yet, she could sense his sympathy. She could hear him scratching down notes. "He beat her to death."

"He beat her? No knives?"

"No. He hated her husband. The husband beat her so he took her away from him. If that makes any sense."

"Nothing a killer does, makes any sense."

Sam hesitated. "Another thing. Her eyes were damaged. It was hard to see clearly." Sam stared bitterly out the large bedroom window, where raindrops started to ping against the panes of glass. She would see another sunny day, but the poor women wouldn't.

"Can you tell me anything else? Her name? You got the name of the car victim."

"That was different." Violent imagery coursed through her mind. Was there gold to be mined in there somewhere? "Just a minute." Sam closed her eyes, trying to let the images she'd been forcing back, flood her mind. Maybe, there was something useful there. Fists. Blows. Blood. Screams. Red. Pain. Grief. Sam doubled over, gasping at the emotional onslaught. She fought to stay conscious, scared all over again as the pain and images took her back into the horror. There. What was that?

A name. Sam fought to leash the demons in her mind, scrambling for the safety of her physical reality, desperately wanting to return to her small cabin by the lake. She shuddered and opened her eyes.

A whitewashed ceiling stared back at her.

She shivered. How could anything so bizarre happen in such a calm and normal setting?

"Sam, damn it, answer me." Brandt's voice screamed through her phone, dragging her attention back to the task at hand. "Are you there? God damn it!"

"Brandt." Sam's vocal cords sounded wrong to her own ears, hoarse and rough. She tried again. "It's okay. I'm here."

"What the hell happened? Jesus, you said just a minute. I thought you'd gone to get something."

Sam frowned. "How long was I gone?"

"At least two or three fucking minutes." His voice calmer now. "I almost hopped into my truck to drive out to your place. Jesus, don't scare me like that again."

Sam shook her head. That long? No, surely not. She stared uncertainly at the small plastic clock on the milk crate that passed for a nightstand.

"So what the hell was that all about?" Brandt blasted her, obviously pissed now that she'd returned.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to worry you. Her husband's name was Alex."

"Husband? Was he the killer?"

"No." She rushed to explain. "That's what the killer wants you to believe."

"So, the husband was a wife beater?"

"I think so."

Silence through the phone as he digested that information. When he spoke again, he was all business. "I've got to take another call. I'll need you to come to the station and give a statement. How about eleven? I'll see you then."

Sam stared down at the dead phone. "Shit. That was so not what I wanted to happen."

CHAPTER SEVEN

8:55 am

Approaching the same imposing building for a second time was no easier. She glanced at her cheap watch. Right on time. The station had called just over an hour ago asking her to come in for nine instead. Two hours earlier meant two hours she didn't have to wait and worry. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and walked in.

Her reception, this time, was quite different. After letting the front desk know she was there for her appointment, she was taken to a small room and left alone. Sam shivered as she took in the square table and two chairs. No windows, no couch, nothing to indicate comfort. This appeared more like an interrogation room. Silently, she walked to the far side of the table and sat down. Sam didn't need any other cues to understand she could be in serious trouble.

She just didn't know why.

The door opened, admitting an older grizzled cop. "Miss Blair, thanks for coming in. I'm Detective Stan Robertson."

Sam grimaced. Warily, she watched as the man pulled out the other chair and sat down, dropping a file folder on the table.

"So you're a psychic, are you?"

She replied, "Somewhat."

He glanced over at her, his bristly eyebrows slightly raised. "Explain."

"Sometimes I get visions, but I can't read tarot cards or anything like that."

He opened his folder and started writing notes on his pad of paper. She tried to read his chicken scratch. It proved impossible. She waited until he'd finished writing before asking a question of her own.

"Why did you call me in?"

"You reported a murder." Calm, quiet, he gave no inkling of his reaction to her report. He could be writing out a grocery list for all the emotion he showed. Sourly, she realized he'd probably been on the force so long nothing fazed him.

"Where's Detective Sutherland?"

"He's off duty right now. He'll be in soon."

"I'd prefer to speak with him." Actually, she wanted to speak with only him, suddenly realizing she might not have the chance. What the hell was going on?

"We'll have him call you to follow up." His demeanor suddenly changed. "So where were you when this murder happened?"

"In bed, sleeping."

His disbelief should have been an early warning. It wasn't.

"The same bed as this woman?"

Blindsided, she slumped in her chair. So, that was it. She was a suspect. Wait a minute. She sat straight up. "Did you find her?" she asked.

"Why don't you tell me?" He smirked at her and returned to note-taking.

Sam didn't know what to think. Every time she stepped forward to help, she became a suspect. But stupid her, she kept coming back for more. When would she ever learn?

"So where were you at..." the officer stopped to look at his notes, "between midnight and four this morning?"

"At home," Sam answered, her shoulders slumping. "And yes, I was alone."

"So you have no alibi." He jotted something down.

"If I'd known ahead of time that I'd need one, then I'd have made an effort to be with someone. But I didn't." Sam glared at the man sitting opposite her. She didn't want to be here. She should have told Brandt that she couldn't come.

"I'd like to talk to Detective Sutherland," she repeated.

"Yeah, we'll get on that right away."

He never moved.

Sam snorted before subsiding into silence. She was past helping him.

"Let's get back to exactly what you were doing the evening leading up to the death of your friend."

"She wasn't my friend. I didn't know her. I don't even know where she lives." It took effort to keep the wobble from her voice. She didn't think she'd ever get used to the accusations or the mockery that often accompanied the disbelief. She eyed the officer writing extensive notes. What the hell could he write to fill two full pages?

Without a word or a glance her way, he got up and left the room.

Sam waited with mounting frustration, and when an hour later, she was still sitting there, the frustration morphed into an insidious fear. She couldn't stop trembling. She interlocked her fingers and sat on them. Focus, you idiot. Don't let them get to you. You can do this. There's no reason for them to hold you here much longer. Using a mantra that had helped her in the past, she mentally repeated: All will be well. Everything happens for a reason. All will be well.

Shit happens. That was the other mantra of her life. And it sure as hell had.

All will be well. All will be well. All will be well.

The door opened suddenly.

She forgot to breathe.

The same detective she'd seen at the very first meeting walked in.

She sighed in disgust.

"I'm Detective Bresson. I need to ask you some questions."

"Why? You didn't believe me when I walked in here the first time. What's changed?"

He ignored her.

Sam listened in disbelief as the questioning started all over.

An hour and a half later, Sam was shown the front door, the officer's words echoing in her head. Don't leave town.

Go where? Bitterness overwhelmed her. She had nowhere to go.

10:50 am

Brandt checked his watch as he pulled the pickup into the side parking lot and hopped out. With any luck, he'd have time to grab a mug of coffee before Sam arrived. He'd tried contacting the police artist last night without success. He'd left a message. Hopefully, she'd gotten it and had shown up, too.

Sam had too much valuable information locked inside her head not to take advantage of it. Their police artist had an eerie interpretation of people and events as well. Maybe together, the two of them could produce a little bit of useable magic.

He pushed open the side door and nodded at Jensen, just leaving. Walking straight to the lunchroom, he snagged a mug, filled it with coffee, added cream, and headed to his desk. So focused on his time frame, it took him a minute to notice the unusual silence in the station.

Glancing around, he frowned. People weren't smiling at him. No one said hello or good morning. What the hell?

"Hey Adam, what's up?" The younger man was hunched over his keyboard, staring at his monitor as if it held the answer to life on it. He started; red flushed over his face and neck. He mumbled and refused to face Brandt.

"What?" Brandt walked over until he stood directly in front. "Adam, talk to me."

Adam's shoulders slumped. "I think you'd better talk to the captain."

Brandt stiffened. "The captain? Okay, how about a heads-up first?"

Adam finally glanced around the office and then met his gaze. "Personally, I think she might be on the up and up, but there's some that think she's in this neck deep."

"She?" The caffeine had yet to kick in or his brain hadn't woken up yet. Either way, nothing about this was making any sense.

"Your little psychic friend."

His stomach soured. "Sam? What does she have to do with this?" Brandt checked his watch. She should be out front waiting for him by now. "Has she arrived already?"

Adam looked at him, puzzled. "She just left."

"Left?" Brandt searched the large open room, hoping to catch a sign of her. "Why? I asked her to come in at eleven. I wanted her to meet with the sketch artist."

Adam lowered his voice and leaned closer. "She arrived hours ago. They just let her go."

Black, blinding anger coiled deep inside, stirring in anticipation of freedom. "They?" Brandt's voice was cold and thick. Who the hell had gone after Sam without talking to him first? Who the hell dared? Because that asshole had a surprise coming. Sam was his source and no one else's.

Adam ducked and peered from side to side, checking to see if anyone was watching them. The two of them always talked. They were on the same team for Christ's sake. Brandt leaned closer. "Talk to me," he ordered the younger man. "I want it all, and I want it all now."

Adam flushed even redder. "I don't know the details. Ask Kevin."

Kevin. Brandt thought about it for half a heartbeat. Yeah that made sense. Kevin's black-and-white view of the world matched his black attitude. Kevin didn't appear to trust anyone. Damn it. It was time to have a talk with Kevin. Brandt hated feeling like he'd been targeted.

Just then, Dillon joined them. Both men half-turned away from Dillon who belonged to one of the other teams. He wasn't privy to their work.

"What secrets are we discussing now?"

Both men gave him a baleful look. Adam walked away without saying a word.

Brandt studied him. Why would he even begin to step in where he wasn't wanted? Brandt had little to do with him, thankfully. He'd always appeared a little too slick. That had nothing to do with his fancy suits. Today, he wore another pinstripe suit and what appeared to be a damask shirt. This kid was looking the part. Brandt just didn't know what that part was.

"No secrets here." Every department had a misfit or two. This station was no different. The captain here was quite tolerant – as long as everyone did their job.

Brandt didn't know Captain Johansen well. Big, beefy, and built, his physique gave rise to the nickname of B-cubed. He kept a military-style haircut that showed more white than gray and had a huge squared off jaw. Buzz Lightyear anyone? Yet, he had a reputation of being a straight shooter with his men, and fair on most issues. But on the question of psychics, well Brandt had no idea where he stood.

It was hard being an outsider. He was here to do a job, allowed to join the team in order to complete a job, yet not quite a member of the team. Obviously some of them thought differently about him. But going behind Brandt's back was never acceptable.

Dillon half-laughed and shifted his position, his hands sliding into his pants pockets. "Are you sure? It sounded juicy when I went to walk past. Couldn't help but stop and ask."

He grinned in a way that pissed Brandt off. He needed to talk with the captain now. He needed to find out what the hell was going on. Brandt spun on his heels, slopping coffee on the floor and headed for the captain's office.

11:00 am

The door to the captain's office was closed when he arrived. He knocked hard.

"Come in."

Brandt strode in and stopped short. Kevin was seated on the left. The captain sat behind his huge mahogany desk. There was a sense of expectation. They'd been waiting for him.

His defenses went up.

"Come in, Brandt. Take a seat."

"I'd rather stand." He struggled with it, but his voice actually sounded normal. Tight but calm.

"Fine. Whatever you're comfortable with. But you also need to be comfortable with the fact that Kevin is entitled to speak with any witnesses he sees fit. That includes this Samantha Blair." The captain's beetled brow met in the middle as he peered over his glasses at Brandt. "That is why you're here. Isn't it?"

Brandt choked back the words clogging his throat. He had to remember he was a guest here. "Correct. And it's possible that detectives at this station work differently than they would in most other stations – but that would surprise me."

Normally detectives built a rapport with their witnesses. They might ask another detective to go and talk to someone, to see what shook loose. Most detectives, as a basic courtesy, would mention to the other detective that they needed to talk to one of his connections before they interviewed someone involved in his case.

Captain Johansen cleared his throat. "Yes, we do things a little differently here."

Brandt's gaze cut to the captain. "That different?"

Once again, Captain Johansen exchanged glances with Kevin.

"We deal in good old-fashioned police work here. Not black magic." Kevin couldn't stay quiet any longer.

"That's what this is all about? Because she's a psychic?" At Kevin's nod, Brandt snorted. "Then you could have had the decency to talk to me, couldn't you? I've worked with Stefan Kronos for over a decade."

"I'm not sure that I believe his work either. However, many of my friends do, given his success record. This woman is a flake, pure and simple. I don't want her involved in my cases." Kevin's sarcasm underscored his point of view.

Interesting that Kevin had heard of Stefan. "You haven't given her a chance, have you?" Brandt turned to confront him. "I believe in her. She's given valuable information and I think she can help."

"I interviewed her. She doesn't have anything to offer." Kevin stood up. "I don't have time for this. As long as you have something reasonable to offer to my cases, feel free. But if you're going to bring in a psychic, use her for your cases, not mine. She can hang you, not us. You're only visiting here. And you won't destroy our reputation with your fucked up ideas."

Kevin strode out, leaving an uncomfortable silence behind.

Brandt looked back at Captain Johansen, who stared back. "Is that the official stand?"

He pursed his lips, thinking. "For the moment. I'm certainly not a fan of using psychics. But I do know Stefan's work. So I can't discount them either. Let me know if she comes up with anything we can use. Other than that, don't confuse the issue between hard work and easy answers."

11:20 am

Kevin walked through the commons, staring straight ahead. Most of the office knew what had just happened. The interior walls were very thin.

He didn't give a shit. Let them talk. As long as they didn't bring it to him, he could care less. He had work to do, and gossip wasn't one of his job duties.

Neither was dealing with flakes. Even harmless ones. But he'd had to check it out further. Now he'd done so, and now he could wash his hands of her. Good riddance.

If only Brandt would see things his way. He'd expected more of this 'visiting detective.' Brandt seemed to be a straightforward kind of guy. He'd always dug in and helped where needed and he sure as hell knew how to get the job done. But this psychic stuff was just plain weird. That he'd trumped Brandt's witness, wasn't something he was prepared to get into. Not on a murder case.

Besides, like religion, there was just no telling where individual beliefs lay.

That was fine with Kevin. He didn't push his beliefs down anyone's throat and expected the same courtesy – especially at work. Kevin shook his head. Christ, a psychic!

Even his wife had laughed at him.

12:30 pm

Brandt pulled the truck up to the cabin in a spew of dust and dirt. Moses stood on the porch barking at him. At least the dog showed some sign of guarding the place. He cut the engine and hopped out, slamming the door behind him.

"Hey Moses, how are you doing, big guy?" Brandt eyed him warily, certain that Moses posed no threat. Still, one never knew. He climbed the steps, hand outstretched toward him.

Moses walked a step closer. Just as Brandt was about to touch him, a deadly growl erupted from the far side of the porch before rising into a hideous howl. Moses backed up and took up his fierce barking again.

Brandt started. "Jesus. What the hell is that?" He could just make out the oversized cage further down the porch, half covered in old gray army blankets. He took a hesitant step closer, only to stop as the growl grew to crescendo.

"Easy, take it easy." He didn't know what Samantha had inside that damn cage, but if it were relative in size, it had to be huge.

He glanced at the closed front door, sure he was being watched. Samantha had to be hiding behind the curtains. Ignoring the cage for the moment, he rapped on the door. Samantha opened it promptly, confirming his suspicions.

"Hi."

The door shut in his face, leaving him staring at worn, peeling wood.

He closed his eyes and groaned. Shit. After what the team had put her through, he couldn't blame her. Then neither could he blame the team. He might have done the same thing under different circumstances.

"Samantha, I had nothing to do with this morning's appointment. The detectives called you in because they had questions. I'm sorry for the way it went down. Still, it's our job to ask."

Silence.

"Crap." It would take a bomb to get her out of there now.

"Would it help if I said I didn't know about this morning's meeting until after you'd left? I had nothing to do with it. Honest."

More silence.

"That was the rest of the team. They don't have much faith in psychics and wanted to check you out for themselves."

Dead silence.

Shit. He so didn't have time for this. He searched for ideas. Moses had slumped to his usual position of full-relaxed mode on the porch. The cage was quiet, but Brandt sensed the awareness emanating from the wire structure.

"Nice pet you've got there. Sounds dangerous. I may have to put him down as a danger to society."

The front door crashed open. "Don't you touch him," she snarled as she raced toward the cage.

He grinned. Like taking candy from a baby.

As she caught sight of his grin, she stopped her headlong rush and changed direction to charge him instead. He laughed even as he deflected her blows.

"You bastard. You did that on purpose." She took another swing at him, her knuckles grazing the top of his nose.

Still laughing, he snagged her wrists.

"You're right. That was low, but I had to get you out of the house."

He was loath to let go of her wrists. Not wanting to get clipped was only one reason. The ire in those velvet eyes spoke volumes about her temper. No, it had more to do with the shape and fit of her against him. He switch to holding both her wrists with one hand. The fingers of his other hand sank deep into the always-present sweater – this time a deep forest green one – before finding her warm flesh below. Her frame – surprisingly solid. The purple fire shooting from her eyes made him grin. Even as he watched, she ran her tongue over her lips.

His stomach clenched. He reached and tugged her long braid.

He stared at her hands gripped in his. Blue veins wound from her fingers up and under her sleeve. He frowned and loosened his hold.

"Sorry." He grimaced as pink rushed through to her pale fingertips. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Samantha tugged her hands free and stepped away from him. "I'm not hurt."

He glanced from her hands to her face, frowning. Somehow, he didn't think she'd tell him if she were. She wasn't going to change on his say so.

"May I come in?"

She shuffled her feet, but refused to look at him. More evasiveness. Not a surprise, coming from her. He waited for a moment before adding, "Please."

CHAPTER EIGHT

1:15 pm

Sam didn't want to let him into her space. She didn't know how her ire had died so suddenly. But she didn't want to let it go just yet.

"Are you okay?"

She twisted around, brushing her hair from her eyes. "What the hell do you care?" The words burst out with more punch than she intended. Better to appear calm and rational than let him know how hurt and betrayed she really felt.

"We need to talk." he responded.

"What could there possibly be left to talk about?" She turned and walked into the cabin.

Brandt came in behind her.

She strode to the fridge and pulled out a jug of cold water. "Why won't you leave me alone?" she asked, without turning around.

A large muscled arm reached into the glass cupboard above her head, pulling out two tall glasses. He set them down on the counter and tugged the jug free from her fingers.

He appeared so in control, she wanted to scream at him. Her life was in turmoil. She watched as he poured two glasses.

Pissed at her reaction, she snatched one up and walked outside. Her nerves were rubbed raw. She could only take so much.

"I can't."

His answer hurt. She escaped toward Soldier. Her stocking feet whispered along the porch. Soldier still heard her. She couldn't see him, but she sensed his attention. "It's okay, boy. It's just me." The sensation of wariness coming from the cage never relaxed. She couldn't blame him, hers hadn't disappeared either.

A low growl erupted in the far corner.

"What's in there?" Brandt asked from behind her.

Sharper, higher pitched growls had the two of them backing up a few paces.

"That's some huge cage," Brandt said, his voice carefully moderated.

"He's a good-sized dog. And he obviously likes his space."

Brandt snorted and walked to the stairs and sat down. "You think?" He took a big drink, still staring at the cage. "Is he dangerous?"

"No." She amended her answer after a quick thought. "At least, I don't believe so."

He arched his eyebrow. "You mean you don't know?"

"I just got him," she muttered. She didn't think Soldier would really hurt anyone – unless they got too close.

She could feel Brandt's gaze burning her face. A hot flush washed over her cheeks. "So why are you here?" she asked.

Silence. She heard his heavy sigh on the air. From the corner of her eye, she saw his head turn, his focus on the view before them.

"I came to explain. I went to meet you for our eleven o'clock appointment. That's when I heard they'd called you for a visit earlier."

"Visit." Disbelief made her shake. "Did you say visit?" Her voice rose alarmingly high. "How could anyone call that a visit? How about calling it a Gestapo session, or maybe an interrogation?" She glared at him. "But a visit, it was not."

With Moses at her side, she headed down to the end of the dock. The water glistened in the late sunlight. Her knee buckled sideways as Moses leaned against her, whining.

"It's okay, boy. I'm fine." She laid a gentle hand on his bushy fur, enjoying the comfort of his touch.

"Are you?" Brandt faced the lake. "That's actually why I came – to check up on you."

She stiffened.

He hesitated. "I'm sorry I wasn't there, I might have been able to ease it slightly. But don't get me wrong, they would have brought you in regardless. They needed to check you out after you reported the third victim."

Sorry? She threw him a stunned glance. He wished he could have been there? Well, so did she. Overwhelmed and unaccountably relieved, Sam dropped to sit down on the dock, her suddenly weak legs dangling over the edge. Somehow, the day didn't seem so bad after all. Moses slumped down to the ground at her feet.

Brandt stood beside her, looking as if he wanted to say something. Sam didn't care. She had enough to deal with keeping the bubbling lightness inside from making its way outward. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her relief.

The silence grew uncomfortable. "What?" She didn't like the indecision on his face.

He shrugged.

"Come on, fess up. What?"

He sat down a little apart from her. "Do you have other skills? You know like telekinesis or telepathy – anything?"

His tone came across light and amused, yet Sam sensed a serious thread through it all.

"You mean like mind reading? She sharpened her gaze, trying to figure out what he meant. No, he was too sensible for that. Wasn't he? Searching his face, she had to ask, "You don't really think I can read your mind – do you?"

He shifted his weight and stared out across the lake.

She grinned, her first real one in a long time. As the realization swept through her, a giggle escaped. She slapped her hand over her mouth, astonished at the sound. Moses raised his head and whined. She giggled again. Then she couldn't help it; she laughed aloud. When he cocked his head to one side and stared at her, she laughed harder, threw her arms around the dog, and hugged him close.

She watched Brandt shake his head, as if he only just realized he'd crouched down beside her, his puzzled look clearing.

"What's so funny?" he asked, aggrieved.

Another giggle escaped even as she fought to control herself.

She wiped her eyes. "Sorry. God that felt good. I haven't laughed that hard in years." It took another couple of minutes before finally, she heaved a big sigh and relaxed. Peace settled upon her, ill fitting at first, but she slowly grew more comfortable with it. Another sigh escaped, and she stretched out on the dock. The sun had lost most of its heat, leaving a slightly cooler air to wash over her heated skin.

"Well?"

"Well what?" Then she remembered – mind reading. Another giggle escaped. He shot her a dirty look, and she tried hard to stifle the rest. There was no way to stop the grin that split her face. "I'm not telepathic. I can't read minds. Okay?"

He peered at her intently. She stared back, still grinning, but serious.

He nodded once and lay down on the warm dock beside her.

Sam smiled, the wooden boards warm beneath her shoulders. It was a gorgeous day.

She was dimly aware of Brandt stretching out on the other side of Moses. She could feel his gaze. She smiled slightly and closed her eyes. Content.

Her thoughts free floated in the newly created space in her mind. Stress had fled in the face of her laughter, leaving room for peace and contentment.

Images, both colored and not, danced, enjoying the freedom to roam. Faces, images, names, and places. Nothing followed a pattern as free association flowed. In an uncharacteristic move, she let them. Amazed at the clarity, Sam could only watch in awe. Where did these come from? She recognized some of them – and some she didn't.

"What are you thinking?"

"Hmm?"

"I asked what you were thinking."

"Not thinking – seeing. Pictures, images, events." She smiled lazily, never opening her eyes.

"Anything on the murderer?"

She froze. It didn't help. The moving images sped up, tumbling over each other, impatient for their moment in the light. One face flashed, followed by another and then another. Without warning, the film stopped. A camera trained on one woman. But Sam was inside that woman staring at the camera lens. The faint reflection on the camera lens showed the vague outline of a beautiful laughing brunette. The woman smiled into the camera, amused at something the photographer said. She turned her head. Sam caught glimpses of a huge green park, flowers in brilliant vibrant beds. Several other people mingled. Someone called out a name. Her head twisted around. Her name. She was called Annalea. Sam recognized her basic essence. Sam had connected to this same soul the other day.

"Annalea."

"Who?"

She knew. "That’s her name." Sam opened her eyes to a slowly darkening sky.

"The murderer?" he asked. His voice sounded stunned, his tone disbelieving.

"No," she whispered, grief already clogging her heart, breaking up her voice. "He's stalking his next victim. Her name's Annalea."

2:10 pm

Even an hour ago, Sam would have said what she was doing was impossible.

It defied logic. But there it was.

She stood on the steps of the police station, staring up at the imposing front. What was even worse, was that somehow...somehow she'd been convinced to do this willingly.

Un-freakin-believable.

"Problems?"

Sam started. Brandt stood several steps above her, staring down at her with a questioning look on his face. She rubbed her damp palms on her faded jeans, glancing at her scuffed runners showing too much wear, then up at him. She wrapped her arms beneath her breasts, not quite knowing what to say. Her thick sweater was long and didn't seem to make a bit of difference to the chill deep in her bones. She stared around at the busy street before turning her gaze on him again.

"Yeah, this isn't exactly my favorite place to 'visit.'"

He grinned at her. "It will be different this time."

Should she believe him?

"I promise."

Sam raised her face to the sun, took a deep breath, got a grip on her whacked-out emotions, and strode the remaining few stairs. Once inside, she kept her focus on Brandt and followed his lead. Within minutes, she was sitting at a large table in a spacious lived-in room. It was much more pleasant. This looked like a meeting or a conference room. The sideboard held papers and books. One of the tables held used coffee cups and even a dirty plate.

"Do you want a cup of coffee before we get started? I’m not sure we have any tea."

Feeling as if she'd been caught snooping, Sam quickly nodded. "Thanks, coffee is fine. Black, please."

Brandt flashed a quirky grin as he left.

On her own, Sam glanced around at those passing through. There were no windows in the room. She'd have felt better if she could have seen the world outside – to have less of a caged feeling. She did much better in open air. She tilted her head. Maybe she should look at going into horticulture. That was outside, away from people. Yeah, she'd do well with plants. Too bad they didn't do well with her.

"Here you go. Careful, it's hot."

A cup of steaming coffee was placed before her. The heat drew her like a magnet. She wrapped her hands around the mug, almost moaning with joy.

At that moment, she looked up to catch Brandt's quizzical gaze. She flushed.

"I'm a little cold, that's all."

He raised one eyebrow and refrained from commenting.

Sam returned her attention to her coffee, staring at it longingly. With the steam still rising, she tried a sip. She choked, hastily putting it down again. She coughed again, trying to clear her throat. Dear God, how could they call that coffee? She snuck a glance at Brandt. He hadn't noticed.

Sam didn't know what to say. Brandt sat down across from her, sipping his own coffee. God, he actually seemed to enjoy it. He flipped through a file on the table. Every once in a while, he stopped and wrote a few notes on a pad of paper.

"You'll get used to it."

Surprised, Sam asked, "Get used to what?"

"The coffee." He flashed a grin at her. The wicked glint in his eyes caught her sideways. Her heart stopped, before suddenly thundering on.

"Like hell," she said when she finally managed to speak.

"You're right. I lied. You never get used to it."

A sudden commotion at the door caught their attention. An older woman, hauling a large case bustled into the room. "Sorry I'm late, Brandt."

"No problem, Irena. Grab a seat."

Irena banged the case down and shrugged out of her coat. "The weather has gone to hell out there."

"Has it started raining?"

"Not yet, but the sky is ready to explode at any minute." Irena opened her case.

Sam gawked. Wow, what a kit. She watched as Irena pulled out an art pad and a small case of art pencils.

"Okay, so what are we doing today?"

Brandt quietly explained. Sam listened, watching Irena's face intently. Her expression wrinkled once before settling into the same old cynical look. Whatever.

Brandt stood up. "Sam, I'm going to leave you in Irena's hands." He smiled at the two women. "I'll return in an hour or so to see how the two of you are getting along."

Sam watched him walk out.

"So." Irena pulled a large sketchpad toward her and reached for a thick art pencil. "Let's get started."

An hour later, Sam was so engrossed that when a heavy hand landed on her shoulder, she shot out of her chair and spun around to face the danger. Brandt.

"Jesus," she snapped when she could, her hand still covering her pounding heart. "Don't do that."

"Sorry." He held his hands out in supplication, yet his twinkling eyes paid lie to that statement.

Sam glared at him before slowly retaking her place.

"If you two are finished, can we get at it?" Irena glared at them both. "We're just about done."

Brandt walked around to stand behind the artist. He gave a quiet but deadly whistle. "Wow."

2:34 pm

Irena shot him a look. "I'm not done yet. Get lost."

Brandt glanced over at her. He reached for the picture beside her on the table. "Is this yours, too?"

Irena took a quick peek in between her strokes. "Yes. We started with that one."

Sam slid lower in her chair under Brandt's intense gaze. "Why?"

"I do that sometimes. I started with a strong visual to help her to focus on the details. Why?" Irena frowned at him.

Brandt didn't answer. He studied the diagram. Something twigged, but he couldn't place it. The detail depicted was incredibly scary. Christ, she was good. Inside, he turned cold. His team members were going to have a heyday with this. Anyone would point out the three possibilities – either she was an incredibly gifted psychic, had a deadly twisted imagination, or she'd been there. He knew which one Kevin would lobby for.

He studied Sam, slouched in the chair. She lay with her eyes closed; gray smudges underlined her eyes, accenting her translucent skin and the fatigue.

The picture disturbed him. Irena was good. In this piece of work, she'd been damn good. The eerie details made it come alive – or appear even deader. In fact, the picture was damned near perfect. Tossed bedclothes, half on and half off, portrayed the violence with uncanny accuracy. The pool of blood on the mattress and the overturned lamp on the night table added to the impression of a great wrong having been committed. She'd given a death scene a terrible sense of life.

Softy, he questioned her further. "Sam – this level of detail?" He paused shaking his head. "Did you tell Irena about the blood dripping down on the mattress or the lamp overturned?"

Stretching her arms over her head, Sam shook her head. "I knew the bedding had been tossed around and that there was massive blood loss. I thought the lamp had dumped because the light came from the floor region. The layout details are all from Irena."

"You realize this level of detail is what will bother the other detectives?"

Sam bolted upright to stare at him. "Bother them, how?"

Pulling a chair up beside her, Brandt laid the sketch down. "They're going to say this picture has been envisioned from someone in the room, not from someone in the body, because if you were to see from her eyes only, you wouldn't have these details in your viewing area."

Sam peeked at Irena, who was listening to the conversation. "I gave her some details, her years of experience in this job allowed her to fill in the rest. But make no mistake, that picture…" She stabbed the sheet once again in his hand. "Is from one of my visions." She ran her hand through her hair. "Sorry, maybe I'm just overreacting from this morning." She turned to Irena who'd kept working, her pencil swiftly forming and pulling visions off the page.

Silence ensued in the large room. Brandt knew they were the center of attention. He cleared his throat and cast a glance in Irena's direction. She was studiously working on her drawing, keeping her head down.

"I didn't mean to imply anything. But for anyone who doesn't really understand how your abilities work, this...stuff seems, well I guess it's a little freaky, and they're going to question it."

She nodded, refusing to face him.

"Brandt, Captain Johansen wants to see you."

Damn. He glanced around at Adam, who tilted his head in the captain's direction. Brandt shook his head and motioned toward Sam.

Adam grimaced. "That's why."

Great. Cops preferred to work with what they could see, hear, and touch. That's why he'd brought Sam in today. For these pictures. That, and to hopefully shake loose more details from Sam's psyche.

"Now. And you're to take the picture with you."

Brandt glanced around the room only to find everyone suddenly busy – heads down. He glanced at Sam's bent head. "Don't panic. I'll talk to him. Everything's going to be fine. I promise."

Her eyes said she didn't believe him.

Frustrated, picture in hand, he strode past the younger detective to Captain Johansen's office. It felt like walking a gauntlet as everyone openly watched. He rapped hard on the closed door.

"Come in."

Brandt pushed the door aside and entered the room. The shades were now open, showing the heavy storm clouds of Portland beyond. Tall office buildings mixed with high-rises in the skyline. A busy world operated out there and for once Brandt wished he could join it.

"Sit down."

"I'll stand, sir." He stared straight at the captain and handed over the picture.

"What do you think?"

Surprised, Brandt could only stare at him. The captain glared up at him. "I think the two of them did a hell of a job."

The two men exchanged hard glances.

"Did she add anything new?"

"Not to this one. They are working on the next picture right now."

He nodded. Taking his time, the captain examined the picture in detail. "Does the photo match the crime scene?"

"I haven't had a chance to compare it yet. Still it lines up with what I remember."

The captain nodded again. "Does Stefan Kronos know her?"

That threw Brandt off balance. "I haven't asked him."

A keen glance came his way. "Maybe you should. Kevin doesn't feel this woman is to be trusted. In fact he puts her at the top of the list of suspects."

"He would." Brandt couldn't hide his disgust. "Kevin has yet to listen to her seriously."

"What makes you think she knows anything?"

Brandt pointed toward the sketches. "That."

The captain stared at the black image again, his lips pursed. "The question is whether the picture is too exact?"

"I'd have to compare it to the crime scene photos."

The captain nodded once. "Then do that. While you're at it, get her fingerprints and if she's willing, her DNA. That will either clear her or implicate her. She's either who she says she is or she's a suspect." He handed the sketch back. "Make sure we know which."

Brandt couldn't believe what he'd heard. "You might want to remember she came in willingly. She doesn't have to be treated with suspicion."

"Then don't. Just ask her. If she's innocent she won't mind." The captain's lips twitched into a wolf smile that made the hairs stand up on Brandt's neck. He returned to the stack of papers on his desk, clearly dismissing Brandt. "Now get those fingerprints and DNA and get her out of my station before I have a mutiny on my hands."

Brandt pulled open the door and shut it quietly behind him. Fingerprints weren't out of line; the DNA was.

Somehow, he had to gain Sam's cooperation.

Thankfully, she was still focused on the pictures. He watched for her reaction as he asked, "Would you mind offering your fingerprints so we can convince the naysayers that you weren't involved?" He tapped the paper for emphasis. "Like I said, some will take this the wrong way," he added in a low voice.

Sam froze. Irena even stilled for a long moment before her pencil returned to scribbling furiously.

Once again, Sam straightened. Calmly, she studied him. Once again, Brandt felt like a lowlife. It didn't matter that this was needed to rule her out, and it was only commonsense. No. It was the right thing to do and would stop the many conjectures and innuendos that were going to fly. Still, he felt like he'd kicked a puppy. Or maybe a cornered barn cat. "It's common to take fingerprints to rule out people."

"Only when they've been at the crime scene." Her voice was low and troubled.

Brandt tried again. "I know you're telling the truth. I've just finished telling the captain that exact same thing. That doesn't change the fact that some people here aren't going to believe anything you or I have to say."

That brought a sharp glance his way.

"If you do this, it quiets the talk and shuts up those that want to put you as the prime suspect."

"No, it won't," she scoffed. "It will rule out that my fingerprints match those you have on file, but anyone who wants to disbelieve is still going to say that I could have worn gloves."

Damn. He was hoping she wouldn't figure that out so quickly.

She hopped to her feet. "I have nothing to hide. I came here to help so take my damn prints." She walked over to stare out the window, her face lean and hard, hurting.

Brandt hated feeling like a heel. It would help if he could explain it further. This wasn't the time or the place.

"I'm sorry. This really is the best way."

"Whatever. Just take the prints and let me go home."

"Fine." Brandt knew his irritation was unreasonable. She had a right to be dismayed, upset even, but this tired out acceptance upset him. Now that she'd agreed, how could he approach the idea of DNA? He hesitated, wondering how to start.

She gave him a long flat stare. "What?"

He sighed and rubbed the top of his head. "The captain would also like your DNA while we're at it."

She closed her eyes and swayed unsteadily.

"Easy. Don't faint on me. This is just a Q-tip in the mouth kind of thing. It's not major." He studied her pale face. "Did you eat?"

Her eyes opened, showing black unreadable pools. "Not much."

"Let's get this over with so you can get some lunch."

Sam checked her watch. She was so tired. She'd probably need food before making the drive back to Parksville. Right now, though, all she wanted was to be home alone.

"Make it fast. I need to return to the clinic."

Where she felt loved and supported, he had no doubt. He understood how she felt. "By the way, have you called Stefan yet?"

"No. But it might be the first thing I do when I get home."

He nodded. "That's probably a very good idea."

CHAPTER NINE

4:14 pm

For about the hundredth time, Sam wiped first one hand and then the other on her jeans. Her fingers clenched on the steering wheel. Weariness still pulled on her, although much less so. Going to work for a couple of hours had helped some. Especially considering she'd managed to sneak in, take care of the animals, and sneak out without seeing anyone. The last thing she'd wanted was company.

Moses lay in his usual place, his tail wagging. There was no sign of Soldier. Sam parked and went inside.

She scrubbed her fingers, up one side and down the other, then she washed them all over again. Using a tea towel, she dried her hands and inspected them again. That there'd been no fingerprint ink to wash off, didn't change the fact she saw it every time she looked. She shivered and tugged her worn sweater around her tighter. Even though the sun shone high overhead, her bones were chilled. It had been a hell of a day.

Sam could only guess at what Brandt and the other detectives were learning about her now. She reached for the hot water and soap again.

4:25 pm

Brandt refused to feel guilty. He'd done his job. That's all. That picture of hers changed everything – and had cemented the captain's opinion. At least he'd agreed to make good use of what she had to offer, with the caveat to keep him in the loop.

He pushed his chair away from his desk and reached behind his head, locking his fingers together. The captain was right. Brandt needed to ask Stefan about Sam. He'd give Sam another day to contact Stefan on her own, then he'd bring the two of them together, regardless.

He'd worked successfully with Stefan for years. He knew good psychics could offer invaluable help unavailable through traditional police work. He also knew they were unusual people. They didn't see the world the same as the rest of the population. Senses overloaded easier and they retreated to spaces that soothed their raw souls.

Sam had her home at the lake for a physical retreat, did she have anything else? Stefan had a beautiful log house, yet his real solace was his art. His stunning, but tortured paintings were known the world over.

"Brandt."

Brandt frowned. Kevin. He sighed inwardly. "Kevin. What's up?" He eyed the other detective warily. They hadn't spoken since the meeting in Captain Johansen's office. Right now, Kevin sported a huge smirk on his face.

Kevin walked to the desk, holding out a sheaf of papers. "Just some research for you. Maybe this will convince you she's not quite what you want her to be."

He dropped the papers on Brandt's desk and walked out.

The top fax was a newspaper article. Brandt checked the date, March 10, 1998. The headline read Young Psychic Leads Police on Merry Chase.

Shit. Brandt sat down for some heavy reading.

4:45 pm

Kevin couldn't help feeling satisfied. Damn that felt good. Vindication. Now maybe Brandt would get that witch off his mind and off this case. And the same went for himself. Since this morning's meeting, he'd had a hard time focusing.

Finally, he'd broken down and researched Ms. Blair's background

He'd gotten lucky. After just an hour, he'd managed to get enough information to convince anyone – even Brandt. At least it should be enough. As a precaution, he'd copied them and given one set to the captain to read as well.

Handing the papers over to Brandt felt good. Damn good.

This woman was treacherous.

He didn't want her anywhere near his cases.

8:25 pm

Waning light flashed on the ripples in the lake. Sam swam effortlessly through the flickering rays. The evening was silent, except for the splashes as her arms cleaved through the water. The long shadows drooped after the heat of the afternoon, dipping deep into the lake for the refreshing coolness. Even the birds were silent.

Sam continued to swim for another twenty minutes. Tired and content, she dove under the surface before rolling over to float on her back. She closed her eyes and rested. The serenity of the evening slipped under her anger and pain, gently tugging them free to disperse amongst the ripples. Deprived of all else, but the sensation of water lapping on her heated skin, Sam lost herself in the moment. Her breathing slowed and she relaxed deeper. How healing. A heavy sigh, coming from nowhere, released into the air.

A short bark cut through the tranquility. Sam rolled over to see Moses at the end of the dock, waiting for her. He barked again and jumped around, wagging his tail. Sam laughed, slowly swimming toward the dock. "I'm fine Moses. Don't worry, I'm coming in."

Moses barked once more before lying down to watch her approach. She'd almost reached him when Moses sprang to his feet and turned to face the house. He barked once.

Hugging the dock, Sam peered through the shadows. A shadow slowly separated from the tree line. Soldier. Sam watched in wonder as the big dog limped toward them.

Tears of pride melded with droplets of the lake as Sam hopped out of the water. "Hey, Soldier. Good to see you on your feet, boy."

She stayed at the end of the dock, her feet dangling in the water and watched his progress anxiously. "You can do it, Soldier. Just a little more." He seemed so weak. Head down, his spine hunched in pain as each foot touched down. Still, he kept coming. He stopped at the end of the dock and lowered his haunches. He stared down at them and whined.

Moving slowly but confidently, Sam stood up and walked the few steps over to the dogs. Soldier curled his lip, although he didn't growl. Sam bent over and patted him gently on his shoulder. His fur was stiff with dirt. She glanced at the fresh water all around them. It would be a bad idea.

Soldier glared up at her, his lip curled higher.

"Yeah, I hear you. Not quite ready for a dip in the lake are you? Maybe in a couple of days, okay?"

She picked up her towel and dried off. Wrapping it around her, she slipped into her sandals and calling to the dogs, she walked up to the cabin. Single file, they trooped behind her. At the front door, she waited for Moses to come in. Surprised, she watched as Soldier ambled in behind Moses. She felt honored. He'd obviously decided this was home.

Sam smiled, whispered, "Good night guys," and headed to her bedroom and a good night's rest.

That night, her dreams were wild and even more colorful than usual. The scenes were brighter than normal. They screamed at her overloud and overbright – overwhelming her in their sensory onslaught. A sexual haze had her twisting and moaning as her body moved to an internal heat she'd never experienced. Large capable hands stroked upwards over her belly, caressing the smooth contours. Slowly the fingers slid higher and higher.

Sam caught her breath when the hands stilled, the tension coiling tighter inside. She wiggled closer, trying to move into his hands. Warm laughter tickled her ear. She groaned, not understanding the driving need that had overtaken her body. A part of Sam struggled to clear her mind. She didn't have a lover.

His hands moved again. She sighed with relief, her breath floating out into the blackness of the night. That small part of her rational mind questioned the unusual sexual overtones and the wild colors floating through her mind.

The rest of Sam's awareness centered on the tormenting fingers and sparks igniting along her nerve pathways. Sensations burned as fire seared over her skin. She churned with an inner heat, a heat that built to the point of pain. Finally, the hands reached the swell of her breasts – and stopped. Sam couldn't help herself, she tried to shift into those magic hands, but they gripped her ribs, stopping her. A groan escaped.

"Shhh," whispered the dark voice. "We have all night."

Sam shuddered at the promise. The promise and something else. Something wrong, something off. It bothered her, except she was too caught up in the sexual tension to want to figure it out. She arched high off the bed as he cupped her full breasts and squeezed gently. They coaxed then relaxed then returned to torment her again.

Sam cried out.

Dark laughter wafted through the room.

She shivered. There it was again. That nebulous feeling of something wrong. What was it?

The hands returned to torment her again. "Please..." She tried to reach for him, needing him closer.

And found she couldn't.

Just as the sensation of wrongness returned, Sam realized her arms were caught above her head. Caught and held by one of his hands. And the clouds in mind, blurring her clarity.

He laughed again. Dark laughter became black as his other hand, the one that had so gently cradled her breast, squeezed hard and then harder again.

Sam arched up, screaming in agony.

And woke up.

Still in shock, Sam curled into a tight ball and rocked back and forth under the comforter, her hands cradling her tender breasts. She bolted upright, peering into the dark corners of her bedroom. Relief washed over her. She was alone. "Dear Lord. Thank you." It had only been a dream.

A dream. Was it possible?

She stilled. A dream or a vision. She shuddered, the shakes wracking her body once again. Dear God, is this what that animal was doing? Seducing his victims with their own sexuality then turning on them? No. Sam examined the memories. Something had been very wrong, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Everything had a surreal look, an overly loud and overly colored appearance to it. A thought burst into her consciousness.

Drugs. The woman had been drugged.

Had the other victims? Sam realized her earlier visions had started too late to be able to identify something like that. She wouldn't have noticed a needle prick amongst the other pain. Panic for her life would have dispelled the rest of the drugged dullness away from her thoughts.

Sam started crying, quiet painful sobs of possibility. She didn't want to know any more. She couldn't deal with it. Not this. After tonight, she might never let another man touch her again – ever.

Touch.

She froze. The guy in her dreams hadn't worn gloves.

Had it been him? Another asshole? Or had it truly been just a nightmare? She shuddered. It had seemed so real. A wet dream gone bad in a big way. Sliding deeper into her bed, Sam pulled the covers to her chin. Only it wasn't enough. She hopped out of bed, snatched up an old nightshirt from the box on the floor, and pulled it over her head.

For the second time that day – she felt violated.

9:35 am, June 18th

Brandt strode down the hallway. One of his priorities this morning was to connect Sam with Stefan. He'd finally managed to reach him early this morning. Now all he had to do was to get Sam to agree to meet him. And he needed to talk to Sam about her past workings with the police.

The research Kevin had brought him had been less than flattering. Still, Brandt knew that Stefan had some less-than-stellar moments at the beginning of his career as well. The article hadn't given her age and was years ago. She'd have been young and green. Not to mention untrained, which she still was. Hence his push to connect her to Stefan as soon as possible.

Nothing he'd read had given him any reason to disbelieve her. He suspected Sam could be instrumental on his proposed task force. Not to mention many other ongoing cases. He hoped to cultivate her skills on a regular basis. Even if that meant returning to his old station. At least there, his old captain was amiable to psychics. Ideas percolated through his brain. He'd talk it over with some of his friends – and Stefan, of course.

Brandt never had liked authority. He still didn't, but with age came understanding that those above were just doing their job to make it better and safer for everyone. Or at least it was supposed to work that way. However, just as there were good and bad guys on the streets, the same could be said of the police department. One still had to believe that most of the bad guys were outside the force.

"Hey Brandt. Ran the fingerprints you asked for. She checks out."

Brandt lifted his head. The youngest of the three technicians walked into his office. His name eluded him – something European like Pieter. Brandt smiled and held out his hand for the papers being offered. "Anything interesting?"

"No rap sheet, if that's what you are asking." The tech pointed to the second page. "This might be of interest. Yeah, she was also a suspect in a missing child case in Spokane, Washington, years ago."

Brandt's gaze sharpened on the younger man's face. "What? A suspect?"

The tech shook his head. "Apparently she had information for the police, only they didn't believe her. The end result made her a suspect for a while, until the child was found safe and sound."

Brandt digested that as he scanned the paperwork. "Thanks, I'll take it from here." Now he understood Sam's odd reaction yesterday. She'd already been through this. Once again at his office, he pored over the report. So, eight years ago she'd tried to help and failed – been mocked even, based on Kevin's material. This file showed she'd tried again five years ago. The Spokane P.D. hadn't mocked her; they'd made her a suspect.

Brandt shuffled through the file. What was missing in the report was how the child had been found. Had Sam contributed to the little girl's safe return? He might need to call the detective listed on this particular case file. Grabbing a folder, he wrote Samantha's name on the tab and stacked the growing collection of material inside. Brandt leaned back in his chair, hands locked behind his head.

Her connection to this killer bothered him. It could be the same asshole that he'd been tracking. Both of them changed the method of death, but as far as he could tell, they both favored beautiful young women between eighteen and thirty-five – and all were middle-class, working females.

His mind flitted through the elements he knew. Sam's killer wore a ski mask, which didn't make sense. Usually the guys who planned on killing their victims didn't bother with masks. After all, there wasn't going to be anyone left behind to identify them.

He had no way of knowing if the other cases in his files were the same. The victims were all dead. There were never any witnesses, and little forensic evidence left behind. Then there was the ring. If Sam had anything concrete, the ring might just be it.

She was also connecting with a lot of victims. Most serial killers took time between kills. Sam's visions occurred with only days between them. Some killers went on a killing frenzy until whatever drove them, drained out of their system. Then they went quiet. Sometimes the quiet period lasted months to years. Brandt knew his best chance of catching this killer was before he went off the radar again. Who knew how long it would be before he resurfaced again.

9:50 am

Dillon walked into the conference room. Not only had he missed the meeting this morning, he'd also missed breakfast. He was hoping there'd be some scones or a Danish left over. Walking to the sideboard, he smiled. One huge blueberry muffin. Perfect.

He snatched up his prize and walked toward the double doors. Several papers lay discarded on several chairs. He turned the closest one over. It was a picture of a ring. Wasn't that the one Brandt was researching? He'd heard about it, but this was the first he'd seen it.

Walking to his desk, he muttered about the dinosaurs in the office. It was hard being a forward moving kind of guy in this place. The mantra around here was always about 'good old fashioned detective work.' Christ, who needed all that legwork? Technology was meant to be used. The same for the media. They were always helpful. At least Dillon had found them so. The Internet was, of course, the best. Why didn't the station have a website where pictures like this could be posted and give the public an opportunity to email or phone in with their information?

Of course, this was an old argument, and he'd gone several rounds with Captain Johansen over it – and lost every one. Dillon had wanted to host a regular five-minute slot on both the local television station and the radio stations. That had been shot down, too. Still, accessing the public was the cheapest and fastest way to gain information. The department's man-hours, logged trying to find and interview people, were incredibly expensive.

He took a large bite of his late breakfast muffin. He could understand Brandt not wanting to take that step. Like Dillon, Brandt was new here and didn't want to rock the boat. Dillon stopped chewing as an idea formed. If he arranged everything correctly, Brandt would get the information he needed, and Dillon could prove his theory. More ammunition to take to the captain. In a way, Dillon would be doing this to help Brandt. Who knew what new information could come to light.

He grinned. He'd have to think this through. Yet...it sounded like a hell of an idea.

10:15 am

Brandt rubbed the back of his neck. The screen scrolled, searching for more cases linking to his killer. Just then, his phone rang, distracting him.

"Hello."

"Detective Sutherland. This is Nancy from Willow Health Clinic."

The manager from the long-term care home. He groaned silently and closed his eyes, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "Hi, Nancy. How are you doing?"

"Umm, I guess I'm fine. The thing is I need your help with Maisy again."

His shoulders slumped. He knew it. His mother was up to no good again.

"What's the problem?" He winced and held his breath.

"Umm, well..." She stopped.

Brandt shook his head, he knew already. Checking his watch – did he have time to whip down there? "Is she causing trouble again?"

"It's not so much causing trouble…more like she's stirring up the other residents."

He shut down his laptop. "Would you like me to come by and talk with her again?"

"Yes, yes. That would be wonderful. She's such a fun lady to have around. I hate to even ask you. But the Board has already stretched the rules for her several times, and I'm not sure that she can skate by on this one."

Brandt ran fingers through his hair. "How bad is it this time?"

"She's setting up pools again."

Brandt grinned. "That doesn't sound so bad."

"No," the harried woman on the other end of the phone said. "It's the subject matter that's the problem. Would it be possible to have you stop in sometime today?"

"No problem," he said. "I'm heading in your direction soon, so I'll be there before lunch."

"Oh, thank you. I certainly don't want to upset her. She's interjected such life here," Nancy said warmly.

"No problem. I'll see you in about an hour." Brandt rang off. Standing, he grabbed his briefcase and coat then locked up his desk.

Dillon stuck his head around the door.

"Hey Dillon. What's up?" Brandt barely withheld his grin at Dillon's suit of the day. This was the classic pinstripe with a matching tie in reverse stripes. But it was in forest green, black, and white. Mafia anyone?

"I'm just checking that you still need information on this?" He held up the sketch of the ring. "I missed whatever you said at this morning's meeting." Dillon raised an eyebrow in question.

"I'm looking for the owner. If I can trace it to a store, sorority, or something like that, I might be able to figure out who bought it."

Dillon stared at the sheet, frowning. "It's a simple enough design. But I don't think I've seen one like it." He turned the page slightly. "Is one of the stones missing?"

"Yeah, the last time it was seen, one stone appeared to be missing. The others are clear – diamond or zirconium, maybe."

"Gold, white, brass – do we know?"

"No. Gold in color is all I have."

"Shouldn't be too hard to track down. Have you talked to the jewelry stores here?"

Brandt walked around his desk to stand at Dillon's side, giving the sketch another glance. "I talked to several so far, I've faxed it to several more. So far, the same thing. Not in stock anywhere and no one remembers one quite like this in the last decade or so." Brandt considered the pattern. "It could be a custom job. I'll have to contact the local designers and see."

Behind him, Dillon asked. "Have you checked online?"

"Yes and no. I have a couple of people working on it."

Dillon nodded. "Okay, I'll keep an ear out and let you know if I find anything." He turned and walked toward the doorway. He stopped and turned around. "Oh yeah, while I have the chance, I also wanted to ask if the rumors were true?"

"What rumors?"

The younger man grinned, a perfect toothy smile. Some serious money went into that look. "That you've brought in a psychic on this case."

Brandt refused to let irritation show. "Love rumors, don't you?"

Dillon smirked. "Yeah. The grapevine here is rampant."

Brandt frowned at him, hoping to quell his interest. "Well, you can't believe everything you hear."

"True." Dillon turned, as if to finally leave again. "Let me know if you need any help with anything."

"I'll be fine, but thanks for the offer." He motioned Dillon to precede him out of the office. "Time to head out." Brandt checked his watch. He was running late.

CHAPTER TEN

10:45 am

Sam found it hard not to worry while she worked with the animals. It's not as if she lacked for topics. After last night's vision, she was now worried about not telling the police. Her instinct reaction had been no way. Not after yesterday. Today in the light of day, she knew she needed to tell Brandt.

The worry about what information the police had dug up on her, nagged at her. What if Detective Sutherland contacted that deputy from Nikola County? There was a lot of ancient history there and none of it looked good for her. Chances of the detective believing her story over that rogue deputy's version were nonexistent. She already knew that law enforcement protected their own. What were the chances the deputy had forgotten her? Not great.

"Sam, can you give me a hand?" The voice called through the swinging double doors.

Sam quickly closed the door to the rabbit cage she'd been cleaning and headed for surgery room one.

She pushed open the door. "Jesus." She jumped forward to help. "You could have called me earlier." She reached out to support the large, sleeping Newfoundland dog that was in danger of sliding off the small table. "Time to get a larger table?"

The other two women laughed. "Careful with the front legs. He's got stitches across the ribs on that side." The three women carefully maneuvered the large animal onto a second table. Then waited to receive him and then move him into an even larger cage.

Once inside, the dog's wounds were checked, his tubes adjusted for the cage walls and the door closed. Sam stepped over to look at the injured animal. He had to be a hundred and fifty pounds. "What happened to him?"

Dr. Valerie Brown, the older of the two, smiled and said, "You don't need to whisper, he's not going to wake up."

Sam's lip twitched. "I know. He's beautiful."

The other woman, Dr. Brenda Torrance, stripped off her gloves. "Yup, he's gorgeous alright, only he needs to stop arguing with cars."

Sam sent a sharp question her way. "What, another car accident?" She glanced at the sleeping animal. "How horrible."

"We'll move him to the back room after he wakes up from his anaesthesia."

Sam narrowed her gaze. Funny lights played over the surface of the dog's thick fur coat. Weird. Shivers raised goose bumps on Sam's skin. A vision reached into her brain and took over her sight. The dog was hurt worse than the minor repair held together by the stitches. Images crowded her – the dog up in the air, tumbling before hitting his left hip on a fire hydrant.

"Did he get the cut from the car or from the landing?" She focused on the animal's body, searching for any clues as to what else could be wrong.

"The front grill of the truck ripped a strip of hide off him. Why?" Valerie asked.

Sam gazed at her vaguely. "What? Oh, his left hip doesn't look right. But I'm sure you took x-rays, so that hip must be just bruised and not broken."

Deliberately, Sam left, as if to return to the cages to finish her job. In the other room, she stopped outside the door and listened.

Behind her was a weighty silence.

"What was that all about?"

"Damned if I know. Were x-rays done?"

A rustle of papers. "No, the owners brought him in for stitches. They saw the accident. They didn't want to go through the expense of x-rays, if not required. A check-up was done before we came on for the day." More papers were shuffled. "What do you think, should we do x-rays?"

"I hate taking over cases already in progress. I was told this animal just needed stitches. Shit."

Silence except for a brush of clothing and soft muttering. Sam could only hope they were checking the dog's hip a little more closely. Nodding encouragement that they couldn't see, Sam followed their actions with one ear to the door.

"Damn. We need to x-ray his hips. Let's call the owners."

"She's right?"

"I don't know, but there's something wrong. Who did the intake on this animal?"

"I'll have to check the paperwork when we're done."

Sam grinned. She whispered to the empty room. "There you go boy. Now you'll be fine." She listened for another moment before heading to finish her work.

It wasn't until later that she realized this was her first vision around an animal. Sam had actually seen the energy over the injured part of the body. The goose bumps had been the first inkling of something wrong. Her heart positively lifted with joy. To be able to do something for animals would be wonderful. Now, if she could learn to control it so she could use it at will. More questions for Stefan.

"Sam, can you run and do a pickup for us?"

Sam spun around, her hand rushing to her chest.

"Sorry." Valerie reached out an apologetic hand. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Sam blew out a noisy breath, letting her hand drop down.. "I must have been miles away."

"It's these shoes. They should be sleuth shoes." Valerie lifted her practical working shoes to peer at the soles.

Sam waited until she had Valerie's attention. "What do you need?"

"I need you to run over to where Lucy's daughter works and pick up an injured cat. If you don't mind. It's about fifteen minutes from here." Valerie checked her notes briefly. "You were right, by the way, the dog's hip was dislocated and the ligaments and muscles are badly torn."

"Oh, how sad. I'm glad you could fix him." How could she refuse to go get the cat? Her shift wasn't over for at least an hour. Besides, they were doing right by the dog.

"Of course, we'll pay for your time and your gas."

Sam brushed her hand in the air. "It's no problem. I'm almost done here. Give me directions. I'll just wash up and get ready."

"Great. I really appreciate it. We've been so busy that I haven't taken the time to say how much I appreciate your efforts here. Thanks." With a grateful smile, Valerie headed to the office.

Sam stared, bemused, at the flapping doors. It's a good thing she'd left. Sam didn't have any response to give. She couldn't remember the last time she'd received a compliment like that.

It was kind of nice.

11:00 am

It had been a busy morning already. And still Bill wasn't quite done. He shuffled the contents in the bed of his truck. He'd promised to bring the dogs over to the palliative care center. Those patients loved seeing the animals. It was the least he could do for those dying folks. It was either make their last days a little sweeter or knock 'em off early.

He grinned. It would be so easy. Only, it wouldn't mean the same thing for him. It wasn't just getting his rocks off – well that was a huge part of it – but he needed certain things in order to get there. It used to be easy. Now everything had to go exactly right or he couldn't enjoy himself.

Starting with the victim – just anyone wouldn't do. The right victim was everything to him. He was a selection specialist. And he'd made a mistake last time. Not on the girl, but on the method. He'd tested a new drug on her. Bad decision. She'd reacted terribly, slipping into unconsciousness before he could really enjoy her. He'd left – beyond pissed. Now, he'd need a fix again…and soon because of that.

He'd expected to hear about her on the news, but so far nothing. Stupid cops, they'd probably written her off as a suicide. He grinned. That worked for him. Fooling the cops kept things challenging. Over the years he'd even wondered what drove him, but had come to the conclusion that it didn't matter, as he was past the point of stopping. He refused to dwell on it.

He also didn't like the mask thing. The bloody wool itched. He preferred to stay anonymous. Not take any chances. When he'd first started, he hadn't taken the same care. During the first couple of rapes, he'd sweated with the droplets falling onto the women's skin. Early on, he'd tried using alcohol on one woman's skin to remove any sweat or saliva and had quickly discarded that. He'd ended up with a bloody mess. If being uncomfortable was the price then that was fine with him. The gloves also didn't thrill him because he wanted the skin-to-skin contact. Every once in a while, he still succumbed to the temptation, but was always careful to put them on immediately afterwards. Why the hell it mattered at that point, he didn't know, except he'd been doing it that way for so long logic couldn't even begin to win over superstition. What worked, worked and that was all there was to it.

A shrink would have a heyday with him. Yeah, he was paranoid. Still, he was in this for the long haul and didn't plan to screw up anytime soon.

11:10 am

Brandt pulled into the parking lot at the Willow Health Center. He parked at the front and walked inside. The offices were off to the right. He headed there first.

"Hi, Nancy."

The tiny older woman looked up in surprise. Then a big smile broke out. "Detective Sutherland. Thank you so much for coming."

He shook his head. "She's my problem, not yours."

Nancy grinned. "Except that while she's here, she's also our problem."

There was no arguing that logic. "I'll walk down and have a talk with her before she goes for lunch."

"Good. She might be in her room, or she could be over with the animals today. I'll be there in a couple of minutes."

"Oh, right. It's pet day, isn't it?" The center had a well-loved program where family members were allowed to bring pets in to see the various residents for an hour to two. Sometimes, special dogs and cats came in to keep the people company or put on small shows. The older people loved it. It was a highlight for them.

Brandt walked down to his mother's room.

"Mom?" He knocked gently.

"Come in."

Brandt pushed the door open to find several other people in there. A hushed silence descended when they recognized their visitor.

He heaved a sigh. "Yes, the cops have been called. Mom, what the hell are you up to now?"

Maisy ran over to him and gave him a big hug. "It's lovely to see you dear, however, there's no reason to use profanity."

What could he do? She was his mother. He rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms around her frail body in a gentle hug.

He grasped her shoulders gently and held her at arm's length. "Mom, we have to have a talk."

11:20 am

"Here it is." Sam slowed, pulled into the long driveway, and parked. There was a familiar truck parked to the right. She frowned. There's no reason it should be Brandt's truck. There had to be hundreds of those here in town. Her pulse jumped, and she couldn't help searching the area for him. She didn't want to see him, not really, yet couldn't hold back the pulsing excitement at the thought of it. Traitorous hormones.

She walked inside. Large and open with multiple comfy couches, the lobby had a friendly atmosphere. Sam could see people feeling welcome here. Bright yellows and moderate oranges blended with the lush palms and overgrown dieffenbachia plants filling each corner.

The front counter stood empty. Sam pursed her lips. There didn't appear to be a bell to ring for service either. Sam frowned. She checked her watch. Surely, it was early for lunch? Not knowing how a place like this worked, Sam found herself choosing between two corridors and took the left one. Various doorways along the hallway were identified by numbers. They appeared to be apartments or self-contained suites of some kind. They didn't look like the hospital rooms she'd assumed they would be.

Having never known anyone living permanently or temporarily in a place like this, she found herself wondering at the circumstances that would leave them here. Did these people not have family, or were they alone like she was?

Were they happy here? Or did they pine away, always wishing for a better life? Living alone for so long, a place like this could seem like a prison. Surely, some of these people had families to live with?

Laughter drifted toward her. Curious, Sam followed the sound. Glancing back, she saw the reception desk remained empty.

The hallway opened up into another large sitting area with many tables surrounded by people. Some played cards, others were engrossed in chess, and still others were petting several dogs. Animals. Now that was a nice touch. Sam smiled at a particularly large feline that strolled regally between several legs, her leash getting caught up – to everyone's enjoyment.

Sam looked around for someone in charge. Everyone appeared to be in the same age category – old. There was one younger man with a basset hound on a leash. The dog appeared comfortable, sprawled in place and showing no interest in being dragged across the room. Sam smiled. The dog was gorgeous. Evidently, several of the residents thought so too. Several bent to pat the dog's long ears and rotund belly.

No one appeared bothered by Sam's presence. In fact, no one even seemed to notice her. She continued past the group and headed down a quieter corridor where there were several more doors.

One opened, and a small woman with a nametag on her shirt walked out. Finally. Sam stopped. "Excuse me. Do you know where I can find either Sarah or Nancy?" Belatedly, Sam read the nametag.

"I'm Nancy. Sarah has gone home for the day. How can I help you?"

"I'm here from the vet hospital in Parksville to pick up an injured cat."

"Oh my goodness. You've been walking around here looking for me, haven't you? I'm so sorry."

Sam smiled at her. "No problem. How is the...?" Her voice trickled to a stop as a large man stepped out of the room behind Nancy. "Brandt?" She blushed and quickly corrected herself. "Detective Sutherland, I mean. What are you doing here?"

Nancy jumped in. "Oh, do you two know each other? That's wonderful. Why don't you stay here for a moment while I try to locate the poor cat?" With a bright smile the cheerful woman hastened down the way Sam had come.

"No, I'll come..." But Nancy was already gone.

"Too late. Nancy can move very quickly when she wants to."

"Brandt, who are you talking to?" A spry lady with bottle-blue hair came to the door. "Oh." She smiled, a little too brightly. "How nice. Brandt, invite your friend inside." She turned to Sam. "Hi, I'm Maisy and Brandt is my son."

Sam smiled weakly. "Hi." Of course, this was Brandt's mother.

"Come in, child."

Sam found herself manoeuvred into the small suite where several curious seniors instantly surrounded her. Behind her, she could hear Maisy whispering loudly to Brandt.

"Now I know why the others wouldn't do. All you had to do was tell me about her. This is wonderful." Maisy beamed.

Sam closed her eyes. Uh, oh.

"Mom, don't start with me."

"Of course not. I'm too happy to argue with you." She bustled over to regard Sam like a unique species under a microscope. "Move everyone, give the child some space." She snagged Sam's arm and led her to the couch. "My goodness there's not much to you, is there?"

"There's enough. I'm actually quite healthy." Sam tried to defend herself while allowing Maisy to shove her gently onto a flowery couch that probably had many stories to tell. For all the gentleness behind this woman's gestures, Sam sensed a steel core. She might be Brandt's mother, but Sam doubted she had let him get away with much.

A warm cup of tea was placed in her hand, followed by a small plate heaped high with cookies.

"Oh, no. The tea is just fine, thank you."

"Nonsense. You need to eat more."

A polite way of saying she was too skinny.

Another silver-blue head popped around the corner. "So your son is here, is he? Now you're going to get it, Maisy."

"Nonsense. He can solve this." This came from one of the people that had been in the small room the whole time.

Brandt interrupted. "Let's return to why I'm here. Mom, what are you up to now?"

She rose with a gentle smile on her face. "Surely, they didn't call you over this little bit of fun we're having, did they?"

Multiple voices chimed in with their take on the situation.

"Mom, this is the third time this month. What's gotten into you?"

"Why nothing. Besides, this isn't my fault. This time it's your fault."

Brandt shook his head, clearly confused.

Sam couldn't believe it. She watched in bemusement, drinking her tea, as fifteen elderly people in the room crowded around Brandt, all of them talking at once.

"Okay, one at a time. Come on everyone, calm down. Jackson, you take it easy – I don't want you having a heart attack again. Colonel, good to see you. Do you know what Maisy is up to this time?"

The colonel laughed a deep Santa laugh that charmed Sam. "Of course. She's acting as a bookie again."

"Mom?" Brandt spun around to see his mother calmly counting a column of figures. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing much. Just taking bets on Joshua's love life." She snickered. "Or lack of it."

Several giggles and guffaws filled the room.

"Joshua?"

"Yeah, the sour puss that runs this place. He has a new girlfriend, so we're betting on how long before it all goes south. Personally, I don't see it making it to the end of the month."

More laughter as several other people boasted what time they'd bet on.

Brandt groaned. As always, his mother had fired up her social circle. Brandt just stood, his mouth working, only no words came out.

Sam giggled.

Everyone spun to stare at her. Maisy hopped to her feet and walked around her son. A delighted smile lit up her face. "Oh my, child, that sounded a little rusty."

Sam's eyes widened at that comment. She knew she didn't laugh often, but surely calling it rusty was a little extreme.

"Brandt, I like her. Except she's all skin and bones." She turned to Sam. "Surely, you're not one of those hung up on all those fad diets are you?" Disapproval swept the room.

"No, ma'am. I'm not dieting." Fat chance. Sam thought of the belt she'd had to notch tighter this morning. She was losing weight quicker than she could eat.

"You're all eyes too. Life has been hard on you, hasn't it?" Maisy didn't wait for an answer, which was a relief as Sam had no idea how to answer. Maisy grabbed her arm, tugging the sweater up her arm. "Dearie, you're positively skinny." The blue veins pulsed along the top of Sam's arm. Hurriedly, Sam pulled the oversized sweater down to cover the top of her hand.

Maisy patted her hand before releasing it. "It's okay child. We're not criticizing you. We're all friends here." She smiled up at her son. "Brandt, tell me about this beautiful waif in your life."

All eyes turned to Brandt. Sam's were wide with horror.

Brandt found his voice, just not the volume control. He bellowed, "Mom, stop."

Maisy stared at him, affronted. "Now you listen to me, young man, I haven't even begun."

Grimly, Brandt glared down at her. "You can stop right now. This is a semi-official call because once again you are creating a disturbance. Do you want to be evicted from this place? Go somewhere else where you won't have all your friends? This has to stop."

"Harumph."

"Don't give me that. I've told you before, no more betting. Taking a simple wager between two people is one thing, Mom. Setting up a betting book on something like the administrator's love life is going too far – again." Brandt was adamant.

Sam sat bemused as chaos erupted around her. It went on for at least ten minutes before Brandt managed to calm down the outrage.

Watching him, Sam realized that several of the elderly people were staring at her openly. She probably wasn't the norm for Brandt's women.

Her lips quirked in a tentative smile at several of them.

They all smiled big fat grins back at her.

"What's your name, dear?"

Turning to look at Maisy, Sam replied, "My name is Samantha."

"That's a beautiful name." Maisy beamed at her, apparently having no trouble ignoring her son glaring down at the two of them.

Sam wasn't having the same success. Her glance darted between Brandt and Maisy.

"Mom, are you going to behave? Or must I arrange for you to go back to your apartment?"

"Should I ask Samantha if you're behaving?" Maisy asked archly, to the amusement of the audience. She stared innocently up at her towering son. The twinkle in her eye couldn't be missed.

The colonel interrupted. "How about we change the subject? When are you guys going to catch that killer? I heard about them finding that poor woman the other day."

That started the seniors all over again. Brandt threw up one hand in a classic stop gesture. "Silence!"

As Sam watched, Brandt's gaze slid over the seniors, his mother, and finally rested on Sam. He frowned. The room quieted, except Sam didn't think he'd intimidated anyone but her. Maisy's cronies were obviously used to him. They treated him like one of their own. Maisy looked like hell on wheels, for stirring things up.

"I don't know what case you're talking about. We're after several killers. You know I can't talk about any specifics. But the police are following up several leads. We're doing everything we can. So if you know anything that can help us – great. Otherwise, let us do our job." He sent a cutting look to his oblivious mother. "And don't set up a pool on it."

"Well, if we do, we'll bet on you. See? We know you'll solve these cases." His mother beamed up at him.

Brandt shook his head. "Is it safe to leave, Mom? Do you think you can behave for a while?"

"Of course she can." Several of the seniors glared at him.

Brandt rolled his eyes. "Sam, let's go."

Sam hopped up, but had to tug her hand free from Maisy's clasp. "I have to find Nancy and the cat."

"We'll stop at her office on the way out."

Maisy rose and wedged herself between the pair. "Sam, please come for lunch next week. Brandt, when can you bring her?"

"Oh no, I couldn't do that." Sam shook her head.

"Why not?"

Sam didn't know how to answer. She slid a sideways glance at Brandt. Their eyes met. She shrugged, not knowing how to answer the question.

"Mom, Sam and I will discuss it, and I'll get back to you." He tugged Sam further away from his mother. "Now, we're leaving."

"Not without a kiss. Official visit or not, I'm still your mother."

Brandt obediently bent to give his mother a quick peck on the cheek before snagging Sam's arm and pulling her down the hallway.

Sam felt the dozens of eyes following their progress out the door.

"What was that?" Sam glanced behind, sure she was being watched.

A line of curious faces watched every step they took. Maisy stood in the doorway, a satisfied smile on her face.

"The other side of my life," he muttered.

Sam easily read the adoration for his mother in his eyes. Her heart warmed. A guy who loved his mom had a lot going for him. "Uh, oh. Has she got the wrong impression?" Sam shook her head. "I don't know what just happened. I came to pick up an injured cat."

"What happened? My mother happened," he said wryly. "She's a force to be reckoned with."

Sam motioned behind her with her hand. "Is she always like that?"

"Yes. Unfortunately."

"She's lovely. You're very lucky." Sam couldn't help but wish she had someone so lively and bright in her world.

She felt, more than saw Brandt's eyes upon her. She refused to face him. Thankfully, they'd arrived at Nancy's office, so she didn't have to.

Just then, an overly large box appeared, hiding the skinny man carrying it.

"Thanks, Jeremy. Brandt, can you carry the cat out to the lady's car?"

"No problem. We're both leaving."

"Thank you, Nancy. The hospital will fix this guy right up."

Sam tried to peek under a corner flap of the box. An unholy howl erupted, warning against going any further. She grimaced. "I'll definitely be leaving him in the box." She smiled at the other woman. "Thanks again."

Sam held the door as Brandt carried the box outside. Sam rushed to unlock the passenger side of her truck.

Brandt gently laid the box inside on the seat. It was a tight fit, which would help stop it from sliding around.

"There you go." He straightened and studied her. "Sorry about my mother."

What could she say? "I thought she was sweet. Thank you for carrying the cat." She unlocked the driver's door and got in, anxious to avoid awkward good-byes. "See you around." She cranked the engine and backed out of her spot. After turning the vehicle around she was ready to head onto the highway but Sam was forced to hit the brakes.

Brandt stood in front of the truck, stopping her from going anywhere.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

11:50 am

Puzzled, she lowered her window. "What's the matter?"

He grinned. "You ran away so fast that I didn't have chance to ask you about Stefan." He held out his hands, palms up. "If you have time, I thought we could go see him later today. What's your schedule like?"

Sam stared at him in shock, as excited jellybeans jumped in her stomach. "I can't right at the moment. I have to get the cat to the hospital for treatment."

"And I understand that. Stefan is only about fifteen minutes from here so we can go later. But if today doesn't work, we can plan it for another day."

"Really." This would be a godsend. She needed to talk to someone who would understand. "What about Stefan? Don't you need to check with him?"

"I spoke to him earlier. He suggested we come mid to late afternoon. I was going to call and ask you what would be convenient, then you showed up here."

She didn't want to lose this opportunity by putting it off. Who knew when this chance would arise again? "This afternoon would be great. Where do you want to meet? Here? Or at his house?"

"No, it would be easier if I come to Parksville. How about we meet around three at the vet's office, then we'll go in my truck."

"That would be great." Sam beamed. "I'll see you then."

"Bye."

Brandt waved as she drove past. Sam was grinning so hard, she almost didn't see it. She honked the horn once and drove off. The trip home went fast.

It was a good thing as her thoughts were in turmoil. She had a million questions to ask Stefan and didn't know where to start. Then there was the prospect of spending the afternoon in Brandt's company.

Thoughts and ideas popped and submerged, yet more mixed and brewed. She wasn't the same person she'd been a month ago or even a week ago. What had changed exactly, she couldn't say. Only that she didn't wear her skin the same. Looser, maybe – and not from losing weight. Maybe it was just a better cut, more suited for who she really was.

Strange ramblings from a troubled soul.

Sam sighed. Glimpses of who she was and what she was doing with her life flitted in and out like a hummingbird. Enough to see the color and glow. Not enough to grasp the meaning or details.

A black pickup pulled in behind her. Too close for comfort, but not quite tailgating.

Sam peered into her rear-view mirror, wondering if Brandt had followed her. The truck might be his. She couldn't quite see the driver's face through the tinted windshield. Did Brandt's truck have gradient tinting like that? She couldn't remember. Still, she'd have recognized him behind the wheel, and this wasn't him.

The truck moved closer.

Definitely, tailgating.

The big truck dwarfed her Nissan. She knew nothing about vehicles and this one gleamed in the late sunlight with enough chrome trim to blind anyone. The pair of ram horns on the front identified it as a Dodge. A wave of relief hit when she was able to identify that little bit.

Then the truck came so close she thought it would hit her. Sam's heart shot into her throat, and her stomach heaved. She tried to pull over and let him pass, but he slowed down behind her. When she was almost stopped, he drove forward and deliberately bumped her.

"Shit." Sam hit the gas hard, pulling onto the road. She searched her pocket for her cell phone. She punched in Bandt’s number. Sam switched her gaze from the road to her rear-view mirror.

"Hello. What's up, Sam?"

"Some asshole is trying to run me off the road," she yelled as the truck zoomed closer. The driver grinned down at her. His features were little more than a white blur – vaguely familiar, only too far away to be placed.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"This truck pulled in behind me just after I left you. He started tailgating me so I slowed down to pull over, then he deliberately hit my truck. I couldn't help it. I panicked and hit the gas. Now he's on my ass and grinning like a madman."

"What kind of truck?"

"Like yours. Exactly like yours."

This time he was all business. "How far from Parksville are you?"

Sam searched for landmarks. "I think about 7 or 8 miles."

"Anyone else on the road?"

"There's been the odd vehicle. Right now the highway is deserted."

"I'm on my way. Keep driving. Don't pull over if you can avoid it. You don't know what this asshole wants."

Shivers worked down her spine. "Great. I feel so much better now."

"Hang in there."

"Then you'd better drive like hell because I'm doing thirty over the speed limit and this guy is still on my tail."

He snorted. "Don't you worry about that. I'm not that far behind you. You focus on staying alive. I'll be there in a couple of minutes."

Sam turned off the cell phone, keeping a wary eye on the truck staying on her tail.

The highway was flat and wide. It was also deserted. There'd be little danger of an accident if she did go off the road. Yet, the idea of having this guy stop while she was stranded out here alone, kept her foot on the gas. Her little truck rattled and shook at the high speed.

Alternately scanning the rear-view mirrors and staring out the windshield, Sam increased her speed again. A double lane opened up. She surged ahead into the slow lane hoping the truck would take off.

Nerves locked down as tight as her fingers on the steering wheel. As she watched the truck sped up. He pulled into the fast lane to drive neck in neck at her side. Sam felt the first stirring of anger. It helped to check the fear bubbling through her blood. The asshole was playing with her.

From her position, she could see the lower portion of the passenger side panel, and huge monster wheels flashing silver lights. Anger fuelled her next move.

It might not have been the smartest. Still, a compulsion unlike any other took hold.

Sam hit the brakes hard. The black truck raced past her. Sam whipped her small truck in behind the black one. It had no license plate. Crap. Fear shot skyward. Everyone honest and open had license plates.

She let the distance between her and the truck widen. She watched anxiously to see if he would slow down to torment her more or if he'd had enough. She wasn't looking for a confrontation.

The truck pulled ahead, gaining speed before racing around a corner ahead of her. Thank God. Sam settled into her seat a little more comfortably. And breathed. It had probably been a punk kid playing power games. The band around her temple loosened.

She called Brandt. "He just took off." Sam could see flashing lights up ahead.

"Did you manage to see the license plate?"

"There wasn't one. Another reason for my panic."

"Did he go straight ahead?"

Sam checked all her mirrors even though she knew the black truck was nowhere to be found. "Yeah. He's long gone by now."

"And where are you now?"

"Almost at the first intersection in town. I'm just a couple of minutes from the vet hospital."

"Okay, I should be in the parking lot by the time you're done in there."

Sam shut down the phone and proceeded at a sedate pace. The poor cat. She glanced over at the box, but it hadn't moved. There hadn't been a sound out of it either. She made a face. It had damn well better be in there. She didn't want to have to go back.

Sam kept a wary eye on her surroundings, but never saw the truck again. Once in the parking lot, she struggled to free the large box from the seat. The cat howled.

Moving slowly, she carried the cat into the first examining room and on to one of the small patient rooms. Valerie joined her almost immediately.

"I really appreciate you stopping to pick this guy up for me."

She glanced at her in surprise. "It was no problem. I was glad to help."

"Good, good. Now let's see what we've got here." She smiled at her. "Would you mind asking one of the girls to join me? I'm going to need another set of hands for this job.

Sam nodded. "Yes, you will. That cat is pissed."

The vet grinned at her. "And with good reason. Not to worry, we'll put him to rights, if we can."

Five minutes later, Sam stepped outside, not noticing the black truck until she was halfway across the lot. She stopped, her hand going to her throat.

"Sam?"

Oh thank God, it was Brandt. She blew out her pent up breath and walked toward him, relieved and comforted that he'd raced after her. "Hi."

"Hey. How are you now?"

Good question. Sam tried to take stock but found her mind shrinking away from what had almost happened. "I'm fine. Part of me thinks I might have overreacted. Yet, another part says I didn't react fast enough." She shrugged. "I don't know what that was all about."

"Could you see the driver?" Brandt stood, hands fisted on his hips, his gaze penetrating.

She frowned. "Not really, the truck was so much higher than mine. I only saw a vague blur." She hesitated, then figured what the hell. "I caught a glimpse of his face in his rear view mirror, and although I couldn't get a close enough look there was something...I don't know how to describe it. There was something familiar about him."

"Was he tall? Short? Could you see his shoulders above the dashboard? Was his head close to the top of the cab? Hair, bald?"

He fired the questions at her so fast, Sam stopped and blinked. "Tall, his shoulders were above the dash, and his head did come close to the top of the truck or it looked like that from where I was sitting. He had hair, some, I just don't know how much."

Brandt nodded. "Anything defining about the truck?"

"Yeah, no license plate." She bent down to check out the rusted back end and the bumper. "He hit me once and more than a little tap, but I don't see any paint."

Brant squatted down, inspecting the rear of the truck. "The height of the truck would determine where he hit you. His chrome bumper might show traces of paint from your truck, but not the reverse. The chrome won't leave any trace on yours. It might have left a dent – not that we'd be able to see it if it had."

Sam could see that for herself. Her truck body was a mess. There were dents and dings all over the place. Bits of colored paint plastered the truck in odd spots. Some paint showed through the truck's outer layer while some sat over top of it.

Brandt glanced sideways at her. "The techs might be able to lift something off it, but chances are good that the bump shook your paint loose, confusing the issue entirely."

"Great. So no proof again." Sam stood up. "That's the story of my life."

"It's tough. These assholes know that cops follow a set pattern of evidence and when that's not present..."

"Makes sense. I suppose that the killers of the world learn police techniques to stay one jump ahead. She pointed to the tailgate. This killer...not the asshole who bumped me, "but the killer – he's playing with you. He considers himself some kind of pro. A specialist that's evolved over time."

He stood up, his gaze sharpened to a laser point. "What makes you say that?"

Leaning against her truck, Sam crossed her arms over her chest and thought about what she'd said. That it felt right wasn't going to be good enough for him. Slowly, formulating her thoughts as she went, she said, "I think it's the impression I've received. I've connected to his energy once or twice when he's gotten excited."

"More killings."

"Maybe." Sam shifted, uncomfortably. She hadn't told him about last night's victim. "I don't know if it's the same or not. But I woke up inside a woman who was being seduced."

His eyebrows jumped straight up. "Is that normal – for you?"

She flushed, heat creeping up her neck. "No. I don't normally wake up in other people's sexual fantasies." She hesitated.

"What?"

"The thing is, this woman was drugged. Some kind of hallucinogenic. Everything looked bizarre and felt over the top."

"But it was consensual?"

Sam couldn't help the grimace. "That's the thing. I don't think it was. He hurt her. Oh not at the beginning. No, in the beginning he made her feel a lot, but there was some sort of resistance going on in her mind that was hard to sort out. I think it was the drugs. I don't think she'd invited him in. I still can't identify him because the drugs distorted her vision and therefore my senses and view." Sadness tinged her voice. "It's almost like he's trying out new things. Like a new drug."

"Then he might try this again?"

"No. Not the same anyway. He didn't like what it did to her. I couldn't stay until the end because she faded into some kind of drugged unconsciousness." Sam shifted uneasily at the reminder. "I don't quite know what happened. If she died at that point in time, she didn't know it. She just went comatose."

Brandt stiffened. "Can you describe her?"

Describe her. Hmmm. "Not really. Just as my vision saw really weird things, her thoughts were the same." A nagging memory touched her again. "There was something off about this. From her impression, I got the feeling she knew him."

"Which could help a lot – if we knew who she was?"

"I don't have many details. She could be considered a suicide. Or a drug overdose. It was just last night, so would she even have been found yet?"

Sam studied her memories. "It's possible she didn't die, but was taken to Emergency." She shifted slightly, dismay wrinkling her face. "Even worse, she could be slowly dying in her bedroom right now."

"Horrible thought. I'll follow up with the morgue and the hospitals." He eyed her carefully.

She frowned. "What?"

"I'm concerned about you." He shifted closer, peering into her face. "That was a traumatic drive home for you. I want to know that you're okay." He reached out to grasp her gently by the shoulders. "Are you sure?"

Sam gently rubbed her face, feeling the weight of the full day pull on her. "I'm fine. I still can't decide if I overreacted, or if he really was toying with me."

"It's a busy highway. To be empty for any length of time would have been abnormal. That meant the attack had been spur of the moment. Someone had taken advantage of the opportunity presented. But why?" Brandt studied her carefully. "Who would want you dead? Have you pissed anyone off recently? Not so recently? Or this could be just some crazy asshole and not a targeted hit, but on the off chance..."

Sam heard his words, but they stopped making any sense after his suggestion someone might be trying to kill her. She could feel the blood draining from her face. There was one person. Only one person who had reason to wish her dead. But why would he be after her now? She stared at Brandt, horror dawning. The police checked into her history. Could that have triggered this? What's the chance Brandt had spoken to him? Nightmarish possibilities swirled through her mind. Did she dare tell Brandt? Did she dare trust him?

Brandt frowned. "You need to tell me the truth here. We've already got a crazed killer running around. If there is a second asshole, then I need to know about him."

Sam sighed. "Do you have time? This could take awhile."

12:15 pm

"Hey Maisy, I hear your son came today on 'official' business." Bert, a retired plumber, yelled at her from the far side of the room. There might be something wrong with his hearing, but there was nothing wrong with his voice.

Raucous, good-hearted laughter broke throughout the large dining room. Maisy smiled at everyone. "He did indeed. And did you also hear – he brought his girlfriend?"

Ooohs and aaahs from the group of seniors filled the room.

"Maybe he'll finally settle down now, huh?"

Maisy made her way slowly over to her table and took her place. "I sure hope so. You should see her."

Rosie, a retired yoga instructor seated at the table behind her, asked, "Is she pretty?"

Maisy thought about that for a moment, then shook her head. "No, not in the sense that a little girl running through a bed of flowers is pretty. She's..." Lost for words, Maisy glanced over at the colonel for help.

He nodded. "She's unique."

"Aaaah," said the collective voice of everyone listening in.

Maisy nodded. "Fine boned, long hair past her waist and eyes that make you want to cry. She's got my boy tied up in knots. He wants to protect her and devour her at the same time."

Knowing grins broke out on the other faces.

"So, it's serious then?"

Maisy couldn't see who'd spoken. She thought it was Jim, a permanent resident. "You know, I think it might be."

Silence reigned as the first course of hot soup and fresh bread was eaten.

The colonel, with a twinkle in his eyes spoke up. "I can't believe I'm going to be the one to say this, but how come you haven't set up a betting pool for when he asks her to marry him?"

A gentle chuckle rose around the room.

Maisy, acting as if insulted, said, "Brandt was just here telling me I'm not allowed to do that anymore."

The chuckle grew louder.

"And since when do you listen to him?" The colonel beetled his heavy brow in a leer.

She grinned. "Never." She pulled her notebook from her pocket and opened it to a clean page. "Okay, who's placing the first bet?"

The room erupted with voices clamoring to get their dates of choice before they were taken by another person.

With a big grin, and a fat wink at the colonel, Maisy set up a pool on her son's love life.

CHAPTER TWELVE

2:30 pm

Sam and Brandt left their trucks behind the vet's office and stopped at the crosswalk. There was a cafe across the street with an outside patio. Traffic zoomed past until the lights changed.

It had already been a hell of a day. So, it was no surprise that the thought of answering the upcoming questions made Sam nervous. Questions always made her nervous.

They grabbed a table slightly away from the others.

A waitress walked over with menus. Sam shook her head. "Just coffee for me, please."

Brandt snorted. "Like hell." He motioned to the waitress. "I'll have coffee as well. Bring two chicken Caesar salads, please. Just make mine bigger with a side of garlic bread."

Sam stared at him. "And what if I'm not hungry?"

"Too bad. You need to keep your energy up to make the most of our visit with Stefan."

She didn't have an argument for that.

The waitress returned with two mugs of steaming coffee. Sam murmured her thanks, wrapping both hands around the cup. She stared out at the traffic whizzing by.

"Hey, are you there?"

Sam glanced up to see Brandt staring at her. "Sorry, my mind is just wandering."

"You do seem distracted. So talk to me."

She sat back and toyed with the cutlery. "It's not that easy."

"I presume this is about the car incident today?"

"I don't know if it is, or not. I guess so." She sighed. "Can I ask you a question first?"

"What do you want to know?" He took a long drink of his coffee, his eyes on hers.

Her lip curled. "That's the thing. I'm not too sure that I do want to know."

The table across from them had a family of five sitting around enjoying a cool drink. Sam watched their normal activity with a hint of jealousy. She'd never been able to have that type of experience. And she never would unless she could put this behind her.

She pursed her lips before lifting her own cup for a sip. "How much of my history have you dug up?"

"I had a surface history on my desk the first day you walked into the station. After taking your fingerprints and DNA, I learned a bit more." He toyed with the sugar packets. "I know you were in a bad car accident several years ago. I know you spent time in a mental hospital."

She closed her eyes, letting her head drop.

"I know you've helped the police in the past and at times, your help appeared to be more of a hindrance." He reached across the table, his hand covering hers. "I know you went to college where your best friend was murdered. You went to the police to offer your help and together, you managed to catch the killer."

"Lucy," she whispered. Memories flooded her mind. Lucy smiling with her wild and crazy coffee cups. She'd haunted curio shops for her next best mug. She'd been so open, so caring, and now she was so dead, just like the other victims. "You have it wrong. I went to the police to see if I could help. I thought I was getting somewhere and then Lucy was murdered. You see, she was murdered because of me. The killer, after finding out I was helping the police, came after me. He got her instead." Guilt tore at her. Her head bowed even more under the weight of the memories. She sniffled. "I couldn't save her. I couldn't save any of them."

"So you ran away. From your education, from your friends, and all of society."

The accusation stabbed into her. "That's not fair," she whispered. "I tried so hard to help those women. It broke my heart when I couldn't."

Brandt squeezed her hand gently, his thumb stroking the soft skin of her palm. Sam watched the slow movement, mesmerized by his gentleness. "Do you realize that's what I do, day in and day out? There are so many people I haven't been able to help. And some that I have. I can't quit just because I don't always succeed. It's important we just keep trying to save the ones we can."

She glanced up, caught by the strength of his gaze. "I didn't totally quit. I tried again, when several children went missing. I found I couldn't ignore the pleas for help. Not when I thought I could do something."

"Did you help?"

She beamed, a lightness inside, bursting forth. "Yes, I found a little girl that was missing. We saved her in time."

He grinned. "It feels great doesn't it?"

The light inside grew stronger. "Yes." Her smile dimmed and fell away. "Then, when the next child showed up dead, the suspicion fell on me again. It got pretty ugly."

Brandt nodded. He could just imagine. When a ship started to sink, all the rats either bailed or turned on each other.

She grimaced. "There was one cop, in particular. He disliked psychics. I think they all did to some degree or another, but he...he hated me." Picking up her cup of coffee, Sam bathed her face in the warmth drifting upward.

"Is that what you were afraid I'd find out about?"

The corner of her mouth tilted. "Yeah, sort of. If you'd talked to this guy, he'd have told you a whole lot of nothing good."

"To tell you the truth, I think I did talk to him."

Sam's stomach curdled. "Oh." She ran her fingers through the loose curls at her temple, the weight of her braid hot and heavy in the sun.

"Is that a problem?" He leaned forward watching her.

She grimaced. "If I show up dead, look to him first."

Brandt stopped and stared at her – his cup stalled mid-air. "Seriously?"

It was all she could do to meet his eyes. Eventually, taking a deep breath, she said, "We had a difficult last meeting." She ran her fingers across her neck. "As much as he hated me, he believed in my skills. It's just he wanted them solely for his use. I ended up taking off. Yes, running away and hiding from everyone. It was better than letting this asshole control my life. He threatened to kill me if I ever told anyone."

"But he was a cop."

"Deputy, actually. And a drug dealer on the side."

He glanced over the cup at her. "Are you sure?"

She nodded.

"Are you saying he could have been behind the wheel of the truck that tried to run you off the road?"

Her shoulders slumped. "I don't know," she half-wailed. "He hated my guts and..." She stopped talking, unable to tell him the whole story. Tears clogged her eyes, emotion clogged her throat. She couldn't believe that after all this time this deputy still had the power to destroy her. Surely, she'd moved past that. "I disappeared and hoped he'd forget about me."

"But once I called him, then he knew where to find you?"

She nodded again.

His gaze was intent on her face. Sam felt heat rise that had nothing to do with the sun.

He stirred his cup until Sam reached across and stilled his hand. "Go and get a second cup so you have something to stir." Even as she picked up her own cup, relief slowly spread through her limbs. Relief to have someone to share this burden with. Relief that she was no longer alone.

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Do you want another?"

"No, not if we're heading to Stefan's house soon."

Brandt glanced at his watch. "Let's head out then. We'll talk on the way."

"Great," she muttered.

"You'll be fine. We'll figure this out."

They crossed the street to his truck. He walked to her door and unlocked it before walking around to the driver's side. The small concession to old-fashioned courtesy made her feel good.

Getting into the truck was a different story. Her truck was lower to the ground. His had huge tires and no running boards. Fine for a six-foot male, but she barely crested five-foot-four and struggled to get up to the seats. Flustered, Sam finally managed to shut the door and get settled. A sidelong glance at Brandt's face didn't help. He was trying to hold back a grin.

Sam harrumphed and refused to look at him again.

As they passed the town's welcome sign, she ventured to break the silence. "How long have you known Stefan?"

Brandt glanced at her quickly. "Close to ten years now."

Sam raised her eyebrows at that. "That's quite awhile. Is he your age?"

That question brought a frown to his face. "I don't know how old he is. I'd say he's mid thirties. Then again, he doesn't look a day older now than when I met him."

Older would be better than younger, in this case. Sam could only hope he had decades of experience handling what the psychic life dished out. She needed to talk to someone who'd already figured this stuff out.

Brandt took a left turn off the highway and drove further into the country. Peace surrounded the area. Heavily treed on the left and rolling hills on the right. Stunningly beautiful and something she hadn't expected to see.

"He lives just a couple of miles further."

She nodded. "And he prefers to live away from people, just like I do."

"Yeah." Brandt snorted. "Stefan is different. There's really no other way to describe him."

Pursing her lips, she thought about that. In a way, the same description applied to her too. Better to wait and see just what that meant to Brandt. Maybe it would give her an idea of how he saw her.

3:00 pm

Brandt navigated the last turn onto Stefan's twisting driveway. The man had chosen a hell of a spot for a hideaway. Now that Brandt lived closer, he had a chance to visit and not just talk on the phone. Stefan didn't like phones. Then he bordered on antisocial at times.

Brandt regarded Sam's profile. Something was bugging her. In typical Sam style, she sat worrying on something instead of outright asking him.

The house winked at them from between the trees. Brandt drove around to the far side and parked. One side was glass that twinkled like diamond facets in the light. The rest was built of logs – huge logs. Evergreens surrounded the house on three sides. Stunning in colors, the air almost vibrated with an otherworldly appeal. Birds approved as they flitted and dipped between the foliage, chirping happily.

Sam appeared awestruck. Remembering how he'd felt the first time he'd arrived, with the sun bouncing off all the glass, he could fully understand her reaction.

"Ready?" He couldn't wait. Putting these two together in the same room should be interesting. Stefan wasn't the friendliest of males. But all women reacted to Stefan – one way or another. Over time, Brandt had come to understand the type of woman each was, by her reaction.

For that reason alone, he'd wanted to be on hand when Sam met Stefan for the first time. He needed to see Sam's reaction and see into the depths of who she was.

3:18 pm

Sam shut the truck door gently. Turning, she tried to take the scene in. She couldn't imagine being the man lucky enough to own such a place.

Brandt, several steps ahead, turned to her, one eyebrow raised. "Coming?

They walked toward the front door. "How long has he lived here?" Sam couldn't help it. Her head swiveled from side to side at the spectacular foliage, and unique wooden carvings peering out amongst the brighter-than-believable plants. The strong scents blended and fused into a fresh woodsy smell. "Everything appears like it's on drugs, for God's sake."

"Or you are." Brandt grinned at her. "He's got plants from all over the globe. Everything about Stefan is unique and indefinable."

"I'll say." Sam stopped at the front door. It was made from one solid block of wood with faces pushing out of the wood grain. Some laughing, some crying, yet all of them glowing with life. "Christ." She didn't know if she was praying or swearing, but there was no way not to react. Everything she'd seen so far came under the heading of stunning. Maybe not comfortable, yet undeniably thought provoking.

"Quite the place he's got, huh?"

"That's an understatement. I can't wait to meet our host."

Sam barely caught Brandt's sidelong glance. She wondered at it as he pounded on the door – stalling any chance of asking.

"Come in." The shout came from deep inside.

Brandt pushed open the door. "Hey Stefan. It's us."

"Yeah, I caught that. Let me just wash up. I'll be right there."

The voice came from the far left. Sam noted that in a distant part of her mind, as she stood in the front foyer, her mouth hanging open. The inside of the house shone with warm yellow sunlight bouncing off wood floors and ceilings. Streaming light struck and highlighted vivid paintings hung on every wall. The room had a surreal energy. The entire house was an artist's canvas.

"Hey Stefan. Good to see you." The two men slapped shoulders. Brandt's large shoulders blocked Sam's view.

Brandt stepped slightly to the side and motioned between the two people. His voice light and easy. "Stefan, meet Sam. Sam, Stefan."

Sam stared at Stefan. Her soul stirred. Overwhelming love and warmth flooded through her.

Stefan gazed into her eyes, his gentle lips curved into a welcoming smile. That same warm loving smile from her vision, that same man from Louise's car accident. Then he opened his arms. Without warning, she burst into tears and ran into them. They closed securely around her.

3:20 pm

Brandt's mouth fell open. He didn't know what to think or even how to jumpstart his brain. He was on shocked standby.

He'd never seen a woman react like Sam had. Ever.

Without trying to be too obvious, he tried to assess the clinch they were in. It didn't look lover-like. Neither did they resemble two strangers. He didn't know what the hell was going on. He'd sure like to though.

Interrupting them was out of the question. Whatever was going on was intensely personal. Even standing in the same room was uncomfortable. He walked over to stare out the huge window. The acreage around the house was as wild and impressive as the rest of the property. He heard soft voices behind him. He turned around to see the two smiling in a strangely intimate way.

He took several steps in their direction. "I gather you two know each other?"

They both stared at him in surprise.

Sam's answer stunned him. "What? No, we've never met."

3:25 pm

Brandt motioned toward Stefan and then at her. "Is that how you greet all strangers?"

Feeling heat rise on her cheek, Sam glanced over at Stefan, who stared at Brandt, an odd twist to his features. Christ. Stefan was as gorgeous in person as he was in her vision. A charming smile graced the model face. She turned to Brandt. "Oh that."

Brandt made a choked sound. "Yeah that?" He stared between Sam and Stefan. "So an explanation, please."

Sam glanced at Stefan to find him watching her.

"Go ahead."

Sam glanced down at the floor, knowing she was rocking slightly in place. Making a decision, she looked up to find Brandt's suspicious gaze firmly planted – on her. "Remember the car accident that I told you about. Louise Enderby? What I didn't tell you was that I saw a man in that vision. Not the killer, but a man who...at the time...I thought might have been someone close to Louise that had already died. Like her husband, a long-time lover, at least someone like that. He was trying to help me...her...get out of the car and cross over."

She glanced over at Stefan who had a benevolent smile on his face. "The guy left a very strong impression because there was so much love in his face. It radiated throughout his energy. He glowed like an angel."

Stefan snorted.

Sam smiled and continued. "I had no way of knowing who he was. Still, it isn't uncommon for a loved one to show up at the time of death to welcome the dying person. Except this guy had an incredible impact on me because he had such loving energy – and it was directed my way."

She gazed into Stefan's eyes. "That man in my vision was Stefan."

Brandt reeled backwards as if from a blow. "What?" He stared at Stefan, searching for confirmation. "Is that possible?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know how, but it happened."

Stefan stared at them both. "It's a first for me too. I've never come across another psychic in my visions."

Brandt focused on Sam. "You're saying that you recognized Stefan here from your vision. And the emotions from that vision were so strong that when you saw him, you burst into tears and walked into a stranger's arms?" Hands on hips, head titled sideways, he stared at her in disbelief.

Sam knew how important her answer was. It was also important to her that he believe her story. She hated to admit it, but she'd come to enjoy his acceptance and now wanted his respect. "It is hard to understand. You have to consider the circumstances.

"I was caught in a horrible vision inside a burning car and a dying woman. Stefan appeared – yes, I'll say it again – almost angelic in appearance, and he saved me. The emotion that existed at the time was overwhelming. This man cared about Louise. I don't understand that part."

She glanced sidelong at Stefan who was listening casually. "But for me, it was as if he loved me, cared about me, and was trying to save me." She implored Brandt to understand. "It was pure instinct to cry when I saw him again. I thought he didn't exist...that he wasn't real. Then suddenly he's here, in front of me." She shrugged. "I just reacted."

Brandt shook his head, his fingers running raggedly through his hair. "Wow."

"Precisely." Sam found little satisfaction in his comment. She hadn't had time to adjust to this scenario either. Questions crowded her mind. She didn't know where to start and her energy levels had dropped alarmingly. "Stefan, can I go and sit down?"

Brandt made a funny sound. She glanced over at him, but he'd already reached her. His arm wrapped around her shoulders. "You look like you're ready to pass out. Come sit down."

Stefan moved ahead of them both. "You two get comfortable, and I'll put on coffee. It looks like we have a lot to talk about."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

3:45 pm

Stefan walked into his kitchen, happy to escape the emotional energy of the other two. Coffee made for a great excuse.

Sam was an interesting development. As was Brandt's reaction to their meeting. Stefan wouldn't have said she was Brandt's type, but then she didn't fit his own type either – and he found her fascinating. That she'd managed to see and communicate on the etheric field was impressive all over again.

He stayed in the kitchen until the coffee dripped to a full pot. Pouring three cups, he carried them out to the sitting area. "Anyone need cream or sugar?"

"No, black is fine. Thank you." Sam reached for her cup and huddled over it as if needing the warmth.

Stefan considered her for a moment before sitting on a chair between them. He understood power positions and being between these two wouldn't be his normal choice, yet they obviously had issues.

"Sam, are you always cold?"

Both Brandt and Sam turned to stare at him. He allowed a small smile. "Not a trick question, just a simple inquiry."

Sam nodded. "Yes, I am. And that's getting worse with every vision."

"Is there any particular time when you are colder than others?"

Her head cocked to one side and Stefan studied the fleeting expressions washing over her face as she considered his questions. She had no guile, this girl. She was a newborn babe in the world of ageless freaks. He sighed inwardly. She needed a lot from him. Her survival potential, without it, didn't look good.

She was powerful but open. Her energy shone and flashed with no control. Worse, she didn't even seem to know there was such a thing. She bled energy like a hemophiliac bled blood.

She shook her head. "No, I don't think so. I'm cold all the time."

Settling deeper into his chair, Stefan ran a few basic tests. First, he checked her life force. Strong, this girl was a fighter. Next, he checked her aura. Right now, it spat in several directions while being conspicuously reticent about going in Brandt's direction. Interesting. She didn't want Brandt to see too much.

He smiled to himself. While everyone was busy not looking at each other, Stefan took advantage of the uneasy energy and opened his inner eye.

He turned to focus on Sam. And found Sam staring at him. He reared back in surprise. She frowned at him.

"What's the matter?"

Stefan quickly switched to his normal sight to find she still stared at him. Could it be? Could she flip between the two views or did she not know the difference? With a quick glance at Brandt, who hadn't appeared to notice anything, Stefan decided to ask.

"Do you recognize when you are using your inner eye?"

His question seemed to surprise her, only she answered readily enough. "Yes. I use both equally and switch between them easily."

That made sense, given what he'd just seen. It also elevated her skills another notch. This was a very interesting woman. Without any formal training, she'd found her own way. Without anyone to say right or wrong, she'd developed in ways that worked for her. Stefan could count on one hand the number of psychics the world over that could switch their inner vision as simply.

"Brandt has told me something about your visions." He stretched out his legs, crossing them, and with a quick glance at Brandt, he centered on Sam. "Maybe you could explain to me exactly what happens to you."

Sam winced. She stared at her coffee cup. It didn't take long to fill him in. Stefan didn't interrupt her. He waited until she ran down before asking questions.

"So you have no trigger that you know of? You have no awareness outside of the vision when you're in one, and you've been having these particular visions during the night?"

"Right. There have been a couple of other odd insights as well." Quickly, she filled him in on when she thought the killer had been hunting a new victim, and the car accident where she'd seen Stefan.

Stefan considered what he'd heard. "What would you like from me?"

Sam's face became a mix of contradictions. She looked hopeful, confused, and even full of trepidation.

Stefan leaned forward. What did she want?

"I was wondering if you could help me."

Stefan shifted, surprised. That's not what he'd been expecting her to say. "Help? In what way?"

Sam glanced toward Brandt.

Was she gaining strength from his presence, or expecting criticism? Stefan filed her action away to contemplate later. "The visions are extremely violent. My recovery takes quite awhile. I'm wondering..."

"Yes," he encouraged.

"Well." She stopped again, as if gathering her thoughts. Then the words rushed out. "The visions are hard on my system. My blood loss is huge. I was skinny before, now the pounds are falling off. I can hardly sleep." Her stream of chatter slowed down. "I'm scared these visions will kill me," she admitted softly.

Stefan didn't know what to say. She was right to be concerned. "Normally, the psychics with physical manifested visions, don't show the blood loss to a dangerous level – at least not for long."

She didn't seem to hear the last part, for she leaned forward, her eyes intent on his face. "There are others like me?"

"Absolutely. Some people will wake up with blood on their hands and not always know why. In this case, they've had an empathetic episode." He rubbed the side of his temple. "Some people walk in the gray area between life and death and will become comatose depending on how long they stay there. There are some who have died because they couldn't return to their bodies in time."

With a quick glance at Brandt – who sat quietly listening – he refocused on Sam. "I've often discussed with Brandt the number of misdiagnosed patients in mental hospitals who have psychic talents they never knew they had."

Sam did a double take. "Are you serious?"

Brandt nodded. "Unfortunately."

"Control." Sam jumped on that term. "That's what I need to do. I need to learn how to control my talents and to disconnect from the visions. The last time, I managed to keep one foot in both realities, only for the briefest of moments, then I lost it."

"Right. There are several techniques. But it's not going to happen overnight. It will take practice. I can help, but it will take effort on your part."

Sam smiled. "That's fine. The more control, the more I can use my talents to benefit others."

Brandt interjected for the first time. "What do you want to do with them?"

A becoming pink blush that started at her neck, washed upward. Stefan watched Brandt's mesmerized gaze follow the color trail. No doubt about it, he had it bad.

Sam licked her lips and Stefan almost laughed aloud. Brandt looked like he was choking on something.

"I want to be able to help people. Or maybe animals." She told them about the incident with the dog at the hospital. "I don't know yet the best way to help. Partly because I don't know my own abilities and therefore don't know what is possible to do. I just know that I don't want to hide, and I don't want to be helpless."

Interesting. "First let's set up time to work on your control. We'll sort out what your talents are, which are strongest, and which need developing. You can go from there."

Both Brandt and Sam nodded.

"That makes good sense." Brandt glanced at his watch. "We're going to need to go soon."

Stefan took note of the color surrounding the two. Their energy danced around each other, close enough to blend, yet staying separate – at least for now.

Long fingers of sunshine touched and warmed the atmosphere. Stefan watched the sunlight dance with their energies.

Sam spoke again, interrupting his musings. "Stefan, can I ask you about the vision where I saw you – what were you doing there with Louise?"

Stefan smiled. "I knew her, years ago before she married. By the time I arrived, it was too late for her. All I could do to help was escort her to the other side."

"Escort?" Brandt's curiosity jumped out. "You mentioned this before."

Sam stared at him. "Crossing to the other side. Death."

Brandt shifted in his seat, one eyebrow raised, listening.

Sam turned back to Stefan. "Was this an unusual occurrence for you?"

Stefan thought about it. "It doesn't happen weekly or even monthly, but if there is a connection on any level, then I usually know what's happening."

"Were you close?" Sam flushed. "I don't mean to be personal, but when I was inside Louise I felt...different."

Intriguing. "I loved her. But she couldn't handle my life."

Sam nodded as if understanding what he meant. Maybe she did.

"What was she thinking about?" He admitted to being curious. He'd never experienced a psychic vision like hers. He studied Sam's face, searching for the truth.

"It's hard to say. My visions are overwhelmed with the physical trauma, though a little of their thoughts mix with mine. I don't remember much of hers, though. We were both more concerned with the car that wouldn't respond, then the crash, the fire...you know." Sam held her hands out. "That's about it until I saw you. Then it was my thoughts. I wasn't sure whom you were talking to – Louise or me." She waited for his answer.

He frowned. "Louise mostly, trying to get her to leave her body. Until the end, when I was talking to you because at that point, you were holding her back."

Understanding dawned in Sam's eyes. "That makes sense now." She cocked her head sideways. "Do you know how she died?"

"She was in a car accident. Her vehicle drove off the highway at Emerson Point."

"You know that?" Brandt shook his head.

"Sure, I could see her memories. One of the last things to happen before death is a rewind of the movie of your life." He glanced at Sam. "Don't you see that part?

She shook her head. "No. Mine are always violent deaths, and they don't have much time." She sat up straight. "Could you see why her car went over the cliff?"

Stefan stared at Sam. She almost vibrated with energy. "No, I came in later. What about you?"

"Only that her brakes weren't working. She pumped them hard." She shrugged. "Then she went off the road."

"What connects you to your visions?"

Sam shifted uneasily. "Usually violence. Lately it's been murder."

Stefan studied her. "You think Louise was murdered?"

"I think so, yes."

He frowned. "Did you connect with the same killer, in her case?"

"I don't know. I think so. It's his energy on the car."

"At the time of her death?

"Just before." Sam rubbed her hands together to warm them up. "No. As we went over the cliff, I thought I saw his signature. Once we crashed and burned, I wasn't looking at anything, but the flames and then you."

"What does that mean to you?" Brandt interjected, sitting on the edge of his seat. "I don't understand this energy signature stuff."

Stefan explained. "When you touch something, it leaves a bit of energy behind."

"This energy can dissipate quickly or hang around, depending on the energy of the person touching it and depending on how long the contact lasted."

Brandt jerked his head, urging them to continue. "That still doesn't mean much to me. Are you saying this guy owned or drove the car? Or did he just work on it for a little bit?"

Both Sam and Stefan shook their heads.

Stefan. "It's not that easy."

"No. I'm not sure I can say very much about his energy in this case. I only saw it long enough to recognize it. For me that means he's responsible for Louise's death." She wrinkled her nose at Brandt. "The how and whys, well, I thought that was your job."

"Except, there's nothing left to investigate. The car burned to a crisp."

4:45 pm

Brandt and Sam drove to Parksville in almost total silence. Brandt's mind crowded with all he had to mull over, and he could only imagine what Sam was thinking. She'd set up the first session with Stefan in four days time. In the meantime, she had homework to do.

He, on the other hand, had regular work to do. He turned into the parking lot and pulled up beside her truck. Checking out the report on Louise Enderby was another priority. Stefan couldn't confirm that her brake line had been cut, yet he agreed that it was likely she'd been murdered.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded. "Yes, I'm good. Better than I have been in a long time." She collected her purse. "In fact, I should go home and review everything I've learned." She shifted to leave. "Thanks for taking me."

She opened the door and hopped out. "I'll talk to you later. Thanks again."

He walked around the truck to stand beside her. "Are you hungry? Do you want to go someplace to eat?"

Sam stopped and considered his offer. "You know, I think tonight I'd just like to be alone. My mind's a little overfull and I'd like some time to digest everything."

Brandt nodded. "Maybe another time?"

"Thanks, I'd like that."

Brandt didn't know if he should try to pin her down or not. He could understand her wanting to be alone tonight. He was the one that didn't want to be alone. Still, she'd been through enough for one day. Yet he couldn't leave it like this, he needed more. "I could pick up something and come down to your place tomorrow. If that works for you?"

Sam glanced back at him, startled. "That would be nice. Thank you."

"Good. I'll call you with a time when I see how the day is going." He walked to his truck. "Remember..." he said frowning, "be smart and stay alert. The killer is still trawling for victims."

"How could I forget?" She frowned at him. "I'm the one with the insider knowledge, remember?"

"Speaking of which, let me know if anything new pops up. Okay?"

"Alright."

Sam reversed her truck and pulled out of the parking lot in the direction of her home.

Brandt watched for a few minutes then headed back home. He could retrieve his messages from there just as well as from the office.

The house sounded hollow as he shut the front door behind him. Today was perfect for a cold beer and a medium rare steak – too bad he didn't have either in the house. By the time he'd showered, the coffee had finished dripping and he'd decided on a hefty ham and cheese omelet with hash browns. Easy, doable, and fast.

With a plate of hot steaming food, Brandt clicked on the television. His stomach growled with hunger pangs. He dug in while listening to the local news.

"The police have issued a press release requesting the public's help in identifying the owner of this ring."

The television screen flashed to a sketch of a ring with a four-leaf-clover pattern and missing one stone. Brandt bolted to his feet. "What the hell?"

He circled around the coffee table to get a closer look. There was no doubt about it. It was his sketch. His stomach warred with his nerves. How had the media gotten this picture? The announcer had said something about the police asking for help. The picture must have come from his department. From his office. Only not from him.

Trying to be fair, Brandt ran through those who knew about the ring. Basically everyone. He'd brought it out at the meeting after explaining it could be connected to the killer he was hunting. He'd been trying to identify the owner for Christ's sake.

"God damn it." He paced around the living room, his mind working furiously.

He couldn't believe someone had jumped him on this. Surely, that could only have been the captain – or someone on his team. But why? This wasn't even an official case. Sam's information was a tip, yet that's all it was. The others didn't even believe her. Damn it. This could blow up in the department's face. And put him into hot water. There were few people willing to own up to having a psychic help out. If the information wasn't any good, many people would be up for crucifying the idiots who brought the psychic in. And the psychic.

Jesus, what about Samantha? His heart stopped beating. No. Sanity swept in. No there was no way she could be identified by this. Relief sent his heart racing again. There could be serious repercussions. If Sam were right, and the killer saw this newscast, he'd be seriously wondering how the police knew about it. The killer could just laugh it off, or it might drive him into a killing fury.

There was just no way to know.

8:05 pm

The evening news rippled outward to another man enjoying an evening alone in his apartment.

"Life is good." Bill walked to his refrigerator and pulled out a cold beer. Raising the bottle to the sky, he took a long swallow. The television was blaring from the other room. He heard something about the police asking for help and walked to where he could see the broadcast.

"What the hell..." The tall slight man leaned forward, slamming the bottle down on the hewn wooden table beside the World War II airport model he was building. He stared at the picture on the screen.

No way. No fucking way. How the hell did they know about his ring? He glared at the item still on his left hand. It had been his lucky ring for so long, he'd forgotten he was still wearing it. Pissed, he tore the offending thing off and threw it against the far wall.

Why would anyone be searching for his ring? He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. What did they know? Could they have connected the ring to his women? No. He thought about it. There's no way anyone could connect the ring to his victims. The cops would be pounding on his door if they were that close. So who else? They couldn't have captured a picture from a camera as he always wore gloves.

Disturbed, he slouched into the couch. The newscaster's voice washed over him in a continuous drone. What had he missed? What could he possibly have forgotten?

God damn it. No, there's no way anyone could know. He'd didn't make mistakes.

In a dour mood, he drank his beer and went over every move he'd recently made. He shook his head, feeling better. He hadn't missed anything.

Unless the last woman had survived.

He shot to his feet, disturbed. Not possible. Surely not. She'd been cold when he'd left her. She had to be dead. Except her death hadn't been reported.

The problem was, anyone could have seen the ring. He'd worn it as long as he could remember. Someone was sure to have noticed it somewhere along the way. He pondered the implications. First, he needed to make sure that woman had indeed died, then he needed to find a similar ring and wear it to fool anyone who may have thought he'd had on the ring the police were asking about. That way when anyone doubled checked, it would seem like they'd made a mistake. And last – he needed to never, ever leave a victim until he was sure she was dead.

9:35am, June 19th

Sam finally slept through the night. No nightmares, no visions, just sleep. Stefan's homework had helped. Lying in bed, feeling rested for the first time in several days, she rolled over and curled deeper into her blankets. Relaxation rolled through her.

If it weren't for the animals waiting for her, she wouldn't bother getting out of bed. Then, room service was a little lacking when you lived alone.

Moving easily through her morning routine, Sam made it to the kitchen and fed her canine family before they had a chance to get upset at the wait. Soldier ate then stood at the front door. Sam opened it and stepped out on the deck. He moved stiffly under her watchful gaze as he managed the steps and the few feet to a clump of trees.

While she relaxed with her morning tea, the two dogs started a ruckus. Sam frowned. Soldier's bark was hoarse, almost a cross between a growl and a bark. Like one long unused.

She walked toward the door and heard the vehicle. Instantly, her nerves reacted. She rarely had visitors, but it was only recently that the sound of an approaching vehicle brought out a sense of dread. Her tension eased when she recognized Price Coulson's car.

The rent wasn't due for another couple of weeks and her landlord came about once a month to check up on her.

"Good morning. How are you today?" She opened the door wider to let him in. She did it every time he came and every time, he refused to step inside. A married man in a single woman's house wasn't proper according to his generational rules.

"The wife sent over a loaf of bread and some cookies for you." His face creased into well-worn wrinkles. "Also wanted to make sure you're doing okay."

"Of course, I'm fine." Sam leaned easily against the doorway. God, she was becoming a good liar. How sad was that?

The old man glanced at her, sharp intellect shining beneath the heavy folds of his eyelids. "It's very isolated here. Aren't you worried about intruders?"

Shaking her head, Sam hastened to reassure him. "No. I've always been comfortable living out in the country."

He shoved his gnarled fingers into his jean pockets. "Now that may be, only it's not the same world today as it was a few decades ago. There are some bad people out there."

"There always have been. The communication systems of today are better so we hear about more cases."

"Aye. True enough. Just last night the news said the police were searching for the owner of an odd-looking ring." He turned to look at the calm waters of the lake. "The wife, she said it looked like a devil’s ring, what with the snake twisting through a garden."

"A ring?"

"Yeah. You don't have television down here so you wouldn't have heard about it."

Sam went cold inside. "They said the police wanted this guy?"

"Just that they were looking for the owner of the ring so they could talk to him."

Almost numb with the ice that had settled into her limbs, Sam shook her head. "Then it's probably nothing."

He pulled out one hand to run through the white fluff around his ears. "Aye. I told the wife that. But well, she worries."

That was the reason for his visit. The pair of them were concerned about her. Unaccustomed warmth melted through her. This was a new feeling. She savored the sensation. Someone actually cared enough to worry. And he didn't even know her.

She shook her head in bemusement. "Are you sure you won't come in for a cup of tea? You can tell me all about it inside."

Price shook his head. "No, no. I promised Mary that I wouldn't be longer than a few minutes." He twisted, pointing out Soldier. "I didn't know you had a guard dog. Mary will worry less knowing you have him down here."

Sam's lips twitched at the thought. "I don't know how much help he'll be. He's with me because he's recovering from surgery and needed a home to heal and be rehabilitated."

The old man's gaze sharpened. "Is he dangerous?" His wrinkles rearranged downward. "Don't really want something dangerous living here. He's too old to be rehabilitated." He stared at the dog. "A bullet might be kinder all around."

Sam refused to take offence, understanding his old-timer ways. After all, he hadn't said anything different than the vets themselves had expressed. "No, he was mistreated, and then hit by a car. Since he's been with me, he's spent his time healing. I don't think he's dangerous." She couldn't help crossing her fingers. "He'll be a great deterrent for anyone out to cause trouble. I think he's a trained watchdog. At least that's what one policeman told me."

The older man's shoulders relaxed slightly. "That's good then. If the police and vets are involved, then he's probably fine." He nodded as if satisfied. "Mary will be happy to hear this."

A little later, Sam, with cell phone in hand, watched his pickup head up the hill. Dear God. The ring had been on television. Surely, not the same ring? Why would Detective Sutherland do that? What else had the broadcast said? She didn't quite understand how she felt about this development.

"Hello."

"Hi Brandt. This is Sam. Did you release a picture of the ring to the media?"

A hefty pause stretched out over the line. "I didn't, no. One of the members of the department must have. The first I knew about it was when I saw it on television last night."

"The whole point of telling you about the ring was to help – I just hadn't expected to have it released to the media. I guess I'm more surprised than anything." She took a deep breath. "The thing is, I'd really like to keep my name out of this. I've taken care to build a new life here. I don't mind helping, but I'd just as soon do it privately"

"Understood. I'll make sure your name isn't connected. I don't know who contacted the media, but I will find out." His voice came across strong and determined, and that helped reassure her a little more.

Sam rang off and went to get ready for work. A quick brush of her hair and a check to make sure her face was clean, then Sam grabbed her keys and purse and headed for work.

She couldn't quite stop the flutter of nervousness inside. Why had it never crossed her mind that the police might go public with her information? Why had she never once considered the risk that her identity would be exposed?

And why had this realization come when it was too late to change her mind?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

10:10 am

Brandt stood with his legs apart, shoulders straight and his hands locked behind his back. What the hell? He struggled to keep his mouth shut. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Captain Johansen had called him into his office and Brandt was getting his ass kicked.

"Sir? If I could just interject for a moment." Brandt tried to interrupt the captain's rant, only the man was steaming. Brandt relaxed slightly, and stuffed his hands into his jean pockets. He eyed the chairs stacked high with papers. An empty chair sat off to the side – one Brandt hadn't been offered.

"Brandt? Brandt, are you listening to me?"

At the first call, Brandt studied the man opposite him. At the second call, he raised an eyebrow. "Are you ready to listen to me?"

"Damn it." Captain Johansen blew hard and rubbed his temple. Reaching for his coffee cup, he glared at Brandt. "Fine. Talk to me. What the hell were you thinking?" The captain's face flushed red as his voice started to rise again.

Brandt held out his hand to slow the man down. "I didn't do it." He enunciated slowly and clearly. "I did not give that picture to the media."

The captain stopped cold. He fixed his hard stare on Brandt. "What?" he growled. "If you didn't then who did?"

"I don't know," Brandt admitted. "I'd planned to ask you that question."

"Why?" demanded Captain Johansen. "I sure as hell don't know. Any ideas? And why wasn’t it you?"

Brandt stared at his boss. "I'd prefer to have proof before I say anything."

"Not good enough." Johansen pounded a fist on his desk. "I want to know what you know – and now!"

What could he say? Brandt shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know anything, sir. I showed the picture at the debriefing meeting yesterday, so anyone who'd been there knew. As would anyone they might have shown the picture to."

"And yet, a couple of names on the force came to your mind." The captain glared at him, waiting.

Brandt avoided answering. "It's the why that bothers me. If someone wanted to help, you'd think they would have included me in the plan. Which means someone may be out to discredit me instead."

The captain glanced at his desk, a frown furrowing his brows.

Brandt added one other point. "Or the department." He paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully. "I'll tell you this. Kevin doesn't appreciate me having Sam onboard, except he appears to hold the department in high regard. And Dillon barely speaks to me except yesterday he came to talk to me about the ring. If he did this, he may have thought he was doing me a favor." He shrugged again. "In both cases, it could mean nothing."

"Did you give Dillon the picture?"

"He walked into my office with a copy," Brandt clarified. "All I know is I didn't give it to the media."

"Therefore someone else did." Captain Johansen played with his pen, thinking hard. "And because so many people had access to the sketch, anyone could have leaked it."

"I did fax it to two jewelry stores yesterday asking if they recognized the pattern. It's possible the media may have found out from them." The more he thought about it, the more possible that sounded. "Except they said the police were asking for help."

The captain picked up the phone. "Dillon, come into my office please."

Brandt straightened up. "Sir, I'd like to be able to call these jewelry stores before we accuse anyone."

"And so you should, but I want to know what his take is on this mess."

"Then I'd like to leave so he doesn't suspect me of pointing a finger."

Brandt turned and walked to the door. "In fact, it might not be a bad idea to question everyone," he suggested thoughtfully.

"I know how to do my job, thank you."

A knock sounded on the open door.

Brandt turned to see Dillon standing there, waiting. He smiled. "Hey Dillon. Your turn." He nodded at Captain Johansen and walked out. "I'll get to work, if there's nothing else, sir?" Without waiting for a response, Brandt walked out. Feeling like he'd just barely escaped, he headed to his desk.

Once there, Brandt sorted through the sizeable stack of files on his desk and pulled out two. He tried to focus on them, only his thoughts refused to organize. They kept returning to the news broadcast and the person responsible. Who could have done that?

Still, of bigger concern was the case itself. Picking up the phone, he continued to work down his list of jewelry stores.

10:30 am

That was close. How the hell had his name come up – and so fast? Self-consciously, he glanced around to see who might be watching. No one appeared to notice as he poured a cup of coffee and walked to his desk. Captain Johansen hadn't known much so maybe he was doing a check on everyone. Dillon grinned. Good thing he had such an honest face.

Besides, what was the big deal? So what if anyone saw the stupid sketch. After all, the whole point was to learn more about the ring. Who cared if the media asked the public for information? It was more or less a problem regarding chain of command. The captain was pissed because he hadn't known about it. Dillon smirked. Damn well time someone shook his goat. The old man was a control freak.

What had the department come to? What a joke. A psychic for God's sake. She was a joke. A pair of anorexic eyeballs. Talk about someone who should have been shown the door the minute she walked in.

He had to admit, there was an opportunity to cement his reputation here. He didn't know what form it would manifest, but he wanted to make the most of it.

Then there was Brandt. As far as anyone knew, he was here only temporarily. Dillon didn't think so. Brandt had plans he was keeping close to his chest. Dillon could respect that. He did the same thing. Yet, he wondered what was brewing. Brandt had managed several private meetings with Captain Johansen.

Plans could involve the psychic. Whatever she had going for her, Brandt seemed interested. And that was just as ludicrous. Unless mercy fucks were this month's good deed. Dillon chuckled. Yet, she had something to offer or Brandt wouldn't waste his time. Dillon quickly pulled a notebook from the left side drawer and wrote some notes on what he'd found out about her so far.

He didn't have much, just bits and pieces of gossip gleaned from hanging around Kevin's team. Adam was a great source, and of course the office grapevine. That had kicked in days ago. In a place like this, it could usually be counted on for accuracy. It was a start. He'd source out her history and all the rest soon. Very soon.

The bottom line? She needed watching.

10:35 am

Brandt spent the rest of his day following up leads. He'd put several phone calls out to hospitals and morgues, checking for anyone fitting the right age and sex of a victim that had been brought in with a drug overdose or as a suicide. He'd found one possible – in a coma at Portland General Hospital. Asking the doctors to let him know about any change on that woman at the hospital, he carried on with his phone calls.

The city morgue offered a second possible victim. This one had little to no paperwork at this point, as she'd just been brought in and would still need to be autopsied for cause of death. He asked to be notified as soon as they knew anything.

Brandt frowned. Thanks to Sam, he had a very good idea of a time frame. Sam. He had trouble explaining his interest. She pulled at his heart, his mind, his emotions. He felt a dull pain in areas he didn't know existed. She made him ache for better times, for happiness, for a life filled with joy.

Spending time with her was like a drug. He liked the effect while under, and hated the sensation when it wore off. After his head cleared, he wondered why the hell he kept going back. Except he knew. He'd been intrigued since the beginning. Sex had never been his goal. He'd long since outgrown his adolescent hormones. He certainly wasn't searching for a mate to have the little white house with a picket fence and the customary two-and-a-half kids like so many of his friends.

When attraction slapped him up the side of the head, normally he ran with it. This time, the way forward held a few roadblocks. Still, he didn't think they'd stop him.

Sitting at his computer, Brandt checked his watch. He had a few minutes before his five o'clock appointment at the university.

5: 25 pm

The sun dipped behind the mountain, casting golden beams rippling across the lake. Sam tilted her head sideways, wincing as the pounding inside her head increased. The sun's rays twinkled and disappeared under the water. Mother Nature had outdone herself. Exhausted, she lay in numbed limbo. She was still dressed in jeans and t-shirt because she hadn't had enough energy to go for a swim this afternoon.

For someone who preferred her own company, she'd been overwhelmed by people, recently. She had to watch out and keep centered.

Animals offered a respite for her senses. They exuded calm, peaceful energy waves.

People, on the other hand, lived on emotion. They constantly projected erratic bursts of painful energy. The larger bursts from strong emotions hurt her the most. Happier, lighter emotions were easier to tolerate. But when people were angry or upset, overwhelmed in grief or even sometimes when they were ecstatic, they exploded with energy. For Sam, these waves became almost solid walls pounding against her.

Everything impacted much more when she was tired. At those times, on top of lowering her defenses, her own talents increased because her ability to keep them shut down was weaker. Her energy both bled outward and sponged inward.

Working at the vet hospital had allowed her to make gains on her protective shields – in part, due to the animals and their energy. Stefan had given her hints on how to release the energy afterward. She should be euphoric at what she'd accomplished, instead she was too exhausted to feel anything except the headache clawing the inside of her head.

Today had been a tough day. It had taken everything she had to feed her dogs once she arrived home. She'd grabbed a chunk of cheese and an apple and walked to the dock. She'd actually slept in the warm sun after consuming that little bit of food.

A vehicle growl filtered down the hill. Moses raised his head, not growling, yet not totally at ease.

Sam tensed.

In the same half-aware state, she watched as Brandt's truck drove into view. Her heart leaped. She'd forgotten. He was supposed to pick up something and bring it down for dinner.

Sam rolled over to lean on her elbow. Blood pounded in her temple making her grimace. She closed her eyes halfway against the pain. Headaches were the bane of her health problems though she'd never seen a doctor about them. Her lips twitched, imagining trying to explain her issue to a local MD. She'd be referred to a shrink immediately.

Groaning as she stood up, Sam had to stop and breathe deeply as the hammer in her head was put down and a sledgehammer took over. "Oh God," she whispered to the empty air. "I so don't need this right now."

Walking very slowly, Sam made her way up to the cabin.

"Good evening." Brandt walked toward her with a large brown bag.

Sam nodded and immediately wished she hadn't as pain stabbed her right temple. Chinese food? Her stomach gurgled. The apple and cheese hadn't gone far and the food smelled delicious. Now if only the pain would go away.

"Are you alright?"

A wan smile slipped out. "Just a headache. I'll be fine." She eyed the bag he carried. "Is that Chinese food I'm smelling?"

Brandt eyes narrowed as he searched her face. "I found a new restaurant to try. Let's go inside where you can sit down. I'll find some plates and serve." As they walked into the house, he added, "I also have a few pictures to show you."

Interest flared briefly before being pounded down. Sam navigated the stairs and led the way inside. As much as she hated to, she took a painkiller for the headache before collapsing on the couch. She let Brandt deal with the food.

She closed her eyes. Paper rustled, china clanged, and the aroma made her stomach sing. She hoped he picked up her favorite dish – Chicken Chow Mein.

"Sam, sit up and eat. You'll feel better."

She opened her eyes to see Brandt holding out a plateful. She placed it on the table between the two couches. Brandt sat opposite her. He'd heaped her plate high with saucy noodles, chicken, and lovely crisp vegetables. She'd be lucky to eat half of it. The hot steam wafted toward her, both soothing and comforting. She took several bites and moaned with pleasure.

"I love Chinese food. Thank you for this."

He smiled and kept a steady eye on her. "You're welcome." After another quiet moment with only the sounds of food being enjoyed, he asked another question. "Are you sure you're okay? You look a little pale."

Sam nodded gently, her mouth too full to speak. "Yes, sometimes I get these bad headaches." He'd been right, she was feeling slightly better. The headache, although not gone, had receded slightly. To change the subject, she nodded to several pictures upside down on the table. "What are those?"

He flipped the pictures over and spread them out.

Four different pictures of snake and leaf designs lay in front of her. Interesting. She leaned forward to study them.

After a few minutes, Brandt shifted his position. "Well?"

"Hmmm."

"What does that mean?"

Sam looked up at him. "It means they're close, just not the same as the one I saw."

"How can you tell?" Brandt leaned forward pushing the papers closer. "They're all so similar."

She took another bite of noodles.

"Similar but not the same. In the left one, the snake wraps around the outside of a leaf, not a cloverleaf. In the right one, you can't tell if it's a snake or a rope or something similar."

Brandt, shaking his head, collected the pictures together.

At her nod, he stacked the pictures into a pile. "Have you had any more visions or seen anything else?"

"No, nothing yet."

They continued to eat in contemplative silence for a few more minutes. The corners of Sam's mouth slid downward and her eyes closed. God, she was tired. She put down her half-full plate.

"Are you sure you can't eat a little more?"

She shook her head without opening her eyes. "Sorry, it's my headache. Let me just close my eyes for a few minutes."

"No problem. Lie down and rest. I'll clean up."

Sam was past arguing. With a warm full tummy, fatigue drew her in, and she slept.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

10:05 pm

With the dishes washed, Brandt sat on the couch opposite Sam. Now what? Should he leave her alone to sleep? Odd to be so unsure. Staring at her, he had to admit, the idea of staying and watching over her was winning. He glanced at the pile of blankets on the floor. Picking one up, he opened it and covered Sam.

There was something wild about her. Not necessarily in a good way. Maybe untamed was a better description. She appeared awkward in crowds, uneasy in close confines, and hated confrontations – she wouldn't walk away from a fight if she thought it mattered. She could hold her own.

She was trying to improve her life now, but what had brought her so low? Had it been the last incident with the deputy? He frowned. Had that car accident long ago wiped out her savings or had she been unable to work afterwards because of her injuries? He surveyed the small room. He doubted she'd had insurance. There was no sign of money here. In fact, poverty had moved right in. She dressed in oversized thrift store clothes that would fit any large man.

She needed a keeper. Someone to make sure she ate and rested. If there was no one else, then maybe, just maybe the job fell to him. That he'd even had that thought showed how far he'd come. A few weeks ago, he'd have run at the thought of caring for someone like her. This was stupid. He needed a decent night's sleep himself. He should be home in his own bed, not here keeping an eye on her. Still, it was early yet, and she'd looked wiped when he'd arrived. Staying awhile wouldn't be a hardship.

Moses slept on the floor in front of Sam and Soldier sat on guard at the end of the other couch – watching him.

Brandt peered into the blackness outside the window. Moments later he closed his eyes, too tired himself to muddle through the confusing array of reasons for staying there.

An odd muffled noise woke him.

Brandt turned his head, groaning as pain exploded through his neck. "God, what did I do?" Rolling his head from side to side, he leaned forward, trying to remember where he was. A muffled cry from the couch had him bolting upright, now wide-awake.

Sam jerked her legs out straight and arched her back. Her mouth opened, the muscles on her face and neck clenched into long cords, straining with effort. She screamed – silently.

The hairs on Brandt's neck stood straight up.

Sam jerked, her back bowed even tighter.

Brandt reached out to wake her from the nightmare, then hesitated, his hands inches from her shoulder. How many times had Stefan told him not to touch someone in a trance? But how did he know whether she was in a trance or a nightmare?

Sam collapsed, her legs sprawling at awkward angels. Her breathing stabilized, returning to a more even pace, slowly picking up a normal rhythm again.

Just when he thought she was fine, Sam's face twisted, her eyes opened wide with an opaque glassy look. Brandt bent over and stared directly into her eyes.

"Sam," he whispered. "Sam, wake up."

Sam arched again, then jerked spasmodically as if struck by invisible blows.

Jesus. Brandt backed up a step and stared at her. Ice raced through his body. What the hell was going on? He searched her face, watching every nuance, every tiny expression – it was easy to see she wasn't really here. She was seeing something, experiencing something that Brandt couldn't. Brandt had never seen any nightmare like this one. He wasn't sure he'd ever want to, either.

He glanced at his watch. 2:30 am. He must have fallen asleep. He could have sworn he'd been out for only a couple of minutes.

Sam made a gurgling sound, arched once, then twice before collapsing into a shuddering tremble. Then she fell silent. Brandt stared in horror. Cuts appeared in the blanket. He reached out, the raspy wool scratched his fingers. When he'd covered her up, the blanket had been tatty but whole. He couldn't see it completely from the awkward way it lay over her, but he could see several slices in the thick fabric.

His jaw dropped. More cuts appeared even as he watched. He leaned forward, shock making his hands tremble. This could not be happening. This was not possible. His rational mind knew that, yet his eyes wouldn't stop receiving the images. There, another cut over her abdomen appeared. No way. He leaned closer and sat again as bile rose up into his throat.

Blood seeped slowly from the last cut. Impossible. Brandt sat in horror as blood slowly oozed from the dozen cuts, soaking the blanket covering Sam. Was she hurt? She couldn't be – the cuts had just appeared. Only there was nothing there that had caused the injuries.

Soldier arrived at the couch, a high whine sounding from deep inside him.

"Easy boy. I don't know what's going on either."

Brandt studied his hands, not surprised to see them shaking, shudders even now moving up his arms. Christ, no one would believe this. Hell, he could hardly believe it himself – and it was happening right before his eyes.

His gaze dropped to a second blanket on the floor. Reaching down, he shook the folds loose and went to fling it across her form, when Stefan's warning drilled through her. Never touch a medium when they are in a trance.

The blanket dropped to the floor. He didn't know if a blanket counted as a touch and decided he didn't dare take the chance. A sudden thought jolted him. No one would believe him, just like no one believed Sam. Oh God. His stomach knotted and bile seared his throat, threatening to make him sick. Is this how she felt?

He watched in fascination as the blood dripped and ran to pool on top of the blankets beside her. Her face paled to a milky white, making his nerves jump again. Shit. He wanted to call for an ambulance. But what could he tell them? He knew logically there was no rational explanation. And he could be killing her by leaving her alone to bleed. Shit. Doubt paralyzed him.

Soldier stuck his nose closer to Sam, sniffing the blood. He whimpered.

Brandt grabbed his cell phone. Stefan, Goddamn it, please be home.

"Hello?" A thick sleep-filled voice growled at him.

"Oh thank God. Stefan, this is Brandt."

"Brandt." A thick throat-clearing cough bounced through the phone. "What's the matter?"

"It's Sam."

"Sam? What's wrong?" His voice turned businesslike.

"I'm in trouble."

"What else is new?"

"No, I'm here with her now and she appears to be caught in a vision."

"And?"

"Stefan. I've seen a lot of things in my life, but I've never come across anything like this. It's happening right now." Brandt took a deep breath and willed some stability into his voice. "There are cuts appearing in the blanket that's covering her and there's blood. Oh my God, there's so much blood. It's dripping on the floor." Brandt drew a shaky breath. "There's no weapon, or anyone, just the slashes without reason."

"But she's still in the vision?"

"That's what I'm saying. It's like she's experiencing someone else's attack. As I'm watching, she arches and reacts as if being stabbed, then slashes appear in the blankets around her. Within seconds, blood appears and drips to the floor. Christ, Stefan." Brandt bent, dipping his fingers in a pool of blood. He rubbed his fingers together. "The blood is real. It smells real, and it feels real."

There was silence for a moment.

"How can she survive something like this?" Brandt needed Stefan's reassurance. That it wasn't forthcoming, made him more nervous.

"Is she breathing?"

Brandt, his heart racing at the thought, bent over Sam. "Christ, she'd better be." He checked her chest for the telltale rise and fall movement. There. Ever so faint. He placed his hand to hover above her mouth. Yes. A faint waft of air. "Yes, she's alive. But not by much."

"That's okay. The deeper her trance, the more her body vitals slow down."

Brandt checked her over again. The blood had settled in, staining the gray material to rust. The smell flared his nostrils – the same metallic odour he knew all too well.

"Can you see any damage to her body, or are we just talking blankets and blood showing?"

"Is it safe to touch her? Hell, Stefan, how many times have you pounded it into me not to touch you when you're in a trance?"

"Lift the blankets and don't touch her body."

"Why is it I can't touch her again?" Brandt stared at Sam, trying to figure out a safe corner of the blanket to lift without touching her body.

"You'll snap her connection to whatever energy she's attached to. She could stay over there, snap back here, or get caught somewhere in between."

Brandt winced. "Right." Working carefully, he shifted a corner of the blanket away from her shoulder to peer at her slight body below. A slice deep into her abdomen made his gut clench. He groaned softly, sadly. She was dying, and he'd done nothing to help her.

"Christ, her abdomen is split open."

Stefan's voice remained calm and patient. "That's fine. Is she still experiencing new injuries?"

"That's fine! What the hell, Stefan? She's dying."

"No, she's not. In about twenty minutes, she should be almost as good as new. Check again. Are new injuries still appearing?"

Brandt stared at Sam, trying to check all of her at once. After a moment, he answered, "I don't think so. I think that part is over."

"Good, the blood should stop seeping too."

"It will?" Brandt studied the welling blood. Relief washed over him. "Actually, it appears to be slowing."

"Good. She should wake up soon."

"Should? I need her to wake up now!"

"Don't touch her." Stefan's voice was sharp, leaving no room for arguing. "When she wakes, she could be groggy, disoriented, and possibly scared. Give her both time and space. Try not to startle her, just watch as she recovers."

"Right. I guess that makes sense." Brandt moved over and sat across from Sam. "I'll call you in the morning. Or in a few minutes if she doesn't wake up."

"She'll wake up. Trust a little more." Stefan hung up.

Brandt tucked away his cell phone, Stefan's final words ringing in his ears – time to recover and heal. The heal part blew him away. If she experienced the same physical damage as these woman, then no wonder she looked like she could use a good square meal. Her body had to burn calories at a horrific rate doing something like this.

Sam stirred. Brandt rushed over to her side. She rolled her head from one side to the next before coming to a stop. A deep heavy sigh worked its way up from her chest. She opened her eyes, ones that widened in shock when they landed on him.

"It's okay Sam. It's just me. Take it easy. Take your time."

Understanding seeped into those beautiful eyes before she closed them again, drifting off into a light resting state. She licked her lips and whispered in a voice so low he had to bend to her lips to hear it. "I'll be fine in a couple of minutes."

Soldier whined and flumped down at her feet protectively.

Brandt ran a hand through his hair, relieved to hear her talking, but having trouble with the concept that she'd could be okay that fast. Was that possible? He wouldn't be – how could she? He watched her carefully. Could she recover from something like this on her own – without a doctor? How? Did Stefan go through this as well?

In amazement, Brandt watched as the blood thinned and actually appeared to be less. He leaned forward. The droplets on the floor remained. The slices in the blankets remained. What about her? Getting up, he gently lifted the corner of the blanket and checked her abdomen. Even as he watched, the wound shrunk down. It was only a couple of inches long now. He shook his head. He'd never have believed it. And he was open-minded about this stuff. He couldn't imagine Kevin's reaction.

"Brandt?"

"I'm here, Sam. Take it easy."

"I'm almost there. Just another minute and I'll be good."

"Right. Like I'm going to believe that." He snorted and sat on the coffee table across from her, accidentally nudging Soldier who lay protectively in front of Sam.

Soldier lifted his head, his lip curling at Brandt.

Brandt glared down at him. Soldier glared back.

"No, I'm almost there. Wait, let me check." She lifted her head to look at him. And cried out in agony, her body curling into itself.

Instantly Brandt was at her side. "Jesus, Sam. What the hell?"

Sam gasped for breath her face slowly gaining color with the effort. "It's okay. Honest."

Frustrated, he fisted his hands on his hips. "How? How can this be okay?"

He crouched down beside her, reaching out a hesitant hand. He desperately wanted to give comfort, yet was scared of hurting her further.

She opened her eyes to stare at him again.

"Oh God, Sam." Brandt breathed her name almost in prayer. The depth of her suffering and pain hurt his soul. Her eyes had gone black from her agony.

Helpless, he could only watch. "I'm so sorry, honey. What can I do to help?"

A tiny smile peeped out. "Wait."

He didn't think he could do it. "Sweetheart, there is blood everywhere."

The smile disappeared as she shuddered once, then twice. "Always is."

Brandt sank into a crouch beside the couch. "God, how can you do this – day in and day out?"

Her answer, so succinct and so honest blew him away. "Easy. I have no choice."

3:48 am, June 20th

Sam found the shift through transition harder this time. Having someone watch while she healed and returned to normal reality wasn't exactly fun. Self-conscious or not, she couldn't move before it was time. Shifting her glance to catch Brandt's expression, she winced and stared up at the ceiling. Barely concealed horror still rippled across his face.

She closed her eyes. She couldn't help him deal with this. It took everything she had to deal with it herself.

The research she'd done said that blood rarely manifested in visions. But in special cases, people woke up with their hands or bodies stained with the stuff. For her, the blood appeared wherever the injuries manifested, but less blood than if she'd truly been the one attacked. Apparently, the amount of physical manifestations should decrease as she learned to control her gifts. She could only hope.

Gently, Sam swung her legs over the side of her couch and sat up. Feeling dizzy, she took several shuddering breaths before fixing her gaze on Brandt.

Wild eyes stared back at her. She couldn't blame him. This stuff came straight out of a horror movie. She wanted to curl up and hide in shame. She'd hoped he'd never see her like this. Never see her so exposed, so...freakish. She could only imagine what he thought of her now.

A few last tremors worked up her spine. It was almost over. Her eyes still burned, swollen and dry. Even her bones ached.

She focused on Brandt instead of the pain. His rumpled hair looked adorable – at total odds to his eyes. She glanced at the clock, yawning at the same time. It was close to four in the morning. He must have stayed all night.

She slid her gaze over him again. He still appeared shell-shocked. It said much about his perception. He'd never be able to accept this part of her. The pain from her vision was nothing to the sudden pain in her heart.

Brandt sat down suddenly. She studied his features. In truth, it looked like his belief system, his very foundation of existence had been ripped out from under him.

Sam couldn't handle any more. Tears of shame burned. Freak.

"Christ." Brandt's whispered words were a soft prayer for understanding.

Sam knew how he felt. She also knew her prayers had never been answered. "What's the matter?"

He snorted, rose, and reached to poke a finger through one of the many slices in the blanket covering her. "This is what's the matter." He stuck his fingers through a bigger cut and waggled them.

Confused, Sam watched emotions whisper across his face.

He stared at her. "Does this mean...?"

Her bottom lip wobbled and she nodded. "It means another woman has been murdered."

Hearing her own words broke the dam holding back the anguish in Sam's soul. Brandt sat on the couch and tugged her into his arms. Sam went. Hurt, she curled into his chest and let her tears pour. Brandt rocked her gently, her broken sobs so soft they could hardly be heard. The pain behind them could hardly be ignored.

Brandt hugged her tight.

After the worst of the storm had passed, Sam thought she heard him speak.

She shifted slightly to peer up at him, wiping away the tears on her cheeks. "What?"

"I'm sorry to have to do this. I need to ask you some questions while this is all fresh." His gaze glanced off the blanket. He shook his head in a daze. "About the victim, not so much the process – which I admit to having some trouble with." As his hand continued to stroke her sore muscles, he became lost in thought. After a moment, he tugged her close for a quick hug before setting her back slightly.

Holding back a few stray sniffles, Sam shifted into a more comfortable position and let herself relax slightly.

"What happened was in real time." Tears welled again. Sam struggled for control, using her sleeve to wipe her eyes. "The slashes you saw appear on the blanket and on my body were the same injuries the victim received. The blood and cuts to the blankets correlate to the victim's injuries."

Brandt started.

"Are you saying that you are stabbed every time the victim is stabbed?"

The tears slid from the corners of her eyes. "Yes." Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

"No." Brandt shook his head. "No one could survive those injuries. They can't be happening to you, because..." Brandt shifted enough to remove the blanket. "Because you're fine. You'd be dead if that had happened to you. Like those women are dead."

Teary eyed, and tormented by the poor woman's fate, Sam nodded. "You still don't understand." She sniffled, rubbing her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. Recovery might have taken a while longer tonight, it had also taken all of her energy. She was exhausted.

Sam locked her gaze onto his. "In a way, I am exactly like those other women." A quiver ran down her spine, shaking her entire body. Wrapping her arms around her chest, she took a deep breath.

"As each woman dies...so do I – I die every time."

10:10 am

"So what are you going to do about it?" The colonel shifted further out of the sun, the buckles on his ever-present suspenders glinting in the bright light. He hooked his cane onto the arm of the overstuffed easy chair as he sat down. He glanced over at Maisy again. "Well, you said it. Enough is enough." He grinned at her sour face. "So what are you prepared to do? The boy is full grown."

"Pshhh." Maisy snorted delicately. "Grown he might be, know his own mind, he doesn't."

The colonel grinned at her. "Oh, he knows his mind. It's just not the mind you want him to have. You don't like that he's choosing to live his life the way he wants to." He reached for his cup of tea. "Admit it. You want him to do it your way."

"Behave yourself, or you can go somewhere else for your tea." She harrumphed and busied herself straightening her sunflower yellow skirts.

The colonel chuckled and relaxed further into his chair.

"The boy should be married and have a family by now. That's all I'm saying." She tilted her face more into the sun. The heat from the sun's rays was wonderfully strong for this hour of the morning. It did her old bones good to soak up the healing rays. "Besides, I like this one."

"Which one?"

"You know perfectly well which one. The skinny one that's all eyes."

"I don't think they're really going out. That boy wouldn't recognize staying power even when it's there right under his nose. He's after other qualities." The colonel waggled his thick white eyebrows at her.

"He's a normal male." Maisy grinned at the colonel. "He probably doesn't even know what staying power is."

"Too bad. A girl like that – well she's a keeper."

"She looks like she's survived hell on earth."

The two sat in comfort, enjoying the simple things of life that had taken them decades to appreciate.

The colonel spoke up again. "Did you hear about that case the police are working on?"

Maisy glanced at him. "Which one?"

He waved his hand at the television. "The one they talked about last night. The police are trying to identify the owner of a ring with a four-leaf clover pattern and some sort of snake wrapped through the leaves. Apparently, one diamond is missing from the ring. They didn't specify why they were looking for the information, though."

Pursing her lips, Maisy thought about the many jewelry pieces she'd seen over the years. None had been in that pattern that she could remember. She loved jewelry, particularly unique pieces.

"Can't say that I've seen anything like that – at least not recently."

"When are they coming for lunch?"

Maisy recognized the sly twist to the colonel's face. "Meaning you don't give a damn about seeing him, you'd like to know more about the cases he's working on."

The colonel scrunched his shoulders like a young child who'd been caught with his hand in a cookie jar. "Call him. We need something new to talk about here." He stared at the blank television. "I'm pretty sure I saw that ring somewhere. I just can't remember where."

"Really? That's so exciting."

He harrumphed at her. "It's only exciting if I can remember where. My memory isn't that good."

Maisy smiled. "Isn't that the truth?" She surveyed the courtyard and the other seniors taking the time to enjoy the morning sun. Life was peaceful here – too peaceful. Stimulation was hard to come by and her son's career was the source of much of it. Still, it was a good excuse to get him over where she could work on him a little more. Besides, she shouldn't need an excuse. He was her son. She reached for the phone, ignoring the low chuckles from the colonel. "Brandt, good morning." She smiled at his sleepy voice. Poor guy, he didn't get enough sleep. "I wanted to catch you before you went to work this morning and got all caught up in your cases."

He mumbled something in response.

Maisy wasn't fazed. He was always like that. "The colonel and I have been talking. He saw that bit of news on the TV about a ring the other night. It triggered something for him."

"What does he remember?"

"That's the thing, he can't quite remember and he's getting really upset about it." She sniffled. Then she frowned. What was that?

Brandt cleared his throat. "We don't want him doing that. He'll remember better when he's calm anyway."

"Well, I know that. But try telling him that." Maisy caught a second sniffle halfway. She glared at the grinning colonel. "I'm really worried about him, Brandt."

"Tell him to relax about it, and if he remembers anything to give me a call. I won't be able to stop by today."

"I will." She hesitated. "Brandt, don't forget to bring Sam by for lunch one day soon."

"I know. It won't likely be this week though. Things are busy at work."

Voices sounded in the background. Maisy widened her eyes. "Brandt, where are you?"

Silence.

"Why?" He cleared his throat.

Another voice came through the phone, faintly recognizable. Maisy strained her hearing. Something about tea. Brandt and tea? She gasped. "Brandt, you're with Sam!" She squealed in joy.

Brandt groaned, "Ouch, my ears. And it's not what you think, Mom."

Maisy bounced on her chair. "I'm sure it isn't, honey." She grinned at the colonel, her thumb in the air. "When are you bringing her for lunch?"

"Not today."

The colonel poked Maisy. "Tell him I want some advice."

She glanced over, frowning at him. But the colonel kept nodding his head. She shrugged. "Brandt, I don't know if this changes anything, the colonel says he wants your advice on something. You know how he is. He'll worry himself into another heart attack until he gets the information he needs."

The colonel blustered at her side. She grinned unrepentantly.

"Okay, I'll try to stop by later today – alone. If I can't, I'll give him a call tonight or tomorrow morning. I can't promise any more than that."

"Oh, that's wonderful dear. We both appreciate you making the effort."

"I said ‘try.’ I may not make it."

She smirked at the colonel, her cohort in fun."No, no honey…we understand. Your job has to come first over things like this. That's fine. It would be nice if you brought Sam though."

After saying good-bye, Maisy hung up the phone and turned to grin at her companion. "He said he'll try to get here later this afternoon, or he'll call you later today." She leaned forward slightly as she squeezed the phone to her chest. "He spent the night with Sam."

The colonel nodded. "Good. We should have a few hours to ourselves too."

She plumped her blue white hair and smiled teasingly. "What did you have in mind?"

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

8:25 am, June 21

Brandt found his mind wandering. After what he'd witnessed last night, it amazed him that he could function at all. Sam had been fully recovered this morning. He checked his email, hoping for leads of some kind. He needed progress. He already knew that the stone found in the bedroom of the one victim was a diamond. So, the news broadcaster had gotten it right. The police had nothing to go on – no semen or DNA was ever present. The cold cases he'd collected under his project were similar in that they also lacked forensic evidence. That alone made him wonder if Sam's killer could be the same man he was chasing.

It also reminded him that, according to Sam, another woman lay dead, waiting to be found. It could be days before this one was called in.

He tossed his pen on his desk and glared at the stack of papers waiting his attention. Maybe he should go and talk to the colonel instead. See if he could shake some details loose.

Shutting down the multiple open tabs on paranormal research on his desktop, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. He'd hardly slept. He'd stayed and tried to doze on Sam's couch until it was time to leave for the office. Now fatigue made it hard for him to focus.

His cell phone rang, pulling him out of his reverie.

"Hello." Brandt leaned forward, reaching for a notepad and the pen. At the familiar voice, he closed his eyes and sighed heavily. "Hey Stefan, glad to hear from you."

The thin voice on the other end sounded tired but well. "How is she?"

"She's fine. Better than I am." That was an understatement.

"Of course, she took a totally normal trip into the psychic world, and you've just blown your mind. Figures."

"I find I'm searching for an explanation today. What I saw last night, I'm doubting now in the morning."

"Also normal." Stefan sighed. "Your rational mind refuses to accept what your heart already knows."

"And what do I do about it?"

Stefan laughed. "You ignore it. You saw what you saw – now let it go." The irony in his voice was hard to miss. "If you stay with her, it won't be the last time you get to experience something on the wild side.

Brandt's mouth widened. "It's been a little nuts already, I have to admit."

"She's an interesting woman."

"Is that all you can say? Interesting?"

"Absolutely." A heavy, amused pause filled the air. "What would you call her?"

Brandt shifted uncomfortably on the computer chair. He didn't know what to call her at this point. Unfortunately, his friend had insider knowledge that gave him an advantage. Brandt winced, knowing what was coming.

Warm laughter filled the air. "You haven't figured it out, have you? Any woman that can twist you up like this, is...well, definitely interesting."

"Stefan," he started hesitantly. "I was way out of my element last night. She scared the hell out of me."

Stefan paused. "I have never met anyone with these abilities, so it's new for me, too. To have the cuts and the blood is an interesting twist."

Wrinkles appeared in Brandt's forehead with his confusion. "Why?"

"There is probably less than one person in ten million with her abilities. Maybe even one in a billion. Because of that, we don't know much about them. She has more than one gift, by the way. She's incredibly talented. As she learns control, these physical symptoms may change. Could disappear entirely."

Brandt shook his head. "Well, the whole thing left quite an impression."

"Does it change the way you view her?" Stefan’s voice reeked with curiosity but not surprise.

Brandt shifted uncomfortably. "I'd like to say no, but I'm not sure that I can."

Heavy silence filled the phone line.

"Take some time and think about this. Particularly take some time to think about this from Sam's point of view."

"I know." Brandt rubbed a hand down her face. "God, her life must be hell."

"That's probably all she has known. Consider the amount of in-depth knowledge she's gleaned about the dark side of humanity. Take into account the amount of disbelief and mockery she's faced, and then consider how different she is from others. None of that is going to bring her hugs in this world. Kicks, however, are free."

Stefan was right. "She's spent some time in a psych ward. Just under four months."

Stefan's voice was tinged with weariness. "Haven't we all. It's society's answer for the unknown. If she is fully functioning at this stage of her life, she's learned to adapt, to cope, and to hide. All three are required to survive."

"And she's all alone."

"Easy to understand, isn't it? You're wondering why you haven't high-tailed it for the hills yourself."

Brandt couldn't argue that point. He didn't know what the hell he felt about Sam now. She required a little more acceptance and understanding than he had yet to be asked for in a relationship. He was sure he could give that – eventually, should he choose. That was the problem – he just hadn't worked it out in his head yet.

Stefan read his mind. "If you care at all, watch what you say and do right now. She's spent a lifetime under suspicion and receiving disapproval. If you want to be accepted by her, she needs to know that you can handle her gifts." Stefan coughed a couple of times. "If you decide that you can't handle them then don't let her know right away. The worst thing you can do today is to walk away. You'd be reinforcing what she's had a lifetime to learn – she's unacceptable in the eyes of the rest of the world."

"But that's not true," Brandt protested.

"Maybe not, but you'd have a hard time convincing her of that." Stefan tried again. "Look to her history. It's all there. Fear, distrust, hatred even. There's no acceptance handed out for people like her and me."

"You're different."

"No. No, I'm not. It took you time to trust me as it took me time to trust you. This is the same position you're in with Sam – learning to trust. Remember – it takes time."

Brandt was silent. "Can someone really live a life like hers?"

"She is." Bald and clear, there was no arguing with the logic.

"What if I can't?" There it was – the secret fear. The fear that had kept him awake all night as he lay on his couch as she lay opposite on hers. That sat stewing in his mind all morning, keeping him from focusing on his job. What if he couldn't accept Sam, couldn't accept the life she led?

Stefan's heavy sigh came through the phone. "If you can't, you can't. It would surprise me though. I've certainly pushed the envelope of your beliefs – so what's different this time?"

"This time I find I'm searching for an anchor, a point of reference. Something to help me place what I witnessed into my belief system, my reality."

"That is exactly how you felt the first time I spoke to you about a killer on one of your cases. I even told you something similar at the time."

Brandt vaguely remembered that time in his life. "Was I that bad?"

"Absolutely. You might also remember something you've said to me in the past. You told me that you'd never married because you couldn't see anyone accepting your life. Now you're thinking about rejecting her because you can't accept her life."

"I'm not rejecting her..." And he wasn't. He was rejecting her gift. God he was an ass. But Stefan continued to talk.

"Good. Think about this. See how you feel about it all tomorrow. Call me if you need to talk."

Stefan hung up after that, leaving Brandt alone with his thoughts. Brandt had seen a lot of things in his life. Police work often demanded finding a way through lies and deceit to arrive at the truth. In this case, the truth stared him in the face. He could no longer doubt what he'd seen. It had just taken some time to accept. That something impossible, something that broke all the laws of life as he knew them – had happened – whether he like it or not.

8:45 am

Not working a normal nine to five, Monday to Friday job made for a great week, but damn it, she hated to work on weekends.

Peering into the mirror, Sam curled her lip. It's a good thing Brandt had left early this morning. She resembled the homeless woman everyone thought she was. Her hair hung lank around her shoulders. If there were any highlights then they were hidden in the shadows. Pulling a brush through hair she didn't have time to wash, she ran.

She was ten minutes late.

Two other staff members worked at opening the front office while Sam started feeding the animals. It must have been a busy day yesterday. There were several new animals and Sam's heart bled for each and every one. It took hours to make them comfortable. The hospital was short-handed. Twice, she was called away to help the front staff, once with an unruly canine, and the second time with a tomcat that wasn't interested in having his wayward ways changed.

Working with the animals out front, helped Sam to see other aspects of the business. Working with the injured animals in the cages gave her a lopsided view. She loved seeing them before they ended up in her care.

"Good morning, Sam."

Lost in thought, she spun around, almost falling to the floor from her crouching position. "Good morning, Dr. Wascott."

"How is Soldier doing?"

A big grin split her face. The vet stopped, a stunned expression emblazoned on his normally peaceful face.

"Soldier is doing wonderfully. He's walking around more and slowly gaining strength. He had his last medicine this morning, and he should be fine now."

The doctor moved his head from side to side. "Honestly, Sam, I don't think I've ever seen you this happy. I'm glad the dog is bringing some life into your world."

Heat bloomed on her cheeks as she realized she'd been babbling. "Sorry," she muttered.

The older man sported a boyish grin. "No problem. It's quite a nice change, actually."

Still, she couldn't help a sheepish grin, feeling a little more of her normal reserve drop off. She felt more comfortable with him than she ever had before.

"There's a phone call for you, Dr. Wascott." One of the vet assistants walked into the room, smiling. "Good morning, Samantha. How are you today?"

Feeling unnaturally peaceful, Sam nodded to the other woman. "I'm fine, thank you."

"Good. There's fresh bread, a new grainy recipe from the corner bakery, in the lunchroom. Lucy also brought in some fresh creamed honey. Make sure you have some before your shift is over."

The idea of fresh baked bread made her mouth water. "Thanks, I'd like to try it."

"You're done now. There's a fresh pot of tea in there, too. Go enjoy." Dr. Wascott nudged Sam's arm before walking out of the room.

The treat sounded too irresistible to ignore.

Sam slipped into the lunchroom, slightly disappointed to find it empty. With a frown, she considered that. How long had it been since she'd relished company?

The bread smelled luscious. A fresh yeasty aroma wafted free as Sam cut of a thick slice. An open canning jar full of creamy honey sat on the counter. In the light, the honey had a deep opaque milkiness to it. Opening the lid, Sam sniffed the contents. Using the tip of her knife, she tasted a small bit and rolled her eyes as the flavor exploded on her tongue. Oh my God, that was so good. Quickly, Sam slathered the top of her bread with a thick layer before sitting at the small table with her tea.

"It's good, isn't it?

Sam started in surprise, so lost in the snack she hadn't heard anyone enter. With her mouth full, she could only nod.

Lucy grinned, cutting herself a slice.

Afterwards, Sam headed to the library for more research books. From there, it was a quick hop over to the grocery store for a couple of items.

She stood in line, waiting to pay for her purchase. She should have come here earlier and avoided the rush. Crowds gave her a headache. She reached up to rub her temple when she felt it.

A long finger of evil reached out and brushed her soul.

The grocery store disappeared, the line of people morphed into a small tidy room. The smell of medicine and aftershave assailed her nose. A gruff cough poured from her chest. Sam bent to rub her sore leg, surprised to see a cane in her right hand and plaid slippers on her feet.

Her hand went to her chest as she shuffled over to an easy chair, stiff movements jarring her spine with each step. Evil surrounded her – him. Only she didn't think he knew about it.

"Hey, old man?"

The male body she inhabited jerked in surprise, turning somewhat awkwardly. The other man had a huge old lady's hat with flowers…and Christ, something that resembled a bird on top. A silk paisley scarf wrapped around the lower portion of his face, obscuring all, but his dark voracious eyes. Sam's stomach dropped. She knew that gaze. She wanted to close her eyes but they weren't her own. She wanted to jump free, but she was tied to this soul.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my room?"

"Just taking care of details. The mark of a professional is in giving every detail the same level of attention – no matter how small." The voice was muffled and rasping. Sam knew she wouldn't be able to identify it in real time.

"What do you want?" the old man asked querulously. "Get out of my room." Sam wanted to run from the room, to force the old man to move toward the door. She had no control over his limbs or tongue. She could only watch, paralyzed with horror, knowing what was to come. She tried to catalogue the details for later.

"Oh, I'm leaving, colonel. But I'll be back – you on the other hand, won't be."

Pain exploded at the crown of Sam's head, colors danced, blinding her. She groaned. The carpet rushed up to meet her, as she collapsed to the floor.

Darkness swirled, coaxing her into the center of the morass before becoming an all-encompassing shroud then blinking out all together. Sam hung suspended between time and reality. Not moving one way or another. Caught. Lost.

At the last minute, Sam heard a faint voice weaving through the darkness, "Serves you right, you old bastard."

Then the darkness was complete.

"Excuse me." Sam was nudged gently and then again, not so gently. "Excuse me? Are you alright?"

Sam came to, woozy and still in a half-blind state. She could hardly focus. A woman's concerned face, blurry and of an odd size came into partial focus. "Yeess." Her tongue had a fuzzy, thick feeling and if that was her voice, something was wrong. Very wrong.

"You don't look it." The woman spoke bluntly, tugging Sam to a chair nearby. The grocery basket was removed from Sam's arms and she was gently pushed into the chair.

Sam's eyes went black with pain. This wasn't transition, it wasn't reality either. It seemed a step in between – still painful with any movement, yet no bleeding, or other physical manifestations as far as she could tell. It would be a couple of moments before she'd be able to check.

"Are you a diabetic? An epileptic?"

Sam managed to shake her head slowly. "No," she whispered. "I'm fine."

The woman didn't appear convinced. "Do you want to just sit here for a few minutes?" She rose, taking several steps away. "I can return in a moment or two and see how you are doing?" She stopped her escape. "Or I could call for an ambulance?"

Sam eyed the woman again. Her eyes were huge with worry. Sam closed her own for a moment then reopened them again. The process worked much better this time. She gave her a tiny gentle smile. "Thank you," she murmured. "I'll just sit here until I feel better."

"Okay." Relief washed over the woman's face. "As long as you are feeling better, then I'll leave. I’ll check on you in a little bit."

Sam said thanks and couldn't hold back a sigh of relief when the woman left. She really didn't feel well. Yet, neither could she say that she felt really bad.

She couldn't explain in a way anyone would understand. Whatever had just happened had drained her energy. She needed rest, and soon. First, she needed to get out of the public's eye.

Surveying the area around her, she couldn't find her basket of groceries anywhere. They could be sitting close, waiting for her, not that she had the energy to look or to care. She'd shop later. For now, she'd be happy with getting to her truck.

Staying upright was a challenge. Using the wall for stability, Sam slipped through the double doors to the parking lot. Her truck was somewhere in the middle. She closed her eyes and leaned against the outside wall. The fresh air helped. Several deep breaths later, her eyesight had returned to normal. If she waited just one more minute, she might be able to walk there like a normal person.

Once at her truck, she struggled inside, shutting the door with more force than necessary. She took another deep breath and evaluated her state of health. Most functions had returned to normal. She didn't know about her speech. But the pain was gone. Achiness remained, yet that was liveable. Her motor functions had returned to normal.

She pulled her cell phone out and dialed Brandt.

"Hello."

"Brandt." She winced. No, her voice wasn't quite normal.

"What's wrong?" His voice had no problem – it damn near split her eardrum.

She held the phone away from her ear, groaning as her head pounded. "Don't yell, please."

He modulated his tone. "Then tell me what's wrong. You sound terrible."

"I'm just coming out of a vision." Sam coughed gently. "This one was weird. This time some old man was hit over the head."

"What?"

Sam could almost see his brow furrowed with concentration.

"Did you see the attacker?

"He was disguised as an old woman. The old man knew him. I think I've been at this place before. Not the same room maybe, but something similar."

"Sam. I have another call coming in. I'll call you right back. Where are you?"

"I'm sitting in the shopping center across from work. While waiting in line at the grocery store, the vision damn near crippled me."

"But you're okay now?"

"Yes. Call me soon." Sam rang off. She rested her head against the side window and closed her eyes.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

1:20 pm

Brandt answered the second call impatiently. He needed to call Sam. Damn it all to hell. His fingers rubbed the ridge of his nose.

"Hello." He couldn't help the shortness in his voice.

He listened for a moment, and with the cries from the other end of the phone ringing in his ears, Brandt grabbed his keys and ran out the door.

It was a short trip, barely fifteen minutes before Brandt drove into the parking lot of the senior care home to be greeted by the all too common sight of an ambulance. He strode forward into the empty hallway. Arriving at his mother's suite, he was surprised to find that empty, too. But maybe he shouldn't be. She could always be found at the center of any gathering – and medical emergencies definitely qualified.

He raced to the colonel's quarters. Turning the corner, his steps slowed. A crowd had gathered at the doorway to the colonel's apartment.

Brandt pushed his way through, his heart dropping at the sight. The colonel was on the stretcher, strapped down. An oxygen mask covered most of his face.

Pulling his badge out, he addressed the paramedics. "What happened?" He leaned over the prone man. The colonel's wrinkled grey face resembled clay that had been baked in the sun too long. Unconsciousness hadn't smoothed the deep wrinkles splitting his face. No injuries were apparent.

One of the paramedics walked over. "He was found on the floor. His pulse is strong and he appears to be suffering from a head injury."

"Head injury?" Brandt bent for a closer look, but only the corner of a blood-soaked bandage was visible.

"He might have fallen and hit his head," offered one of the many bystanders. "He wasn't as steady on his feet as he used to be."

Brandt nodded absentmindedly. The colonel used a walking stick most times. Sure enough, there it was leaning against the wall by his big recliner. The room was so full of people it was hard to move. He stepped out of the way of the stretcher as the two attending men pushed it out to the waiting ambulance. It was only as Brandt turned around to survey the rest of the room that he saw her.

His mom sat with her knees to her chin, her arms snugged tight around her legs like a young child. She swayed gently on the chair, tears in her eyes.

"Mom?" Brandt approached and sat close beside her. Wrapping one arm around her, he gently rubbed her arms. "Are you okay?"

She nodded. "I will be. Just a little upset."

"Were you with him when he collapsed?" Brandt hugged her gently, concerned at the frailty of this feisty valiant woman. She came across as such a powerhouse, then when knocked off balance, she folded.

Giving her time to collect herself, Brandt stared at the other curiosity seekers. Many had started to wander away in search of something more exciting. Still others were waiting, hoping to hear what Maisy would say. Brandt didn't intend to have anyone overhear them.

"Come on. Let's go to your place." He led her through the thinning crowd to her suite. Once inside, he set her in her favorite chair then closed the door on the concerned well-wishers mingling outside. "She'll be fine folks. She's just a little upset."

Turning back to his mother, he added, "I'll make some tea, and you can tell me all about it."

Without waiting for an answer, Brandt put on the teakettle and returned to her side. "Now I need you to tell me what happened. Why are you so upset?"

She lifted her head to peer at him. Torment and guilt gleamed through.

"Did you have something to do with his collapse?" asked Brandt, confused.

"I don't know." Maisy's eyes welled. "The dogs came today, so everyone was in the meeting rooms enjoying their visit. Everyone talked about everything, but the colonel was center stage because of the ring the police are trying to find and what the colonel was trying to remember."

Maisy chewed her bottom lip and didn't continue.

"Then..." prompted Brandt.

"We walked to his apartment where I left him while I went for lunch. After lunch, I came home to lie down."

She glanced up at her son, her bottom lip starting to curl downward. "When I woke up, I called him, except there was no answer. So, I knocked on his door." She shifted uneasily. "He didn't answer so I used my key and that...that's when I found him."

Brandt raised his brow at the mention of his mother having keys to the colonel's apartment – but that was the least of his worries now. "So you feel guilty for falling asleep and leaving him?" he deduced.

"If I'd stayed with him, he wouldn't have been left to lie there unconscious for so long."

Brandt frowned. "How long is so long?" He'd received the impression that the injury was recent.

"Probably half an hour."

"Half an hour is nothing to feel guilty about." Brandt reached over and brushed his fingers over her cheek. "He probably fell just before you arrived."

Her eyes begged him to be right. She suddenly blurted out, "The thing is, I locked the door when I left, and it wasn't locked when I returned."

Brandt shook his head. "Didn't you say you used your key to get in?"

"Yes I did, only I didn't need to because it wasn't locked."

"So why did you use your key?"

"I took it out, expecting to use it, only I didn't need to," she said, exasperation adding life to her eyes and fire to her voice. "Pay attention, dear."

Right. At least she was returning to normal. Speaking of not normal, he had to call Sam. Surreptitiously, he checked his watch. The call would have to wait.

Ignoring the key for the moment, he asked his mother, "Why are you concerned about whether the door was locked or not?"

"I don't think he fell."

Brandt sat up straighter. "What? What do you think happened?" He studied her face. She didn't appear to be in shock. "You think he was attacked?"

Maisy nodded.

"Why would anyone do that?"

"He said he'd remembered the significance of the ring and wanted to think on it a bit, try to figure the pieces out first. Then I fell asleep and now he's injured."

"Even if he did remember, it's unlikely someone would have attacked him over it."

Maisy leaned toward him. "They would if they were involved."

"True. I doubt anyone here is involved. They aren't strong enough for one thing," he said grinning.

She sniffed, such a haughty sound that Brandt had to laugh.

"Not everyone is ancient you know. We all have families that come to visit, and several members of the staff are certainly young enough to have committed murder."

Brandt had to concede her point. Still...it was unlikely. "But how would anyone know what the Colonel was trying to remember?"

Maisy's cheeks flushed pink then paled to pure white. She didn't say anything. Curious, Brandt pushed. "Mom, how would anyone know?"

She straightened her legs out in front and studied her bright red toenails. "I may have had something to do with that."

Brandt pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and closed his eyes. "You didn't set up a betting pool on it, did you?" He opened one eye to look at her carefully.

She reddened again. Guilt in pink. Damn.

"So in other words, everyone in the building knew and probably a dozen more besides. All because you wouldn't listen to me."

She opened her mouth as if to protest, then slowly closed it again. She nodded, her eyes full of remorse. "I didn't think it would be dangerous." She shrugged her shoulders in a dainty movement. "We just like to have fun here. You know that. So, we were all taking bets as to when the colonel would remember. There were some people who even bet that he'd never remember, given his age and all that." She sniffed in disgust at that suggestion. "He did remember though, and we were all cheering the winner of the pool. Then someone struck him down before he could tell us what he'd remembered. He said he was going to wait until he could talk to you first."

Brandt sat back. It was too stupid not to be true. Now he had to wait until the colonel awoke. Which, given his advanced years, could be the case if he woke up.

"Right." Brandt stood up. "Let's go to the hospital and see how he's doing."

It was a quiet trip with both of them deep in thought. Once there, Maisy insisted on waiting in a chair beside the colonel in the Emergency room. He'd been stabilized, but there was no prognosis yet. Two hours later, there was no change. Still the colonel hadn’t woken.

A tall stooped man in green scrubs approached and offered his hand. "Detective Brandt."

"Hello, Doctor Sebastian. How are you?" Brandt watched the multiple frown lines smooth out into a real smile.

"I'm fine. Are you here officially?"

Brandt nodded toward his mother sitting, head bowed at the colonel's side. "We're here for a friend."

"Colonel Bates?"

"Yes, that's right. How is he?"

The doctor glanced at the apparently sleeping patient. "We're keeping him sedated at this time. He has a skull fracture. We'll keep a close watch on the bleeding and the swelling. If he makes it through the night, he should pull through. Given his age and health, well... It's hard to know how he's going to do. There's very little chance that he'll wake up before morning." The silent 'if at all' was very clear. The doctor nodded at him and left the room.

Brandt glanced over at Maisy who appeared to be lost in her own thoughts. "Did you hear that, Mom?"

She didn't answer.

Brandt walked over to crouch in front of her. "Mom, do you want to stay here for a while?

Maisy lifted her pain-filled gaze to stare directly at him. She couldn't speak.

Brandt's heart ached for her. "I'm sorry, Mom. But he's in good hands here. Why don't I leave you here for a bit and I'll come by in a couple of hours?"

She shifted her head in a miniscule imitation of a nod. "Find out who did this," she said, her voice thin and reedy.

Brandt frowned. She didn't sound very good. "Mom, I'll look into it, but that doesn't mean there is a 'who' to find."

Her gaze turned fierce. "This was no accident. Someone hit this dear old man over the head. Find him," she demanded. Then her shoulders sagged as she stared at her friend. "Find him, Brandt."

Brandt stilled. His thoughts turning to the phone call he'd cut short. Maisy's words a mirror of Sam's.

Maisy walked over to the colonel, taking hold of his hand. "Leave. I'll be fine."

Brandt couldn't help but feel dismissed.

2:15 pm

Sam opened her eyes, surprised to find herself sitting inside her truck, still parked outside the grocery store. Almost an hour had passed. She felt better physically. Mentally, there was a sense of uneasiness that wouldn't listen to reason.

She wanted to be home where she felt safe. She started the truck, remembering that Brandt hadn't called her again. He'd probably been called out on yet another emergency.

Or she'd missed him? There were no messages on her phone. Disappointed, she sat for a few moments to get her bearing. Brandt had somehow taken up residence in her life, in her heart even. She shook her head, surprised as the speed her feelings had developed. Her hormones had gone into overdrive too. From dormant to wanting to jump his bones. She laughed lightly. As if. Just because she might be willing to go a little further didn't mean he was that interested.

She frowned. Odd to think that she could only know someone for such a short time and already be at this point. She didn't do one night stands. So what was different this time?

Trust.

As she mulled it over, she realized she trusted Brandt. Probably for the first time, she could honestly say she trusted a man. Love, now that was a different thing altogether. That she was interested was obvious. That she might go out of her comfort zone and have an affair – was also a possibility. But the permanent ever after thing, she didn't think would ever happen. It would take a very special man to accept her gifts... Then there was the teensy weensy problem of living with them.

Not every man would want to wake up to find her in the middle of a vision.

A family walked beside her in the parking lot, laughing noisily, their laughter shaking her out of her reverie.

Time to go home. Not sure of her reaction time, she drove slowly and carefully down the highway. Her mind twirled around the various tidbits, trying to find a solution. Surely, the killer had better targets than an old man.

The traffic light turned yellow. She slowed before coming to a complete stop at the red light.

A black truck pulled up beside her.

Sam glanced at it, then away, before zipping back again. Her heart jumped. She glanced around at the truck. She couldn't see the driver as the truck was on the left of her and much higher up. Her gut clenched at the sight. It was identical to the truck from a couple of days ago...

The opposite traffic moved sluggishly through the intersection. Sam stole another glance up at the truck. A man stared at her.

"Shit." She glanced away and back again – just to make sure. And swore again. That face! Surely it couldn't be? Was it really him? That one person she'd hoped to never see again.

Her gut clenched. Her fingers flexed on the steering wheel. Trapped in traffic, panic clutched at her insides. Always, she felt so damned trapped. The cars ahead lurched forward. She punched the gas, made a quick right at the corner, whipping into a break in the traffic. She glanced in her rear-view mirror and couldn't see the truck. Oh God. Get a grip, Sam.

She checked to see if she were being followed. Theoretically, he shouldn't have been able to as the car behind her had moved up and taken her spot. Not wanting to take a chance, she turned several more corners and fed into the main road, where she could only hope she was miles behind the truck now.

Prying her right hand off the steering wheel, she wiped it on her jeans.

The trip couldn't end fast enough.

She hit a bad pothole, reminding her to pay attention. Still nervous, Sam found herself searching the surrounding countryside, afraid to find a boogeyman hiding in the trees. She still couldn't determine if it had been him. She'd thought so at the time, but now...?

Brandt hadn't called her back yet. She wanted to call again, yet hated to. He'd bolted so fast out of the house this morning, she wondered if he'd ever come back. It had been a lot for him to deal with last night.

But, she'd love the comfort of hearing his voice right now.

3:45 pm

Dillon straightened his charcoal tie to a perfect line. He liked to stay professional at all times, even mid-afternoon. One never knew when opportunity might knock.

He had plans, and he'd be damned if he'd let anyone get in the way. That included Brandt. Earlier, he'd seen Brandt bolt from the office. Very curious. Dillon wanted badly to know what was up, and whether it involved the little psychic chick.

After lunch, Dillon walked naturally into Brandt's office – Brandt's empty office. He grinned then wiped off the smile just in case anyone saw him and wondered. Better not to stir suspicions. Not that anyone would see him. Brandt's office was at the end of a long line of offices. Besides, the station was dead. Only a couple guys manned the phones and there would be the standard group hanging around the coffee machine, only Dillon wasn't planning on talking to them yet.

Even if someone saw him, he had a good excuse. He was looking for a specific file. It should be in Brandt's office. If he happened to find something at the same time, something that furthered Dillon's own career that would be good. If it helped him to put a finger on what made Brandt tick – even better. He didn't know if Brandt was going to be a problem or not, and he'd much rather be prepared just in case.

Quickly, he rounded the desk. The computer was still on. Perfect. He smirked and rubbed his hands in anticipation. Then he got to work.

4:15 pm

Brandt left Maisy visiting with the colonel. He quickly punched in Sam's number on his cell phone.

"Sam, let's go over that vision again."

It only took a couple of minutes, just enough for him to clear his head, connect the dots between the colonel's attack and Sam's vision. If he trusted Sam's abilities, then it followed that the colonel had been the old man she saw attacked. The only reasonable explanation for such an attack was if someone needed to silence the colonel – particularly when the attack was undertaken in complete daylight in a home full of people.

"Brandt?"

"Sorry honey, I'm here." Shaking his head, Brandt returned to the conversation and filled Sam in on why the room felt familiar. After giving her an update on the colonel's condition, Brandt headed to the station. Unfortunately, the incident was likely to be classed as an unfortunate accident until the colonel woke up. Without more information, Brandt had no reason to ask Kevin to open an investigation. A list of who had been at the center during that period was mandatory. Maisy was compiling hers and Nancy should have a partial list of visitors, repairmen, and staff.

Once back at the station, Brandt grabbed a mug, poured coffee and headed to the privacy of his office.

"Hey Brandt. Did you ever find out who gave that information to the station?" Adam called out from the common room.

Brandt didn't even turn around. "No, not yet."

He had one hand on his office doorknob before realizing it was already open. Frowning, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room looked the same. Brandt hated the suspicion coursing through him. He spun around to his desk. Where was his file on Samantha? It wasn't there. Right, he'd started locking it up in his desk. Pulling out his key ring, Brandt unlocked the drawer on the left.

There was the file as he'd left it. Opening it, he found the information on Sam lying on the top page and frowned. Had he left it there? Normally, he had those papers buried in the middle of the file. Uneasily, he replaced the material, taking care as to how he sequenced the information in the file.

Relocking the drawer, he searched around the office for anything out of place. It appeared to be the same. It didn't feel that way. His chair. He frowned. He'd rushed out of the office and couldn't remember how he'd left it. He didn't think he'd have pushed it in that far.

His monitor flashed for his login information. Brandt hesitated. His keyboard sat off center and further to the front than he normally had it. His hands didn't automatically rest on the keys properly.

Suspicion nudged the back of his mind. He had no way to know if someone had snooped through his office. His work wasn't exactly a secret. Logging on to his computer, Brandt quickly checked his files. Everything seemed normal. The knots in his spine eased, he rolled his shoulders, pushed his sleeves up, and started in on his emails. Communication was the mainstay of his network these days. However, he didn't share everything and made good use of security passwords to keep some information private.

He'd planned on putting in a couple of hours then heading to the hospital to pick up his mom. He opened a file where he typed in his notes from Samantha's call and the colonel incident. He saved the material with a different code. He admitted to a heightened sense of paranoia, but still...

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

8:20 am, June 21st

"Hey Brandt, there's someone here to see you." Adam stood at the open door of his office the next day.

Brandt raised one eyebrow. He wasn't expecting anyone. "Who is it?"

Adam shrugged. "Deputy Brooker for Nikola County."

"What the hell?" Brandt's stomach twisted. He lurched partway out of his chair

Adam grinned. "You don't look so happy."

"Very odd," he murmured to himself. "No, I'm happy," he corrected Adam. "I'd like to talk with the little piss ass."

"Oh, there's nothing little about this guy."

Brandt, in the process of clearing off the top of his desk and locking up sensitive files, scowled. "Big? How big?"

Adam snorted. "This guy makes me look like an infant."

"Scary."

Adam nodded. "If I had to describe him, I'd say he was one hell of an arrogant SOB, far too used to getting his own way."

Shit. So, Sam was probably right about him. Well then, time to go see why he'd come and what he knew about Sam.

"Thanks, Adam. Anyone in the conference room?"

"I don't think so. Is that where you want to talk to him?"

"Yeah. I'm not sure yet, but this guy quite possibly needs to be behind bars himself. Don't want to extend too much courtesy, just in case."

"Sounds good. I'm heading down there now. Why don't I deliver him to conference room one for you?"

"Good. That saves me a trip and gives me a little more distinction. I could use that in this case."

"What kind of trouble is he?" Adam walked out of the office with Brandt.

"I think he's been a lot of trouble for a young girl."

"Then no special treatment for him. We don't need more of his kind."

"According to my information, he's also into corrupting law enforcement and running drugs."

He shared a look with Adam. They both knew other assholes just like this one.

"I need to make a quick call, then I'll be down."

Adam left and Brandt called his mom.

His call went to voicemail. Last night, Maisy had convinced the hospital staff to bring a cot into the colonel's room so she could stay with him. Brandt's protests had been shot down immediately. Chances were she was still there, but he'd feel better if he'd reached her. A second call to the hospital confirmed that his mom had spent the night and that the colonel hadn't woken up. As luck would have it, his mom was at the desk speaking with the nurse too. He spoke with her briefly, confirming that she'd gotten some sleep. She sounded more chipper this morning.

Brandt then headed to the conference room, quickly scratching down a few notes and questions he wanted to ask as he walked. Entering the room, he found a huge man with beefy shoulders – not a beer belly, rather a beer barrel that completely covered the belt holding up his pants. Dressed in uniform, the deputy's beady eyes held a voracious gleam that belied the smile on his face.

"Detective Sutherland?" At Brandt's nod, the older man stepped forward, his hand outstretched. "Thank you for taking the time to see me. I appreciate it."

Brandt shook the man's hand. Then motioned to a seat opposite his. He sat down, sliding his hand along his pants to wipe it clean before opening the conversation. "I'm surprised. Did you just happen to be in this region?"

"Nope. I came specific. This case, Samantha Blair, is way too important to leave to chance."

"Oh, you didn't mention that there was a case when we talked on the phone?"

Deputy Brooker shifted his bulk into the big boardroom chair. "I thought long and hard about it. But decided I needed to come and check this out. I'd just about given up finding her when I got your phone call."

"What do you want with her?"

"She caused me a bunch of trouble a few years ago. I believe she stole something from my family that I would really like returned."

Brandt frowned. Sam hadn't mentioned anything about that. "Stole something? Like what?"

"Files and folders. Our family history. We went to a spell of trouble to collect this material and we'd surely like it back."

The man was full of shit. Still, he was here. Therefore, whatever he wanted was important. Brandt didn't think any of it would be good for Sam.

"What was she like the last time you saw her?"

The beefy man hitched the front of his pants up over the lower portion of his belly. He shifted his weight; the chair creaked in protest. "She was a mouthy know-it-all. Just like she'd been every other time I'd seen her. The things that come out of that girl's mouth were something else. She's surely a liar, she is."

"A liar." Brandt barely restrained the desire to jump across the table and strangle the bloody fool. "A liar but not a fraud?"

"Nope, usually her visions were spot on. But that girl's a social misfit. She's not the same as you and me. She needed a keeper then and I'm sure things haven't changed."

"What is your intention when you meet her?"

"Just talk to her. See if she's had a change of heart in the meantime. Maybe she's ready to give the material back now. Or has she ditched it somewhere along the last few years?"

Brandt took a few notes, more to calm the fury inside than for later information. There was no way this asshole was getting close to Sam

"She had a bad car accident after she was in your neck of the woods. Did you know that?"

"I'd heard. And in truth, I thought maybe she hadn't survived. I'd called the hospital a time or two, but word was she was in bad shape and not expected to live. That's when I put it all away in my head. Until your phone call, then I hopped into my truck and came here."

Shit. Brandt was responsible for this mess. Truck? As in black truck? "Long trip. When did you pull into town?"

"Oh, I arrived a couple of days ago. Didn't want to come knocking right away. Figured you'd be mighty busy."

Brandt sighed, keeping his head down. The asshole was lying through his teeth. So he had been around when Sam called him screaming on her phone about some guy trying to run her off the road. Through the DMV, he could find out what this guy drove – putting him on the highway at the same time as Sam was a different story. How to prove that? "Yes, we're swamped. Portland is a big city and it's not like there's ever a down season."

The deputy laughed. "Crime never takes a holiday."

"Isn't that the truth?"

As much as Brandt would like to cuff this guy with the information he had from Sam, he knew in good conscience that he'd need to hear what Sam had to say about the deputy's truths.

Then he'd have another talk with the deputy...on his terms.

10:48 am

It had not been a good day. As a matter of fact, as days went, this one sucked. Bill had finally located the right hospital only to find out his drugged victim was still alive and in a coma. What the hell? If she died – great. If she stayed in a coma for the rest of her life – even better. He kind of liked that concept. But if she awoke, that was bad news. It couldn't be allowed to happen. He'd have to think this one over while monitoring the situation.

Then he'd gone on to the care center with his dogs. The dogs had been great, the staff had been great – the people however... What was with those old people? They all had a gambling problem for one thing. And for another, they were a bunch of busybodies. Like that one old geezer. Apparently, he knew something about the ring the media had flashed on the television. Those damn old folks were betting on when he was going to remember just what it was. Who could have predicted such a problem? Well, he'd had no choice, had he? The guy couldn't be allowed to remember anything about him – ever.

That little bit of violence had been just enough to whet his appetite, to rouse the beast inside, yet not enough to sate either. It had been too fast, not well planned…and that bothered him a bit. Yet, he'd had few options. Prudence said he should be home and out of sight right now. He'd actually been driving in that direction when he'd seen her.

She was perfect.

He pulled off the road to a small parking lot so he could watch her sashaying down the sidewalk.

The glare shining through the windshield irritated him. It limited his view. Rummaging in the glove box, he finally came up with a scratched pair of sunglasses. Better than nothing. Putting them on, he quickly searched the area in front of the drugstore that she'd walked into a few minutes earlier.

There. She was laughing at something someone had said, her head turned as she walked out the door. She strode with confidence in the sunshine. God, he loved that. Loved to see a woman sure of her sexuality, sure of who she was.

And she was so wrong.

That was the best part. Stripping away their innocence and teaching them about the real monsters of the world.

He leaned forward for a better view. She turned left and moved smoothly down the sidewalk. Look at her walk – liquid honey. He grinned.

Perfect.

He hopped out of the truck and followed behind at a steady pace. When she entered a small clothing boutique, he found a bench on the sidewalk and sat to enjoy the sunshine. He had nothing better to do, except follow her around. She loved her little boutiques and before the month was out, he'd know every one of them.

2:20 pm

The afternoon was gorgeous. Sam felt like shit.

Leaning against the front doorframe of her cabin, looking out to the rest of the world, Sam mentally ran through the various options. She still had a couple days before she started working with Stefan. In the meantime, she had some homework to do. If these visions would stop, she might actually have the energy to work on them.

Her phone rang. Butterflies took flight in delight at the number on her phone display. He'd slid into her consciousness like he'd always belonged there. When had he gone from a cop to a friend, and now to mean something so much more? "Hi Brandt. What's up?"

"I need to see you today. There's something I need to go over with you and it's better to do this in person. Are you going to be home this afternoon or evening?"

Sam's stomach dropped. In person would be great, except nothing about this sounded good. Now what? "I'm here all day and night. I'm going to work on Stefan's exercises this afternoon, then head to the lake for a swim." She hesitated for a moment. "What's this about?"

"Deputy Brooker came into the office today. His story is a little different than yours."

She snorted. "What? He's in town?" Sam gripped the cell phone in her hand, her knuckles turning white. "When did he get here and what is he driving? I think I saw that same black truck yesterday."

"What? Why didn't you say something?"

"I didn't know if it was the same vehicle or not. I was still in town, so took off around the corner. I never saw him again."

"He is driving a black Dodge truck, but that doesn't mean it was him. We're running a check on him now. You stay there and just be careful. If anyone shows up, but me, hide unless you know them. I'll get there in a couple of hours – earlier if I can."

She shook her head. Not good enough. Not even close, only what were her options at this point? None. "Then you damn well better show up soon, or I'll be coming in after you."

The phone closed with a snap. Sam let out a shaky breath. Okay. Another problem. She was good at those. She snorted. Like hell. In the past, she'd run. So what did she do now?

Stick around and fight.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

5:45 pm

The late afternoon sun danced on top of the glassy lake. Sam studied the inviting landscape. Yeah. That's exactly what she needed.

"Hello, Soldier." She smiled at the dog lying so peacefully in the sun. Healthier now, his coat was thick and although still grimy, it was no longer covered in blood. Most of it had dried and fallen off. She'd love to get him into the lake, except he still had stitches. The last thing she wanted was to have to manhandle the dog into the truck and back to the vet's office. Soldier accepted her presence as a necessity, but only as long as his independence and freedom never came into question.

Soldier surged to his feet and started growling.

Sam frowned. "Soldier?"

The dog turned to face the wooded area behind the house and growled again.

Sam peered into the trees, but couldn't see what bothered the dog. He growled again at the bushes behind her. The woods appeared calm, and should have been teeming with life. None of it showed.

The energy had a peacefulness to it. Then maybe it was the energy she was projecting. Stefan's exercises had a phenomenal effect. It was what she was imagined meditation could do for a person. A sense of ease, comfort, had slipped under her guard. It's not that she felt she could do anything, because she knew she couldn't, however she did have a better understanding of just what she was capable of doing. The exercises were basic. She had to start at the beginning, according to Stefan. Working on seeing energy, understanding the colors around people, animals, even plants. Then to understand what the markings and colors meant.

Sure she was tired, but a good tired. Her energy muscles, something she never knew existed, had been well and truly flexed.

It felt great.

So many things in her life felt great – especially Brandt. She had no idea where the relationship was going, or when. All she could think about was where it would end up – in bed. At least she hoped she was reading the signals right.

Delight wiggled in her belly. She hoped he felt the same way.

With Soldier on guard in the late afternoon sun, Sam headed for a swim. It was the perfect temperature for a cool, relaxing dip. Feeling physically stronger than she had in years, Sam stretched her abilities to the limit, swimming strong for thirty minutes before rolling over onto her back and floating. Calm and filled with peace, she waited for her breathing to return to a calm gentle rhythm. It took longer than she expected.

With a groan, she realized she may have overdone it.

In the aftermath of exertion, her body chilled quickly. Turning over, she fluttered her hands enough to propel herself gently in the right direction.

The silkiness of the water slipped over her skin, making her sensitized skin come alive. The chill quickly morphed into heat as she moved through the water under the setting sun. Now, if only Brandt were here with her. His hands sliding across her skin instead of the gentle waves. She stretched, reveling in the freedom of the night.

"Sam. Goddamn it, what the hell are you doing?" The yell stormed across the water.

What was that? She raised her head.

"Get over here."

Well, that was hard to miss. She rolled over in the water and searched around the house and the dock. Brandt strode toward the water. Even from that distance, she could see his grim face. Her pulse sped up at the sight of him. Even if he was mad at her.

"Sam, you're too far out."

Too far. Sam twisted around her and realized she'd unintentionally floated out even further. Still, she wasn't in trouble. At least, not yet.

Striking out strong, Sam headed in. Her energy petered out before she managed a dozen strokes. She shifted to breaststroke and continued shoreward. When she made it to roughly fifteen feet from the dock, Sam slowed and treaded water.

She watched Brandt's loose-limbed stride carry him to the end of the dock, heard him yell, "God damn it, woman. Get your sorry ass in here."

Tall and lean, he looked incredibly good with a gentle wind ruffling his hair. Moses whined beside him. Now, if only she hadn't spent the last hour imagining him in the water with her.

"Sorry buddy. It's not you I'm mad at – it's her."

Moses sat down.

Sourly, Sam watched their interplay. Moses may not have anything to worry about. Obviously Sam couldn't say the same thing. She felt like hissing. Damn it. She was swimming in the nude.

6:55 pm

Brandt couldn't believe it. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been caught in a heavy vision and experiencing huge blood loss. Now she was out there swimming in the middle of the damn lake. She'd have been better off relaxing and regaining her strength. He watched as she struggled the last few yards. She was worn out, but if he jumped in to help her, she'd be royally pissed. Go figure.

He scowled at the dog at his feet. Even Moses knew better than to swim right now.

Jesus. She needed a babysitter. She was as bad as his mother.

Watching Sam swim closer, he realized he'd probably overreacted here. Swimming would help rebuild Sam's strength and endurance. Exercise had many benefits and as long as she didn't overdo it, then swimming was a good way to go.

Somehow, that logic didn't matter because he was still pissed. Scary. He stopped suddenly, hands fisted on his hips. And all because he was worried – about her. He blew his breath out in a gust. Oh, God, this was getting bad.

The balmy evening breeze wrinkled the water before smoothing it flat again.

He frowned. The cabin was a long way from everything. Not only that, if she were to run into trouble, no one would know for days. Not until she didn't show at work. Damn it. His frown deepened.

The bushes rustled behind him. Instinctively, he dropped and spun around.

Deep yellow eyes glowed in the darkness.

That damn watchdog.

"Hello there, Soldier. How are you feeling? I see you're moving better." Keeping his voice even and calm, he kept a wary eye on the dog's reactions. He wasn't exactly growling. On the other hand, neither was he wagging his tail with joy.

The two males glowered at each other. Both silent and watchful. Both waiting for the other to move. Brandt knew better than to break his gaze first. The alpha male was the one who held the gaze the longest. If he were ever going to get close to Sam, then the watchdog had to accept his presence.

Splashes alerted him to Sam's approach. Keeping his eyes trained on the dog, he called out, "Are you okay, Sam?

She coughed gently, then again a bit stronger. "I'm fine." Her voice was reedy and thin. "I'm just getting out now."

Brandt stared at the dog, relieved. "You sound exhausted. You should never have gone for a swim. Or at least not for so long," he admonished.

"Like I'm going to listen to you," she scoffed. "You're arguing with a dog."

Brandt started. Indignantly, he said, "I am not."

Sam brushed past him, a towel wrapped around her body, droplets of water flying off with every step. She deliberately walked between the two males. Both sets of eyes immediately switched to the distraction.

Brandt swallowed. Her towel snuggled around her curves, shifting to accommodate the gentle movements as she walked. Water had soaked into the thin material, making it almost transparent. Brandt's imagination fired up. The towel hung loosely down the center of her spine. There were no straps on her shoulders.

He swallowed.

The towel cuddled her bottom, just barely covering the gentle curves. He couldn't see any sign of a bathing suit. The tantalizing thought both enraged and delighted him. Didn't she realize that anyone could have come down here?

This lady was just asking for trouble.

Yet, the thought of all that female flesh floating sensuously free in the cool water was a huge turn on. And gave him an intimate insight into her true character. Watching her walk ahead of him and not knowing whether or not she was nude, was an even bigger aphrodisiac.

The bushes rattled again. Soldier, now in front of Sam, turned. His lip curled, his spine humped up and the hair on the back of his neck stood straight up.

Samantha stopped.

Brandt instinctively freed his gun, staying close to her as he peered into the woods. "What is it?" he whispered.

Sam shrugged, her eyes searching the woods. "I can't tell." Her voice was low, balanced. "Soldier doesn't like it …and neither do I. Something doesn't feel...right."

Brandt scanned the area for anything abnormal. He didn't know what she meant, but he couldn't help agreeing that all wasn't as it should be.

Sam hurried to the cabin, running up the porch steps. Brandt followed at a slower pace, a wary eye searching around him. Soldier growled and lunged into the woods.

"Soldier, no!" Sam watched and listened as the noises trailed off to the left. She turned to Brandt. "I'm going to get dressed then go after him."

Brandt couldn't stop his eyes from following that perfectly formed backside, highlighted by damp circles in the towel as she climbed the stairs.

With a shaky breath, he turned to search the twilight. The evening sun was setting, throwing long shadows across the yard. There was no sign of Soldier. Moses sat on the top stair staring off in the same direction. He wasn't growling, but his tail wasn't wagging either.

Sam came running down the stairs still tucking her shirt inside the waistband of her old blue jeans. Over her arm was the inevitable oversized sweater. Her skin sported a blue tinge. She held a leash in her hand.

"Damn it, you're cold. Stay inside and get warm. I'll go after him."

Sam shook her head. "I'm going. He doesn't know you, and he won't come if you call." Turning around, she spied Moses at the edge of the bushes. "Moses, come here." Moses trotted forward obediently. Sam snapped the lead on. "Only one dog missing at a time, please. Let's go find Soldier."

Brandt scoffed. "Moses won't find him, and Soldier won't come if you call either."

She shot him a dirty look before walking past him into early the night.

"Soldier," Sam called from the doorway, looking around. But the wooded darkness had swallowed him completely. They left the porch and headed across the lawn.

Howls and screams split the air, followed by a couple of quiet spits. Sam ran forward and stopped. A heavy crashing through the woods could be heard for a moment before dying off in the distance.

"Jesus," she whispered, her hand at her throat. Her heart smashed in her chest. "Brandt, were those human screams and gunshots?"

"Maybe. You stay here with Moses. I'm going to check it out." Brandt pulled out his gun and raced into the woods. The trees stood thick together. He headed in the direction of the shots. The silence blanketed everything, except his own passage. Leaves and twigs crushed beneath his feet. The wind started. Branches swished sending whispers through the night. Brandt moved quickly through the area. Nothing. He circled around to Sam.

"Any sign?" she called out to him.

"No. Whoever or whatever it was is gone." A few feet from the porch stairs, Brandt stopped and looked around again.

Ignoring Brandt's protests, Sam took a couple of steps into the darkness. "Soldier?"

Brandt came to stand beside her. "Can you see him?"

"No, but he has to be here?" She spun to the left. "Wait, what was that?"

A small whine sounded several hundred feet away.

"Soldier? Soldier! Come here, boy."

Twigs broke and the brush rustled with movement. Darkness had descended quickly. Sam backed up a couple of steps. "Soldier, come here, boy."

Peering through the darkness, she thought she saw something move. "Soldier," she whispered, "Is that you."

Soldier limped toward her.

Sam ran and put her arms around him in a quick hug. She coaxed him forward. "Come on boy. Time to go home."

"Is he hurt?" Brandt surveyed the large animal. The damn thing had to weigh at least a-hundred-twenty pounds. Uninjured and cooperative, he might be able to move him…injured and cranky – no way.

"I don't know." Sam gently ran her hands over the dog's limbs, ignoring the warning growls. "Come on Soldier, let's get you inside."

Once on the porch, they could see fresh blood on his side.

"Damn it, Soldier." Sam checked his wound, accidentally touching a sore spot. Soldier spun around, his lip curled, an ungodly howl erupting from his throat.

Brandt trained his gun on the injured animal. "Sam, get back." The evening stilled. "Don't touch him. He's dangerous like this."

Soldier turned slowly toward Brandt, then his spine arched, and the howl turned menacing.

Sam shuffled behind Brandt. Soldier had eyes only for Brandt.

She said in a quiet calm voice, "Brandt, I think it's the gun – put it away."

"Are you nuts? He could attack."

"It's the gun that's upsetting him. It's easy to check my theory. Just put the gun away."

Brandt snorted. "I've seen too many aggressive animals to do that." He kept his eyes on the dog, sparing a quick glance at Sam.

"Let's just try it – please."

He stared at the dog for a long moment, then slowly lowered the firearm and slipped it behind. Out of sight but not away.

The dog watched every movement. The growling lessened ever so slightly.

"I wonder." A sudden impulse rolled around inside. Using hand signals, he ordered the dog to sit. Soldier howled.

Brandt repeated the command.

Soldier howled louder.

Brandt made the command sharper, harder.

Silence.

Then in a shuffling movement, Soldier slowly lowered his haunches.

Brandt shook his head then gave the command to heel. Wanting the dog to walk at his side was safer than having Sam try to coax him up to the house.

This time, Soldier obeyed on the first go around, the movement slow and awkward, but he did it.

"Brandt?"

"He's been well-trained. I don't know to what extent though. There are some commands I can try. From the look of him, I'm almost ready to suggest he's been a police dog in his past."

"Really?" Sam stared from one to the other. "Do you really think so?"

"I think he's a trained guard dog and chances are good his training was more formal. It's possible he didn't work out and never finished the training."

Once at the cabin, the slow moving party made it inside. Brandt ordered the dog to lie down. Soldier, small growls from deep in his throat, grudgingly obeyed.

Sam quickly checked out Soldier's wounds again. Brandt and Soldier glared at each other.

"It's not too bad. Looks like he ripped a stitch or two and he's limping. That could just be his old injuries with the unexpected chase in the woods." Sam gave the dog a quick hug. "Poor boy."

Brandt snorted. "Why's that?"

"The vet thought he'd been abused. As far as Soldier's concerned, it's people who aren't to be trusted." Sam paused for a moment, sniffed the air, bent closer to Soldier's back then raised her head. "Did someone just shoot my dog?"

7:18 pm

Brandt sat on the porch steps, speaking with his mother.

Sam studied him for a long moment, waiting for his call to end, before walking out to join him. "I just poured you a cup of tea." Sam handed the cup to Brandt. "How are the colonel and your mother?"

He glanced at her in surprise. "No change."

"So can we talk then?" At his confused look, she added, "Deputy Brooker. Remember?"

"What? Oh, right. He's here. As I told you earlier, your Deputy Brooker came to see me today."

"Oh, God." Sam sat down – hard. She didn't need to look in a mirror to know that all the color had leached from her face.

"He's been in town for a couple of days already." Brandt sat opposite her. "I know it's easy to jump to conclusions, but we don't know any more than that yet."

It was too much. Sam had hoped to hide her history, hoped that past events wouldn't have to be dragged into her future. "Damn it."

"Keep in mind, he doesn't know where you live."

Hope unfurled deep inside then she remembered what had just happened. She searched his face. "You're dreaming," she scoffed. "He was probably the one doing the shooting out there tonight." She added, "I have no illusions. He'd kill me any time he had a chance."

Brandt studied her face.

She stared calmly back. If there was one thing he needed to believe, it was that Brooker was slime, dangerous slime.

"Alright, I can see you believe that. He said you stole something from his family. Information of some kind? Any idea what that's all about?" Brandt's supportive gaze gave her strength.

She laughed, a broken sound that made him wince. "I didn't steal anything. Don't you see? The information he thinks I have is what I picked up from him. My psychic abilities told me a lot. That's what he's afraid of. That I know too much." Pain knotted at the base of her spine, shooting up through her temple. She shivered. "And he's right. I do."

Brandt mulled this over.

She stared blindly out the dark window. "Remember my car accident?"

"The one where you were injured or the one where you saw Louise Enderby die?"

"No, the first one – where I almost died. That was him. He caused my accident – he tried to kill me."

CHAPTER TWENTY

8 pm

Sam bent her head.

Brandt stared at the delicate tendrils of hair curled around her neck. The rest hung in long locks down to her waist. Really? He mentally drew up the deputy's countenance and conceded that, yeah, just maybe it was possible. That guy had an agenda. One that had nothing to do with his supposed visit to Brandt's station.

Staring at her bent head, he needed to ask, at least once. "Are you sure?"

Lifting her head, Sam stared straight at him. Her eyes shone with tears. "I don't have any proof if that's what you mean. But I saw him."

"You saw him?" Brandt leaned forward, to search her face. "Are you sure?"

Sam got up and walked to where she could stare out the window, her hair dangling down her back. "After the crash, I couldn't move. The flames had just started to reach the windshield. The seatbelt buckle had locked, my leg was broken, and my collarbone had been dislocated."

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the cool glass. Tremors started at the base of her spine and moved up. "He walked up while I was wrestling with the straps." She paused, her breath coming out in shaky gusts. "I pounded on the window and screamed for help. He laughed at me." Sam swallowed. "There I was in total panic, thinking that help had arrived and he..." she turned to face Brandt, "And he pulled out his gun and pointed it at me through the window.

Brandt swore. Then swore again. "Bastard."

"That he is." She stared at him, a tiny smile on her face. "Thanks for believing me. That helps a lot."

He snorted. "So what happened? Did he actually shoot you?"

Sam shook her head. "No, or I wouldn't be here. He just walked away. As he drove off, another man – a retired firefighter – arrived. He shattered the glass on the driver's door, unlocked it, cut my seatbelt strap, and dragged me free." She walked over to Brandt and sat down again. "So yeah, to answer your question – I am sure."

He watched her shorts ride higher on her thighs, wishing she'd sit closer. His senses were awash in 'what ifs.' With a shudder, he stared off in the distance. Clearing his throat, he asked, "Did you tell anyone?"

"No." She snorted. "Who would I tell? He was the police."

Right. Brandt groaned and leaned back. "God. What a mess." He ran his fingers through his hair. "The bottom line is that this asshole is here now, and he's searching for you."

"Right. Hence my question – did bullets score Soldier's shoulder?"

"Christ." He stared at her, seeing past the old fears and tough memories. She was a fighter, but against a stacked deck, she'd run – until now. There'd be no running now. She wasn't alone any more.

"Let me make some phone calls, see if we've got anything on him yet. One of my team is running his background."

Sam frowned.

"That means we can track him down and have another talk with him. Adam did confirm that Brooker drives a 2004 Dodge truck – a black one."

She shuddered. "So it could have been him on the highway." After a moment of contemplation, she shrugged. "Not that it matters, he's not going to admit to anything. Why would he? You'd need proof, like bullets or casing from tonight to match to his gun."

"True, but if you recognized his black truck..." he said, waiting and watching for her comprehension to kick in. Her eyes opened wide as understanding filtered in.

She frowned. "Yes, only how would he know what vehicle I'm driving?"

"The same way we can find out about his truck, run your name through DMV to find out what vehicle is registered under your name." He glanced at her truck outside the window. That thing should have been deep-sixed a long time ago. Surely, it wouldn't pass a safety inspection?

"But he couldn't have known that it was me on the road until he came right up to me."

Brandt considered that. "It's not out of the realm of possibility, that's exactly what did happen. And then he took advantage of an unexpected opportunity."

Sam wrinkled her face. "That's horrible." She grimaced. "At least, he doesn't know where I live." She chewed on her lower lip, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest. "Then again, it wouldn't be that hard with his connections, would it?"

Brandt tried not to watch as her breast plumped out against her skin. "As much as I hate to even suggest it, it's possible that he could have followed you, or even me."

Sam's eyes opened wide. "That's a horrible thought." She tilted her head, carefully considering him. "He couldn't have followed me, I haven't been anywhere today."

"No. Are you sure you lost the black truck yesterday?"

Her eyes widened in horror. "Oh, God."

He leaned forward gently patting her on the knee. "Don't panic. We're working on it. As soon as we have more information, I'll bring him in for a second and more informative talk." Excusing himself, Brandt headed outside to make the phone calls that would put things in motion. This needed to be dealt with now. As did something else. Just as he was about to walk out onto the porch, he called out, "Oh, yeah. I'll also be sleeping here tonight."

8:22 pm

"You want what?" God, the last thing Sam wanted to remember were other victims. She shook her head, hair flying widely about. No. No way.

"Please. It might help."

She stared at him. He didn't know what he asked. He couldn't. He'd gone outside to make his phone calls after dropping his first bomb. Then he'd come inside and had dropped a second one. The last remnants of her control fractured, splintering apart. He'd asked for details on other visions. She shook her head. This isn't how she'd imagined the evening.

"I suppose this could be difficult for you."

She half laughed, half cried. "You think?" she said, her voice rising. "You have no idea!" She spun away from him, her whole body shaking.

Brandt winced. "I'm sorry. If it's that hard then we won't discuss this. I didn't mean to upset you." He walked over, one arm outstretched to touch her gently, hesitantly before dropping it down to his side. "I thought it might help to give the victims a voice." This time, he placed an arm around her shoulders.

She stiffened, but didn't move away. In truth, she wanted to snuggle in deeper, only couldn't trust her emotions. "All victims or just those from this same killer?" She reached up gently to massage the nape of her neck. She hated her immediate defensiveness. There was no reason not to. After all, she'd wanted to be able to make a difference. Although, it might be a lot easier if she had a chance to talk to Stefan first. Maybe he knew how to help her through the process without the damage she knew would happen. She needed to ask him at the first opportunity.

Surprise lit up his voice. "I didn't know you could choose." He mulled over the concept. "If given a choice, and if there is the possibility of this killer having other victims, then that's where I'd like to start." He paused for a moment. "Although, if you have information on other cases, that would be a help too. We have an incredible load of unsolved cases."

"I don't know. I suppose I can try," she said. Her voice so soft and so sad, he thought his heart would break. "It might be easier on me if we do this after I work with Stefan a few times. Maybe he'll have a few techniques so I can protect myself." Sam watched the puzzlement wash over his face.

"Protect yourself? I don't understand."

He wasn't going to like her answer. "During recall, a lot of the same energy returns. I tend to slip between the visions and this reality."

"Whoa! Come again?"

A wry smile played around her lips. "Sometimes, the same method the person died from will manifest again – although to a much lesser degree," She rushed to add this last bit because she saw the horror starting to overtake his face.

"So you're liable to start bleeding again?" He shook his head. "Uh, uh. No way are we going there."

Sam couldn't help it. She laughed aloud. "The bleeding can be the easy symptoms."

He glanced at her in disbelief.

"Don't forget, one woman burned alive in a car accident."

"But we don't know that it wasn't an accident."

"No, you don't know. I do. Not only that, I know it was the same killer. I don't understand how or why, just that there was some connection."

Brandt shook his head as he pulled a small notebook out. "You're certain that these are all victims of the same killer?"

"Sure enough that you should do a search and link everyone they knew and every activity they participated in. The killer is there somewhere in the mess. Personally, I'd add Louise Enderby in there. She's the exception that could show you the rule."

Sam wondered as Brandt spent the next five minutes writing down something in a notebook. Then she realized she had something that might help, while not hurting her. "I'll be right back." She strode into her bedroom. They were here somewhere in one of the boxes. She rummaged through the first, and then the second stacked box before finding what she was searching for at the bottom. Sorting the books out, she grabbed up the one she wanted.

Brandt was on his cell phone when she returned. Not wanting to bother him, she refilled their cups with hot tea then sat down to wait.

"Right. Graph it out. I know it's far-fetched, but we haven't got anything else to go on so let's give this a try." He glanced over at her and smiled. "Let's pull all the data and cross reference with these other cases. If the information isn't there then let's get it." Brandt jotted down several notes in his notepad. "No. I'll come in early tomorrow. We can map out what we have then."

The conversation carried on a little longer and Sam blanked out. She flicked through the book in her hand, wincing at the notes. Very graphic and way too painful to read again, she wondered at her compulsion to write all this in the first place.

"What have you got there?"

Surprised, Sam looked up. "What?"

He folded and put away the phone. "So what's that you've got?"

"Here." She took a deep breath. Then as if making a decision, she handed the cheap, worn book over to him.

Brandt accepted it, glancing from her to the book and back again. "What is it?"

"My journal. It will have some dates and some details."

Brandt flicked through the lined pages, daunted by the sheer outpouring of her soul. "Is this about your visions?" He stopped, read a note, then turned the page. "How far back does this go?"

"It's close to being the first half of this year."

"This year?" Shock threaded through his voice.

"I have one I'm currently working on." She shrugged, unable to stop the self-conscious feeling. "I feel compelled to write down every detail I can remember after a vision. It's my way of letting the victims speak." She crossed her arms across her chest. "The thing is, I've never told anyone about these journals."

"Ever?

"No."

He bent forward, placing one hand on her knee. "Thank you."

A shaky sigh escaped. She nodded, a tiny smile on her lips. "You're welcome."

Brandt squeezed her knee gently, then sat up again. "So this is everything written here?" He slapped the book on this thigh, studying her face.

Soberly, Sam nodded. "Of those visions. I have more upstairs – at least twenty more."

9:05 pm

Brandt could feel the blood leach from his face. One of them? She had twenty more journals? Holy Shit. What kind of life had she had?

"A terrible one."

Brandt's head shot up in shock. His mind spun out of control. Did she just do that? Please, no.

"No I can't read minds. Your face on the other hand..." She grinned at his sour grimace.

He stared at the gold mine in his hand. He couldn't figure out what to focus on. She'd just handed him an incredible gift. Sure, he'd have to find proof, depending on her information, but she could give him a direction to start digging. Some of these cases might not even be in the files. Some could have been ruled accidental. Some could have been solved by now. Some killers could literally have gotten away with murder.

Sam's hesitant voice broke through his heavy thoughts. "I might be able to help in other ways."

He glanced at her in surprise. "You already have," he said lifting up the journal. "Can I take this?"

She cringed. "I don't really want the information shared with the rest of your team. Maybe read it over and see if there is anything useful. Take notes or photocopy the pages. I would like the original back."

"Absolutely. Photocopying is a good idea. And don't worry, I won't let Kevin or anyone else get their hands on this." Brandt knew the value of what he held. He wasn't planning on letting anyone else in on it until he could find the proof to match with the information. He flicked through the journal, stopping to read a page, wincing at the pain and the horror that dripped from the pages. Sam had come up behind to read over his shoulder, her long blond hair falling over his shoulder.

His nostrils flared as her fresh womanly scent sank in. He glanced up, still caught by her feelings so transparent, her torment so real, before just focusing on her now. How quickly she'd slipped under his guard. This gentle woman had experienced so much pain already. He wanted to make her feel better, to make the pain go away. Setting the book aside, he stood up and stepped up next to her.

She stilled, her eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

Brandt grinned and dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. Sliding his arms around her, Brandt tugged her into a gentle hug. When she relaxed against him, he rested his cheek on the top of her head and smiled.

He hesitated. Should he even broach the subject? Still, if this wasn't a good time, when would there ever be a better one? "You know you're never far from my mind, don't you?"

Sam tried to pull back slightly, when he wouldn't release her she contented herself with tilting her head up instead.

"Really?" Her voice came out as a gentle whisper, full of wonder and enchantment. Brandt immediately fell under her spell.

"Really." He stared down at her porcelain skin, the huge eyes that said so much, yet nothing at all, and those lips. He hadn't noticed them the first couple of times he'd seen her, now they were all he could think about – so red and full, so very inviting, so very ready to be loved.

He couldn't help himself. He bent and claimed them for his own.

9:15 pm

Overwhelmed by his words, Sam was blindsided by the touch of his lips. They coaxed, yet entranced. She'd never been kissed in such a way before. She wondered if she'd ever truly been kissed. She craved his touch. She wanted so much more. That there couldn't be a forever, didn't matter. She needed this, right now, right here...with him.

Letting herself slide under the spell he wove so magically, her hands slid up to either side of his face, and she kissed him back.

Her lips twitched at his startled pause. Excitement surged through her as he turned the tables on her and deepened the kiss.

A moan escaped. Oh, Lord. Her legs had turned to jelly – she'd never felt so weak. He tightened his arms, supporting her against him. He lifted his head.

"Sam?"

She opened her eyes. God, he was beautiful. Inside and out. She wanted what he offered. She wanted not to be alone – at least for one night. "Yes."

"Yes? Are you sure?"

Her smile turned to a full-blown laugh. "Yes, I'm sure."

Her answer darkened his eyes to an almost jet black. She smiled, reaching a hand to stroke the side of his face. "Yes, yes, and yes." She snagged his ear and tugged him toward her. "So what are you waiting for?"

"For you. For a very long time."

Sam's heart swelled. She knew exactly what he meant. She felt the same. She'd waited so long, she'd become so accustomed to the sensation, she'd forgotten what it actually meant. Now, she knew. She'd been waiting – for him. For this.

Still, she couldn't promise much. She frowned, not knowing how to let him know. He placed a finger against her lips.

"Don't. Don't think about tomorrow. Don't think about any of the many 'what ifs,' just think about us – tonight."

She closed her eyes, the tension draining from her shoulders, and relaxed against him. "You're right."

"I know. That wasn't so hard, was it?" He grinned at her even as he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom.

"Always got to be right, don't you?" She couldn't resist teasing him. He set her on the bed, only she bounced to her knees and started opening the buttons on his shirt.

"Nope. Like right now. I think you're right." His grin blew her away. She couldn't help but respond to the lightness of his tone. She never knew lovemaking could be so much fun. She quickened her pace, pulling his shirttail out of his jeans and down his arms.

"Whoa, take it easy. We've got all night." He shrugged out of his shirt, dropping it to the floor.

Sam snorted. "Like hell." She reached for his belt buckle, when the tantalizing bulge just below sidetracked her. Her fingers wandered, caressing with exploratory strokes before finally wrapping around and gently squeezing.

"Jesus Christ," he yelped, trying to put some distance between them. "This will be over before we ever get started if you don't stop that."

Sam grinned, feeling a lightness to her soul she'd never experienced before. "I don't care."

"What?" he responded, outraged. "Oh you don't, huh? Well, two can play that game." In a smooth move she hadn't even seen coming, her sweater and t-shirt were pulled over her head and wrapped around her arms, holding them above her head. He applied gentle pressure and Sam found herself lying on her back. Using only one hand, Brandt easily held her there while undoing her jeans and tugging them down her hips, to send them flying across the bed.

He grinned, his smile sensuous and teasing. "Now, it's my turn."

Sam's eyes widened. Expecting to be ravished, his slow sensual assault slid under her defenses.

Ever so gently, his tongue stroked around her nipple. First on one breast, then the other. Tiny nibbles followed the moist path, close, but not quite touching her nipples. She sighed and moaned, twisting closer, then moving sensuously away.

When he did finally take her nipple into his mouth, she arched her back. "Oh God," she whispered almost in prayer.

"You don't need his help tonight. This is nothing you can't handle."

She groaned as he teased the other breast, his lips nibbling and nudging, but never quite taking. She struggled to free her arms, but he'd have none of it.

"Please, I want to touch you. I need to touch...you."

Her arms – instantly set free – wrapped around him, pulling him down on top of her. He groaned as his bare chest slid across her heated skin. Sam slid her hands down to his belt, only to find it and the jeans they'd held up were missing. Her hand stalled, then slid down to the smooth, muscled buttocks. His skin was so soft. She couldn't get enough of the silky expanse.

He willingly offered her every part of himself for her pleasure. Sam took full advantage. Pushing up on his shoulders, he rolled over onto his back, swinging her on top of him. Sam laughed joyously and accepted the invitation. Using her fingers, her lips, and her tongue, she traced, teased, and tormented Brandt until he could stand it no more.

Without warning, Sam found herself flipped over, tucked under him, her legs hooked over his hips. Brandt waited until Sam gazed into his eyes. Then dropping his forehead to hers, he plunged deep.

Sam cried out. Her back arched, sending him deeper. The sensations roiled through her. Her head dropped to the side, her eyes drooped slightly…she was overwhelmed by sensation.

Brandt moved once slowly, then a second time. Need twisted through her, sending her higher and higher. Fragile and yet edged in steel, Sam twisted against the tension whipping through her.

"Brandt," she cried out, almost afraid.

"I'm here sweetheart. Let's go together." He hooked her leg higher and seated himself at her very center.

Sam's senses exploded.

Dimly in the background, she heard Brandt cry out as he found his own release. A long moment later, he collapsed on top of her, rolled to one side, and tucked her firmly up against him.

Well-being and satisfaction permeated the air. Sam curled against him and closed her eyes.

2:10 am, June 22nd

The phone rang.

Brandt opened his eyes, struggling to orient himself to the unfamiliar lack of space. He raised his head to find Sam splayed out, fast asleep on his chest. Her bed wasn't intended for someone his size.

The phone rang again.

"Shit." Carefully, he extricated himself from her arms, reaching for his discarded pants and the cell phone in the pocket.

"Hello." Brandt's heart dropped at the voice on the other end. "Right, I'm about a half-hour out."

Standing up, he put the phone away and searched for his briefs. He didn't want to wake her. Neither did he want her to wake up alone. Putting on the briefs, he grabbed his jeans next. While closing the buckle, he glanced over at Sam. She stared at him.

He immediately went to her. "I'm sorry sweetheart." He bent down and kissed her. "I have to go. We have a new victim."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

2:15 am

Ice slipped over Sam's soul at his words. At least they'd found her. She'd been waiting for someone to call this last victim in. She wrapped the blankets tighter around her. The cabin temperature had dropped with the news. Blue crept through her fingers, and her legs had already turned numb. She tucked her legs under and reached for yet another of the cheap blankets stacked on the floor beside her.

"It's her. The one we've been waiting for. The brunette. Her name..." Sam's voice caught in the back of her throat. "Her name is...was Caroline."

A shadow crossed Brandt's face. He nodded to her as he walked out.

"Brandt?" Sam raced to the front door.

Brandt turned to gaze at her, one eyebrow raised. "What?"

"Be careful."

He acknowledged her comment with a nod then he strode over to her, gave her a seriously dangerous kiss, and walked out into the night.

2:55 am

On any other day, Brandt would have made record time. But it was just after three on a Sunday morning, and the Saturday night partiers had the city in full swing. Getting to the city was no problem. Navigating to the crime scene was.

"Jesus, Brandt, you must have had a hot date tonight. You aren't usually this late showing up." The forensic team had already arrived. Brandt took their ribbing in good humor, without offering any clue to his whereabouts.

Walking into the suburban brick house, the sense of normalcy struck him. How often did a family-oriented neighborhood hide a heinous crime? Regular two-story homes on city-planned lots surrounded him. Somewhere close would be the elementary school with a high school a little further away, and within walking distance would be the standard corner store.

Bad things did happen to good people. Grimly, he walked into hell.

The odor hit him first – the flies second.

The crime scene had to be several days old. A body in the heat of summer decomposed quickly.

Photographers worked at detailing every little thing. One of the CSI crew stood over the victim, the flashes from his camera creating an irregular staccato pattern. A victim with brunette hair. Brandt stopped in his stride. Amongst the dried blood and body fluids, the pasty white skin shone with an eerie light. Brandt struggled for objectivity. He walked through slowly and calmly, giving each area close scrutiny. Not knowing what to search for, yet he knew he'd recognize it when he saw it.

At the victim's bedside, all attempts at a cool demeanor vanished. The scene was incredibly familiar. Too familiar. Not the hair, not the features...but the injuries. God, the injuries were all too familiar.

Her boyfriend had been out of town. Caroline was supposed to have picked him up at the airport. When she hadn't, he'd come looking for her.

"Hey Brandt. The killer took a trophy this time."

With a sinking feeling, Brandt turned to face Kevin and Adam. Kevin couldn't wait. "He cut off her ear."

Christ.

Brandt paused for a moment to honor the dead woman. Now, more determined than ever to catch this killer, he got down to work.

9:10 am

Sam checked the roster. There were two new surgical cases to deal with. One still under anesthesia, while the other was awake and definitely pissed. She couldn't blame the poor thing.

He was a lop-eared rabbit who'd lost part of an ear to a dog. A large bandage covered the right side of his head. Sam quickly cleaned his cage and moved on.

With the basics taken care of, Sam headed to the lunchroom to find a cup of tea. She'd held her thoughts locked up until she saw the lunchroom was empty. With a sigh of relief, she collapsed at the table and dropped her head to her arms. Her heart and mind were a mess. She couldn't help being worried about the colonel's fate. Maisy was such a warm loving character, Sam hated her to be suffering the pain of waiting and not knowing.

Brandt had been on her mind all morning, then that was to be expected after last night. Her heart smiled as memories flooded her. Only to be shut down as Deputy Brooker slammed into her thoughts. She looked around nervously. Could he have tracked her to her place of work?

The door opened, startling her.

"Good morning, Sam." A chorus of greetings startled her. She smiled at the group of noisy women collecting around her. Somehow, she'd managed to create friends, without even trying. She didn't know how or why, but found gratitude welling up inside. It helped not to be so alone.

Their chatter swelled and receded and swelled again. Sam rode the waves of utterly bewildering topics from the latest color trend in shoes to the murder victim reported on the morning news. She stayed quiet, not wanting to listen and found it hard not to. The last thing she wanted to do was relive the experience. The thoughts turmoiled around, keeping her off balance and struggling to focus. She worked on keeping her emotions under control. The very name of the victim hurt her deeply. That poor woman.

Eventually, the coffee break ended, sending everyone to their jobs.

The friendly atmosphere followed Sam as she returned to the animals. She realized this was close to the normal life of other people. Instead of an inherent wariness with a guard always in place, other people laughed and joked, at ease with each other. Sam was suddenly hungry for more.

Dr. Wascott came to check on the dog coming out of his drugged state. Sam waited a few minutes, watching the dedicated caring so evident in his actions.

When he was done, she brought up the one subject she'd been waiting to discuss. "Sir," she said diffidently, "Soldier has re-injured himself."

The vet frowned. "How bad? What did he do?"

When she described the wound, the vet nodded. He went over to one of the many floor-to-ceiling cabinets and took out a small tube.

"Here is an antibiotic cream. Use this on the open wound for a few days. If it doesn't get better then you'll have to bring him in."

"I don't think he'll like that."

The vet grimaced. "Truthfully, neither will I. Only we can't have him getting an infection from his ripped stitches."

"Okay, I'll see how he responds to this."

Her day almost done, Sam quickly finished up, grabbed the new cream, and headed out. Once free of work, her thoughts automatically returned to the one subject she'd refused to focus on. Caroline.

She grimaced. Caroline had become the ultimate victim and Sam had been acting like one all along as well. She'd let this asshole control her every waking moment and many of her sleeping ones too. In order to regain control, she had to stop being afraid. In order to control the fear she had to be progressive. And just how the hell was she supposed to make that happen? The fear wouldn't stop overnight. She'd possibly have it forever.

Running a hand over her tired face, Sam vowed to stop letting fear control her. It was going to take constant vigilance to stay on top of this. She'd been afraid most of her life and this wasn't going to stop simply because she'd decided differently this moment. Still, power welled deep within her. She couldn't just sit here any longer and wait for him to pull her strings like a puppeteer.

It was time she pulled a few of her own.

9:24 am

"Finally." He punched his heavy fist in the air. Jesus H. Christ, he could die himself before the fucking police actually got their heads on straight. He bet this was all over the Internet.

Bill rubbed his thick fingers over the top of his almost bald head. He'd need to shave again soon. But now he could relax. His victim had been found. Finally. He was tired but happy. There was no joy when his prize was decomposing without someone to watch and fuss over her. He grinned – that lopsided endearing movement as women described it. Before they got to know who and what he really was.

How long before the police actually received his surprise. He felt a moment of misgiving at his spontaneous action, then tossed it off. They'd never figure it out. He rubbed his thick hands together and gloated.

The gift should be nice and ripe by then.

10:03 am

Brandt yawned, feeling his face crack and splinter. God he was tired. He shouldn't have come in to work without catching a few hours of sleep, only he'd felt driven by the need to do something constructive. Besides, he might never sleep again. Not after that crime scene. That poor woman had been sliced and diced and Brandt could only feel grateful the killer hadn't been into cooking and eating too.

The forensic evidence wasn't in yet. The autopsy would be soon. All Brandt could do was wait.

He laid his head down on his crossed arms on the desk. He'd just rest his eyes for a minute. That's all he needed.

His phone rang a little later. Bleary-eyed he stared, uncomprehending at the noisy black machine. Sam? Rubbing his hand over his face, he reached for the receiver.

"Hello," he mumbled in a grainy voice. Reaching for his coffee cup, he took a drink to ease his throat. He choked and spluttered on the clammy cold drink, grimaced, and drank another sip. Caffeine was caffeine.

"Brandt, are you okay?"

Not Sam.

His mother. Damn, he'd forgotten. "Mom, I'm fine. How's the colonel?"

"He's still unconscious, but he does appear a little more peaceful now."

"But he hasn't woken up?" Brandt tried to smother a yawn and failed. He needed to talk to the colonel, if and when that was possible. He wanted to call Sam too, just to hear her voice. A warm light wrapped around his heart.

"No. Not yet."

Maisy sounded as tired as he felt. He hurt for her. It was hard to sit and wait when someone you cared about was hurting.

"Brandt, are you there?"

Brandt shook himself. "Yeah, Mom, I'm here." He checked at his watch. "Are you still at the hospital?"

"I'm here again now. I went home, had a shower, and came back in. I don't want him to wake up alone."

"It's almost lunchtime. Why don't I come by and pick you up? We'll go out for a bite to eat together." He could still check in with Sam, take his mom out for lunch and be back in time to tackle his heaped desk.

Maisy hesitated.

"Mom, come on. It would be good for both of us."

She capitulated. "Alright. But just for a bite."

Brandt checked his watch. "Good. I'll finish up here in another hour or so. Then I'll come by and pick you up."

Brandt rang off and stretched. He needed to check his emails and talk to his boss. Neither should take too long.

Bringing up his email, Brandt checked the couple of dozen messages waiting for him. One of them was from the librarian he'd met a couple of days ago. The librarian confirmed various ring patterns used over the decades for class rings and the similarity of the sketch to one used by a specific fraternity.

Brandt couldn't believe it. Finally, a breakthrough. His euphoria died as he read on. The ring design was in use for close to a decade with variations by year. Except it had been out of circulation for two decades. Over five hundred of them could have been purchased. The professor who'd informed the librarian, didn't have any figures or names available as the system hadn't been computerized back then. He did offer a few names of other people who might be able to help.

Brandt weeded through his messages, taking care of priorities. Before leaving for lunch, he walked over to the largest of the file cabinets and carefully hid, then locked Sam's journal inside. That would do for the moment.

"Hey, Brandt."

Brandt turned to find Kevin at the door. "Hey what's up?"

Kevin grinned. "The captain wants to see you. And for a change, I had nothing to do with this one. The grapevine apparently told him about Sam's vision and the latest murder."

"How the hell did the grapevine, or you, even find out?"

Kevin shrugged. "I don't know where I heard about it first, but it's true, isn't it?"

"Is what true?"

"She saw this victim as she died, didn't she?"

Brandt groaned and closed his eyes. "Shit, did I slip up and say something to Adam? God I must have been really tired to have done that."

Kevin snapped his fingers, almost laughing out loud. "Yeah, that might have been who told me."

Captain Johansen's door was ajar when Brandt arrived. He knocked and pushed it open.

"Come in, Brandt. Take a seat." The captain gestured toward the single chair not piled high with file folders.

Closing the door behind him, Brandt made his way to the lone chair and sat.

The captain glanced at him. "Brandt. What's this about your psychic and another murder?"

Brandt said, "It's true. Sorry, I haven't had a chance to catch you up on the latest since coming in from the crime scene."

"You know what will happen if this gets out?" Captain Johansen always had the department's image on his mind. "How close was she?"

"Spot on."

"Damn."

Brandt understood how he felt. "It's not as if we're the first department to have used psychics." Brandt swept his arm toward the wide expanse of glass. "Besides, this is department stuff and the media shouldn't ever know – unless someone tells them."

Captain Johansen glared. "What about her? How are you going to stop her from stepping into the limelight? She could make a huge promo out of this case."

"Sam's not the type."

Brandt watched in fascination as Captain Johansen's beetle brows crinkled, almost meeting in the center of his forehead.

"Everyone is the type. You just have to have the right circumstances to bring it out."

Brandt stared out the window, refusing to be drawn. Captain Johansen was a hard-ass who'd apparently run the department fairly for many decades. His beliefs were little enough to put up with.

"Well, I'm saying that Sam isn't like that – but believe what you want."

The captain shuffled the papers on his desk. "So what did she see and what did she miss?"

It took a few minutes to give him the rundown. He finished with the one thing Sam hadn't seen. "She didn't mention the trophy. And we don't know why her ear was cut off or where it is."

"That's how it works with psychics. They get some of the information right and they get a lot wrong." Captain Johansen doodled on a notepad in front of him, obviously deep in thought.

"True enough." Brandt leaned forward. "This isn't for discussion with anyone else, but I actually saw her go through a vision." He gave a brief version of what he'd seen at Sam's cabin that night. The memories of the cuts appearing on Sam's fragile body haunted him.

"You saw these cuts appear and disappear – and you weren't drunk?"

Brandt stared into Captain Johansen's eyes. "God's truth. I swear I watched the cuts appear and then disappear. There was blood everywhere. Jesus, I panicked."

"Why didn't you call 911?"

Brandt's lips twisted. "I almost did. I managed to get through to Stefan first."

The captain squinted up him. "That would have helped. Did Stefan have answers?"

Brandt nodded. "And thank God he did. I would have caused more damage if I'd touched her. Maybe permanently."

"I don't know what to think about this stuff, however, I know several good cops that swear by Stefan."

"Sam isn't as strong or as secure in her abilities as Stefan. The good news is he's going to help train her. Sam's fragile. She needs to learn to protect herself." Brandt geared for the blow. "And that includes being protected from this department."

The captain leaned forward, glaring at Brandt. "What does that mean?" Larger than life, the captain never backed down from a fight. He had no trouble calling a spade a spade, and he always stood by his men. At six-foot-six, he was built like the football player he used to be.

Brandt glared back. "I can't forget about the ring diagram incident. Someone could also take it into his head to release personal information about Sam." He paused.

"But why?" The captain pounded his fist. "It wouldn't be someone from here. They'd know the damage something like that could cause the department."

"More likely to discredit me."

He waited a beat. "There's another possible complication."

The captain leaned forward. "Let's hear it."

Brandt quickly related what he knew about Deputy Brooker and what had been done to Sam, years ago. And the couple of incidents in the last few days.

The captain very clearly, very succinctly, said one word, "Shit." He shifted his great bulk deeper into his chair. It took another few minutes before Captain Johansen spoke again. "Bring her in. I think it is time I met this person."

"And how am I going to do that?"

"I don't know. That's for you to figure out. Just do it."

Ten minutes later, Brandt reached Sam by phone. "When?" Her tone somehow managed to convey weary acceptance. Damn she sounded tired.

"Today. Now would be good." Now that she'd agreed, he didn't really care, just the faster the better.

"I'm at work. I have roughly another hour-and-a-half before I'm done. Say about 1:30 pm. Does that work for you?"

'That would be great."

He hung up the phone and then remembered. Crap. His mother. He glanced at his watch. He was going to be late. Ah hell. Grabbing his keys, he locked his office and ran.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

1:07 pm

Sam sat stiffly in her chair in Brandt's office. As soon as she'd arrived, Brandt had excused himself. What the hell was up with that? He'd mentioned something about the captain wanting to speak with her.

Hearing a noise, she turned to watch as one of the clerks walked in, smiled, and dropped a stack of mail onto Brandt's desk. Of course, there was no Brandt.

Just when she'd determined to go searching for him, Brandt walked in, followed by a huge man who dominated the small office.

Sam shifted to the side, slightly intimidated at the outright bulk of the two males. She tucked her fingers under her thighs, hoping to still the nervous rapping on the chair.

"Sam, this is my boss, Captain Johansen."

Surprised, Sam could only smile and nod. She shifted to the one side of her chair again.

The captain gave her a gentle smile that was at odds with his size. "It's nice to meet you, miss." He sat down on the chair beside her.

Sam could feel her eyes grow wider. She struggled against the nervousness threatening to overwhelm her. The captain smiled again. It didn't make her feel any better.

"What can I do for you, Captain?"

"I've spoken to Detective Sutherland here." Captain Johansen glanced at Brandt. "And he's told me a lot about you."

Sam whipped around to stare at Brandt. "Did he now?" Her eyes bored a question into the hapless target. When he nodded slowly, she slumped into her chair and closed her eyes, just barely holding back a groan. "Great," she whispered barely above an audible tone.

"Now I'm not saying that I agree with all this stuff, but I'm willing to trust Brandt. He says you have some impressive data. The problem is, I don't really want the public to know that you've been helping us."

That made sense, sort of. "Good. Neither do I."

He pursed his lips, gave a decisive nod, and continued. "Then we agree on that." The captain fell silent, Brandt stayed quiet, and Sam didn't know what to say.

"Why are you're telling me this?" She felt suspiciously under attack again.

The captain gazed at Brandt, one eyebrow raised.

"Stop it. No silent conversations between you two. Talk to me," she snapped. She glared at the two men.

Brandt hid his smile.

Captain Johansen opened the discussion. "We'd like to be able to use any information that you have for us. Like the ring. You know about the ring sketch on the news, right?" At her nod, he continued, "That wasn't supposed to happen. Still, it is bringing in tips on our hotline. There is a slight possibility that other information was accessed at the same time, but only a very slim chance."

She didn't know what to say. "Am I in danger?"

Again, the two men exchanged glances.

"I don't think so. Your address is a PO box and not a house address, so that would slow down anyone searching for you," said the captain. He took one of her hands in his. "I just need you to be careful until we get to the bottom of this."

"That's a little hard when you don't know what the threat is or where it's coming from."

Captain Johansen spoke up. "The killer doesn't know about you – does he?"

That was a horrible thought. "No I don't think so. Unless someone told him, or he's psychic, too. The chances of that aren't great."

He nodded. "Right. So just be careful."

Paper rustled as Brandt casually sorted the stack of mail on his desk. There was a small padded envelope in the stack. Grabbing scissors, he cut the tape.

Sam watched him. "An early Christmas present?"

Brandt snorted. "Not likely. The paper came off and the top of the box followed.

"Ohh, God. What is that?" Sam cried out as a nasty odor permeated the room.

The captain dropped her hand and damn near pounced on the parcel. Bits of paper went flying. The lid was slapped down and both men donned gloves from a box sitting on the filing cabinet. As Brandt reached for the box again, the captain held his arm and nodded in Sam's direction.

Brandt, realization coming into his face, nodded and walked around the side of his desk. He put an arm around Sam's shoulders and urged her out the door. "Sam, come sit out in the hallway. I'll get you a coffee. There might even be a fresh pot, if you're lucky."

Before she had time to register the offer, she'd been seated outside, and he'd already returned with a hot cup of coffee and a stack of magazines. "I'll be right back. Sit tight."

Sam, her hands burning with the heat of the Styrofoam cup, sat in numb silence. For all their efforts, there was no way to hide the smell or the fast glimpse she'd seen. She couldn't be sure, but she thought the box contained an ear: a bloody ear, still wearing an earring.

Several men came in and out. She watched, blind to most of it. The office swelled with people. Someone dropped a stack of paper on the chair beside her, someone else came and picked it up. Sam saw a small piece of paper on the floor. Not bigger than a half inch and was mustard colored like the package. Surely, it was important, too. She couldn't let the idea go as people walked over it and beside it – yet always missed it. Taking advantage of a lull, Sam snatched up the tiny piece, before plunking down on her chair again.

Instantly, the station disappeared as an unexpected door opened. She couldn't think. She couldn't focus. She couldn't see. She was lost in a black haze. Her hand holding the hot coffee ceased to hurt. Her surroundings ceased to exist. She walked in a grey fog, pulled down a path she'd never walked before.

Evil called to her, laughed at her, and even caressed her arms as she travelled. She knew there was something she had to do. Some reason for being here. But what? She didn't want to be here. It was dark, scary, and so very cold. The smell, God, the smell resembled a garden planted full of decomposing bodies. She felt compelled to walk forward. The fear and uncertainty diminished. The need increased. By now, the blackness soothed even as it hypnotized. She walked forward, uncaring where she went.

Then she heard it.

Mocking laughter filled the air, her ears, and even her soul.

Sam screamed.

1:30 pm

Jesus. Sam.

Brandt bolted in her direction and still came in behind the group filling the hallway. Where was she? Her high-pitched scream shut off abruptly. Brandt wrestled through the crowd to her side.

The captain was already yelling at everyone. "Give her room. Come on everyone, move back."

The crowd grumbled, giving way under his orders – slightly. Brandt spun around and glared at them. "Come on. Give her some air for Christ's sake. Sam? Sam, are you alright?"

This time several of the spectators broke away and headed back to their own duties. Only a few of the braver souls remained.

One of them asked, "Do you want us to call for an ambulance?"

Brandt checked Sam over. Pallid whiteness defined her face. Blue veins pulsed steadily down the gentle line of her throat. She was breathing slowly, evenly. She was either right out from a vision, or she was comatose from an injury. As she hadn't been on her own long enough and there were no visible signs of injury, he presumed she was reacting on a psychic level. Her hands gripped a piece of brownish-gold paper clenched in one hand.

Not sure if he should be touching her at all, Brandt plucked the offending piece out of her hand and took a closer look. It appeared to be a piece from that grisly package. If so, it could explain her fugue now. Turning around, he found only the captain and Kevin remained.

"Is she okay?" Kevin stood to one side, doubt and confusion in his eyes.

"What's the matter with her?" whispered the captain, crouching down beside him.

Brandt opened his hand to show him the paper. "I think she touched this, unwittingly, and it's sent her in a psychic state."

"What does that mean?" The captain studied her. "She's awfully pale. Is she okay?"

"I think so. I don't really know."

Her position looked so uncomfortable. Her body slouched sideways. She'd fall any minute. His office wouldn't offer anything more comfortable. The captain was obviously thinking along the same lines.

"Can we get her into my office? We can lay her on the couch there."

"Only we're not supposed to touch her."

"But we can't leave her here. She's going to hit the ground in a minute."

Decision made, Brandt slipped his arms under her legs and back and carried her to the captain's office. Once there, he gently laid her down, her head on a pillow. She moaned with the jostling movements.

"Sam. It's okay. Take it easy."

Her eyes flickered. Brandt eased back in relief. She was waking up. He didn't know what had happened, though he could make an educated guess. She really had no control. When visions took her over, it was as if she stepped out. He couldn't protect her – not from her own abilities. Not an easy thing to admit. He admired her guts. But he was damn sure he could not live her life.

Sam's eyes had a glazed look as awareness slowly returned. She glanced around the room, a frown wrinkling her face. "Where am I?"

"This is the captain's office. We moved you in here so you could lie down. How are you feeling?"

"Huh? Did I have another vision?" Her frown turned pensive as she thought deeply. "There was such blackness. The world smelled dead." She turned to him, a wave of sadness making her eyes huge wells of pain. "It was her ear, wasn't it?"

At the reminder, Brandt winced. "I'd hoped you hadn't seen that."

"Just a glimpse." She rolled her head against the couch. "That was enough."

"I'm sorry. You should never have been exposed to that."

She grimaced. "Really, what do you think my nightmares are like?" Bitterness tinged her voice, melding with the sadness. Brandt managed not to wince again but just barely.

Staring around the room, he found the captain sitting at his desk, listening in. Kevin stood beside him, watching, a deep frown of concentration across his forehead.

"Did you..." Brandt hesitated, "Did you learn anything useful while you were in this place? Wherever it was." He studied her reaction.

"I don't know where I was either. I think..." she hesitated.

"Go ahead."

"I think I connected with the killer this time. But I can't be sure." She looked at each man, one at a time. "I think I was inside his mind. A black pit of darkness that lost its way a long time ago. He thinks you're all useless idiots and that you'll never catch him."

Kevin butted in. "That covers every criminal out there."

Brandt nodded, but kept watching Sam. "Anything else?

"He's old energy. He's been doing this for decades. He won't ever quit. You'll have to kill him."

"My pleasure." And Brandt meant it. He'd bring him to justice if he could. However if not, well sometimes that was the best way all around. "Do you know anything about what he's planning next? Where he is? What he's doing?"

Sam's eyelids drooped and a faraway look came over her pale features. "He's waiting. He's rubbing his hands gleefully and imagining your face, your reaction when you open the gift."

"Why? That gift doesn't make any sense. We already have his victim. The ear makes no difference." The captain spoke up for the first time.

A large tear welled up in the corner of Sam's eye. Brandt reached over and gently wiped it away.

"It's not her earring. It's her ear, yet another woman's earring."

"Another woman?" Captain Johansen surged to his feet. "What, there's another victim?"

"He thinks you won't figure it out. It's an older victim. His trophy from the drugged one. He doesn't want to keep it. She's not a memory he wants to honor. She was a failure for him."

"Sam." Brandt gently tapped the side of her head. "Sam, wake up."

"Is she aware of what she's saying?" Captain Johansen came around his desk to bend over and see for himself.

Kevin jumped in. "Do you think she was telling the truth?"

"The truth as she knows it. Yes." Brandt stroked her cheek gently, willing her to come to awareness. It took another moment before she opened her eyes again.

"Please quit doing that, will you? It scares the hell out me." He was rewarded with a half-smile. "Are you back now?"

It was weak but it was a nod.

"Then sit up," he said and half tugged her upright to lean against the overstuffed couch cushions. "Maybe now you won't go under again."

Sam curled into a small ball, huddling with her knees to her chin. A blue color highlighted her cheekbones.

"Jesus, you're freezing." Brandt searched the room for something to cover her. Captain Johansen walked over to a coat stand in the corner and pulled down a large wool overcoat. Sam gratefully snuggled under the warm material.

Captain Johansen asked in a diffident voice, "I know you're not exactly recovered but...do you have any other information that would help us?"

Brandt jumped in. "If you connected to the killer, does he have his next victim picked out?"

Her answer came out on such a soft breath the three men bent to hear her.

"Yes."

Kevin looked to Brandt, shrugged sheepishly, then returned his gaze to Sam. "Can you give us any details? Anything helpful that we might help us to find her?"

Sam shook her head slightly. "Only that she's close to him geographically. He watches her, follows her everywhere. His hunger is building. He's enjoying this stage. Soon though, he'll have to appease his appetite. Not yet. He has time to play."

Brandt wondered. "Do you get a sense that he works or has a career? Does money ever enter his mind?"

Captain Johansen added, "What about his location? Can you see any landmarks? Anything that tells you where she might be?"

"Only stores, a drugstore, a coffee shop, sidewalks. I saw only some of the scenes from his mind." Sam rested for a moment. "She's Caucasian."

All three men stared at her, startled. "You can see her?"

"Only bits and pieces." Keeping her eyes closed, Sam, in a monotone voice, said, "She's tall. He's taller. She's young, mid-twenties with long brunette hair." She fell silent again.

The men exchanged glances, everyone anxious for the one or two details that could make the difference between finding her, or not.

Not wanting to disturb her if she were getting more information, only he didn't want her zoning out again either, Brandt murmured, "Sam, you there?"

She opened her eyes slowly, as if they were weighted down. "She has a vehicle."

Kevin snapped forward. "Can you see a license plate? Make? Model? Color? Sam – anything?"

Brandt shot him an approving nod. At least Kevin appeared to be taking a solid step toward accepting Sam's abilities.

"Red, small, two door. Can't see a license plate. He's watching her get in the car."

Brandt, on a sudden thought, asked, "Sam, is he sitting inside his car?"

After a long moment, Sam nodded. "I can't see much. The windshield is tinted blue green. The seats are dark green."

"Bench seats or individual?"

"Bench."

"Old or new?"

"Can't tell."

After that the questions came hard and fast from all sides. Some she answered and more she couldn't. After fifteen minutes, all three of them had run out. Brandt couldn't believe it. He was exhausted, so he could only imagine how Sam felt. In fact, he leaned over to find she'd fallen asleep. He reached to tug the coat higher up her shoulders.

Nodding to the others, Brandt followed the men outside and closed the door behind them. Once in the hallway, Brandt leaned against the closed door and looked at the other two. "So, what do you make of it?"

Captain Johansen grimaced. "I have no idea. I sure as hell hope she's giving us viable information. But we don't have much else to go on. Period."

Kevin spoke up. "We might find a different DNA on the earring versus DNA of the ear. That will give us some idea."

"That will help. Sam had mentioned this victim before. I came up with two possible women. One is in the morgue and one is in a coma at Portland General. We can check to see if one of the women was wearing the matching earring. If the victim is dead, then we're too late to help her. We'll need to check her for forensic information, but other than that, we should be trying to find his next victim."

Pursing his lips, Captain Johansen agreed. "I'll go to the lab now and talk to them. What do we do about her?"

"She needs to sleep this off. Her energy level drops quickly with these visions." That was a given. "I don't want to leave her for too long. She shouldn't wake up alone."

Kevin nodded. "Stay with her and I'll start with phone calls and running car data. I may just owe her an apology." Leaving, Brandt staring after him open-mouthed. He smiled and walked to his office. Brandt raised an eyebrow at Captain Johansen who shrugged. "Don't know, but I'm heading to the lab to make sure they don't screw this up."

Ten minutes later, after making a few phone calls of his own, Brandt opened the captain's office door to check on Sam. He must have woken her for she sat up, startled and nervous.

"Shh, Sam. It's okay. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." He walked in and sat at the edge of the couch beside her, close, without touching. She peered at him, still groggy.

"Wow. I guess I fell asleep?"

He smiled. "That you did. Not for long though, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes."

She stood up uncertainly. "What time is it? Can I leave now?" She searched around anxiously. "Where's my purse?"

"Take it easy. First, it's not that late. You've been here for just over an hour. Your purse is in my office, and yes, you can leave." He opened his arms, closing them around her as she walked into his embrace. "There, that wasn't so hard was it?"

She stared at him, fatigue pulling at her features.

Brandt hurt for her. She had to be exhausted. "I want you to stay and rest for a bit."

"I'm fine." She visibly straightened and produced a stronger smile. Brandt wasn't fooled in the least.

"Have you eaten?"

Confusion clouded her face. "I think so."

He nodded. " I may have found the drugged woman. She came in during the right time period – and with one earring missing. Her name is Annalea Watson. I'm on my way over to check it against the one that just arrived. The lab has taken swabs of it to match DNA, if need be. The woman is alive, but she's in a coma."

Sam's eyes widened. "But that's wonderful."

"So far so good. Come on, let's find your purse and get you some food."

1:50 pm

Kevin hurried to his desk. He couldn't believe what he'd seen. Or heard. His mind had been blown, and it still had a frazzled edge to it.

If he hadn't been there and seen it for himself... Well, he couldn't even go there yet. All his life, he'd thought he understood the ways of the world. He just didn't know anymore.

He did know one thing – she couldn't have been making this up. He'd watched her very carefully. Her eyes had been blind, the pupils dilated and unfocused. She'd been almost comatose at one point, then completely awake at another.

Her face had gone dead white, then flushed cherry red on her return. Her skin, God, her skin had been so thin and so blue. He shook her head.

No one could have faked that.

2:15 pm

Now wasn't that interesting? Dillon kept his face impassive as he watched the chaos going on around him. He'd been on the phone when the woman had screamed. Detective Sutherland had a hell of a reputation with the ladies – but not this kind.

Thinking she must be an informant of one kind or another, Dillon had initially ignored her. Until she'd screamed. Still he'd thought, hearing about the gruesome delivery, that it had to have been her reaction to the gift. But not after the preferential treatment she received in the captain's office. When that was followed by an intense session later, Dillon's interest was truly piqued.

So this was the psychic Brandt was working with. Unbelievable. He laughed.

By the time she walked out of the office, he had to admit, she did appear as if she'd been pushed through an old wringer washing machine. Brandt's careful handling confirmed one thing. Brandt must be sleeping with the weirdo witch. Brave man. And smart too. That was the best way to control a woman.

And while Brandt stayed focused on her, it gave Dillon a chance to move in and on up.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

7:48 pm

The sun had lost its heat by the time Sam managed to get home. Seemed Moses couldn't contain his joy. She knew he hated it when she came in late. Soldier wagged his tail, his only concession to her arrival. It was a step in the right direction.

She should have gone home after the vision, except working around the animals helped recharge her psychic batteries faster than anything else. Though working didn't help her physical energy levels, they would recharge faster once her psychic energy levels were high again.

Sam survived by shoving everything to the back of her mind and staying on task. Only once, had she fallen off balance – when she'd noticed the blue dangly earrings in Lucy's ears. It had been all she could to hold back the memories...and the tears. After that, Sam had stayed away from the others.

Only when she tried to make it up her porch stairs and inside the cabin did Sam realize the hamburger Brandt had bought for her had been a long time ago.

The kitchen seemed empty and cold. Leftover dishes in the sink, and an almost empty fridge added to the forlorn atmosphere. It took a moment of rooting through the cupboards before she found a can of soup and half-a-package of crackers.

"Yeah, food." She turned on a burner and slowly warmed up the soup, munching on the crackers while waiting for the rest of the meal to catch up. Just before the soup had heated enough to eat, Sam fed her animals. Then it was her turn.

She turned off the kitchen light and sat in the fading sun's rays. At some point in the last few days, the atmosphere inside the cabin had changed. The normal sense of security had disappeared. The darkness, instead of giving her peace, threw long scary shadows. It didn't feel right anymore. The loss of its solace devastated her.

Feeling chilled, she cupped the cooling soup bowl, needing what warmth remained. She drank down the last of the broth then headed outside.

With Moses at her heels, she walked to the dock. Hearing something behind her, Sam spun around, surprised to see Soldier hobbling after her. Happy with his progress, she ran toward him only to stop at his warning growl.

"Damn it, Soldier. What do I have to do to gain some acceptance here?"

His growl deepened.

Crouched down close to him, Sam didn't know whether to continue outside or head in. The sound of an approaching vehicle decided it for her. She stepped further into the shadows, glad she'd left the house in darkness. She knew the sound of Brandt's truck by now only it appeared identical to the asshole's truck who tried to run her off the road. She wasn't taking any chances.

Silently, the dogs at her side, Sam kept to the darkness of the trees and watched as a vehicle approached. Powerful lights lit the way.

At the house, the vehicle parked and a man got out. Sam squinted through the darkness. He looked like Brandt, yet she couldn't be sure. She refused to be the first to make a sound.

The man approached the dark house warily.

Sam watched just as cautiously.

The man jumped up the stairs and knocked on the front door.

He knocked again. He pivoted, searching the encroaching darkness. There was no way anyone could miss her truck parked out front. "Sam, are you in there?"

It was Brandt. Joy lit the dark areas in her heart and filled them with a sense of security. Misplaced feelings or not, she was glad to see him.

"I'm over here."

Brandt turned in her direction. "Where?"

"Down toward the dock." Still, she didn't move, waiting instead for him to approach her.

"Why the hell are you wandering around outside in the dark?" He stormed in her direction. "And why the hell didn't you answer the phone?" As he approached, his face switched from worry, to exasperation, and finally to a building anger. "Do you know how many times I tried to call? Did you ever consider that someone might be worried about you – especially after the day you had?"

Sam stepped forward so he could see her. "Hi." She pulled her phone out of her pocket, saying, "It's a beautiful night. Why shouldn't I be out?" Flipping her phone open, she groaned. "Shit. My battery is dead. I'm sorry, I never even checked."

He shook his head. "Right. Of course, it is. There's no reason to be extra careful or accessible, huh?"

Sam defended her actions. "I said I'm sorry. Besides, I have the dogs with me."

"Not a lot of good they are going to be against a bullet or two, are they? Remember the last time?"

She didn't need this. "So did you have an official reason for this visit or did you just come to yell at me?"

"Sorry." He smiled slightly, reached out and snagged her into his arms where she cuddled right in. "I am sorry, but you scared the hell out of me when I couldn't reach you by phone. I've been trying for hours."

Leading the way, Sam walked to the cabin. "As you can see, I'm fine." She didn't wait to see if he caught up with her. As she passed his truck, he stopped and opened the passenger door. Curious, she turned in time to see him pull an overnight bag out before locking up the vehicle.

Sam glanced sidelong at the bag, but reality didn't hit until she'd opened the door. Excitement unfurled deep in her tummy. Her breath hitched even as a kernel of outrage sparked at his audacity. She didn't know how to react. How to feel. Excited and comforted, all mixed up with relief. She needed to know for sure. She turned around. "What's the bag for?"

"If you won't look after yourself, then someone has to do it for you." Brandt walked around her and stepped inside. "Therefore, you have a houseguest." He walked over to the worn out couch and dropped his bag with a heavy thunk. "Besides, I have a couple of questions I need answered."

Sam didn't want to give in so easily. He had a lot of nerve making this decision without her. And yet, she couldn't be happier. "Did you ever consider asking me?"

"Asking – oh yeah, that's one of the questions I'd planned on putting to you earlier. But… Oh right, you wouldn't pick up the phone. So now I don't need to ask, do I?" He kicked back on the couch, his arms behind his head. His grin split his face in two.

"Whatever." Sam pushed the door shut with a little more force than she'd planned. She reached for her answer to all life's ailments – tea.

"So why didn't you know about the souvenir?"

Sam stilled. Turning away from him, she pulled out two cups from the cupboard.

"I won't go away."

Sam sighed, poured two cupfulls before walking over to sit down opposite Brandt. "Are you sure?"

He grinned. "Positive."

Sam sat in silence, then sipped her tea, staring quietly at the irritating and highly amused man in front of her.

"Get it through your head. I'm here for the long haul."

Sam tilted her head to stare at him in confusion. Quickly, she glanced down again. Surely, he hadn't meant that, had he? But God, she hoped he had. She didn't know much about long hauling, but she'd like to.

He sat up and leaned toward her. "So tell me why."

She tried to focus on the conversation. As much as she didn't want to revisit the case, she knew he wouldn't lay off. "I didn't know because it was sliced off after the woman died. After I disconnected."

Brandt's face was a study of emotions as he considered her words. "Then I guess it's a blessing that you didn't know."

With a frown, Sam sat back. "I'm not always so lucky." Sam stopped, as emotion rose dangerously high. She swallowed heavily. "Once the victims die, I have a couple of minutes of adjustment. How they die and how long it takes them to disconnect, determines how long I am caught in limbo. Sometimes, I'm aware of what happens to their bodies after death if I'm still stuck there."

Staring down at the table, her fingers traced the old pattern showing through the melamine top. "And sometimes," she said, raising her gaze slowly. "And sometimes, people think the victims are dead, but..." Tears clogged her voice. "But they aren't a hundred percent gone yet." Sam wiped her eyes with the back of her sweater sleeve. "They, and I, can feel every little thing then."

Her vision blurred with tears and through it all she tried to see if Brandt understood. The look on his face broke her heart.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you."

"No. No. Don't feel that way." He reached across the table, his hand a protective cover over hers. He squeezed her hand. "It's just disturbing that you have to go through this all the time." His thumb stroked across the soft skin beside her thumb.

"Working in law enforcement, I'm exposed to every horrific human experience. I should be used to it... It still catches me sometimes."

Sam gently caught up his fingers in hers. "I know. It's the same for me. People can be vicious to each other."

His lips twisted in a wry grin. "That's often why relationships don't work for law enforcement officers. If we marry someone not in the same field, then the partner doesn't have the understanding of what we go through every day. And if we marry another officer, then there is no leaving the work behind. Living with this level of violence every day, slowly wears down the relationship until nothing can hold it together."

"How horrible."

Moses barked, startling her. An odd sound rustled outside the cabin. Frowning, she went to the front door and stared out the window to the one side. The blackness showed nothing untoward. She opened the door to let both dogs outside then followed them. Brandt was suddenly at her side.

"What did you hear?"

"I'm not sure. Something was moving out here."

"Wildlife?"

She shook her head. "No. The dogs wouldn't react like that."

In the distance, a faint rumbling sound could be heard. A vehicle.

"Can you hear the highway from here?"

"Occasionally. It depends on the weather." As her voice died away so too did the engine sound.

"It has to be on the highway."

"Unless someone drove part way and then walked the rest."

The two stared at each other, uneasiness hanging heavy on the evening air.

Sam stepped closer, linking her arm with his. "I forgot to say thank you for coming. I really don't want to be alone tonight."

Survival had meant being alone before. She didn't know what to do with Brandt. Having sex once was one thing – didn't other people easily toss sex off as a momentary passionate lapse? Twice well, didn't that constitute a relationship? She didn't do those. Or she hadn't done in a long time. And she was pretty sure, he didn't do them either. Better to clear the air and tell him, no matter how uncomfortable.

"I need to tell you that I don't do relationships." Oh wasn't that smooth, Sam. Good job, Sam? How to advertise your inexperience and total lack of social skills.

Brandt slowly turned around to stare at her. "Why not?"

Heat pooled in her tummy at the sensuous vibes emanating from him. Her cheeks warmed, but she stood her ground. "I'm no good at them," she said baldly.

"How would you know if you don't do them?" he asked in a reasonable tone of voice.

Sam stared at him, unsure of how to go on. "I tried."

"So that's it. You tried and failed so you're doomed to a life alone? Haven't we been around this block once before?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. Maybe." Sam shut up, too flustered to answer clearly.

"You don't know because you're too afraid to go on."

"So?" she challenged him.

"So live a little. Don't spend your life so afraid of trying and failing that you live alone. Take a chance and let someone in your world." He reached out and cupped her chin, raising her face to meet his gaze. "I want to be a part of your world. I thought I'd proved that already."

He was saying the words she'd yearned to hear all her life. Moisture collected at the corner of her eyes. It's all she could to not start bawling. In spite of herself, her bottom lip trembled.

His thumb smoothed even as it rubbed her lower lip, gently teasing it to a smile. Sam couldn't resist. She kissed his thumb as it made its next pass.

He stopped. "Dangerous."

Sam's lips twitched. His thumb moved again, this time much slower, more seductive in its sensual mission. The tantalizing movement slowed when it reached the middle swell, where it sat heavy and waiting. Sam raised her eyes to his.

His asked a question.

Sam hesitated. Did twice mean a commitment. Or given her lack of social skills and inexperience did twice mean still dating? Could she really walk away? Did she even want to? No. If at the end she was devastated, then so be it. At least she'd have enjoyed life...and him for a little while.

Closing her eyes, she let her body answer for her. Her lips parted slightly. Her tongue slipped out to caress his thumb. Sliding first to one side then to the other.

Brandt bent his head, his eyes absorbed with her every tiny movement.

From under half-closed lids, Sam watched his eyes deepen, darken. Sliding her tongue out further, she slowly curled it around the top of his thumb. Instinctively, she'd invited him inside. He didn't resist. His thumb gently caressed the inside of her lips. Sam closed her teeth on his skin, tugging his thumb ever so gently inside. She sucked it lightly, her eyes wide, watching him watch her.

His eyes became heavy-lidded, his breathing harsh and rasping. Sam half smiled. She sucked harder.

His mouth opened, his tongue gently licking across his own lips. His nostrils flared.

The wait became unbearable. Sam closed her eyes to enjoy the simple sense of arousal. Nerve endings she'd tamped down surged to life, making her body tingle in places she didn't even know could respond.

Then he pulled his thumb away.

Her eyes snapped open. Blinded by sensation, her whole being focused on his mouth as he lowered his head and replaced his thumb with his lips. Stunning, hot liquid engulfed her as Brandt kissed her slowly, leisurely, and very, very competently.

When he lifted his head long minutes later, Sam sagged against him.

Holding her close, his lips against her ears, he whispered, "Too much?"

She shook her head, and whispered, "Not enough."

He needed no encouragement: bending and lifting her in his arms, easily carrying her up the stairs to the single room upstairs. He lowered her feet to the floor. Lowering his head, he gave her a long, slow kiss. When he broke it off, she stretched on tiptoes to recapture his lips.

"Sam, I need to know – are you sure? I don't want just a moment. I want to see where this goes. To give it a try. To give us a try."

Sam didn't want to talk, but Brandt reached up to hold her face in his warm hands as he dropped soothing kisses on her forehead, her cheeks, her closed eyelids, and even the corners of her mouth – but never on her lips. "Are you sure?" he murmured insistently.

Sam moaned as his teasing lips moved to her ear and down the smooth line of her neck. Shivers ran down her spine. She melted deeper against him.

"Sam."

She smiled. Her tongue slid against his lips, darting inside to stroke his tongue. Brandt took her mouth in a deep drugging kiss. He finally broke off the kiss, breathing in deep sharp rasps. "Sam, answer me," he ordered.

Sam forced her heavy eyelids open to stare at him in confusion.

"Say yes."

With her gaze fixed on his, she whispered the promise they both needed to hear. "Yes."

11:00 pm

Brandt studied his surroundings. The bare bedroom fascinated him. What an insight into her personal life. All walls and the painted ceiling were bare, not even a poster to break up the bleakness. There were no dressers, closets, or storage of any kind. He could only imagine how her life had been up until now.

Her bed held cheap army surplus blankets with even more stacked on the floor. He glanced at the odd stack of blankets. His face grew grim as understanding crashed in on him. They were spares in case what happened to the one on the couch, happened again.

His cell phone rang. His heart sank. Gently, disengaging himself from Sam's arms, he hurried to find the phone before she woke up.

"Hello." His cell phone showed it was just past eleven. Moonlight cast a pale shadow on the bedroom floor.

"Brandt. We've got trouble."

Brandt listened, glaring into the night. "What the hell? Not again. Who. Did. This?"

"I don't know. I have called the station, but no one is talking. If it takes a court order, I will find out. The ring incident was minor compared to this. You need to warn Samantha."

"Oh I will. Don't worry about that. I get first dibs on the asshole that did this."

"Don't go jumping to conclusions," warned the captain.

"I'm not. Go ahead. Get all the proof you need – then he's mine." Brandt's mind fired on all cylinders. "They actually gave her name? How irresponsible is that?"

"They say it never occurred to them that she might be in danger. Many psychics need publicity to stay in business. I don't think they understand what they've done. But don't worry. You look after Sam, and I'll sort this out."

His voice brooked no argument.

"Fine. You get the first shot. Sort it out...or I will." Brandt hung up.

11:05 pm

"Oh Shit!"

Dillon leaned forward to stare at the television newscaster, his handful of chips frozen in midair. Sam's face filled the screen. Dillon chest constricted. He hadn't done this. He hadn't given the media a picture of her. Oh, crap. He dumped the chips into the bowl and rubbed his hands through his hair. It wouldn't matter if he'd done this or not. If anyone found out what he had done, he'd be blamed regardless. He was so fired.

He'd talked to the reporter, but had only mentioned a psychic being part of the investigation. How could they have put the rest together? He hadn't given them any details. He sure as hell wouldn't have given them her name.

They had to have a name to get a picture. Or the reverse. That's it! Someone could have seen and recognized her at the station. Then it would have been easy to have followed up on her.

Not that it mattered. Once the others knew he'd talked to the media a little bit, no one would believe he hadn't given them everything. Everyone would assume the worst. Given his behavior to date, he couldn't blame them.

The woman's face stayed on the screen so long Dillon wanted to throw something.

What was he going to do?

There was no doubt about one thing. If Brandt and Sam were right about a killer taking out women in the area, there was no doubt which woman would be his next victim.

He needed to save his neck. Shit. There was only one way.

He reached for the phone.

11:06 pm

"What the hell!" Beer spewed out of Bill's mouth. He leaned forward to hear the newscaster's voice clearer. "A fucking psychic."

The small apartment closed in on him for a long moment. The picture on the screen wavered before focusing in tightly again. Whoever she was, she looked like hell. The picture was grainy and old, the woman hardly identifiable.

He leaned back, unsure what to think. After a minute, he started to laugh. A slow rolling-barrel laugh pealed across the small room. "Oh God, that is too funny. Fucking incompetent cops. They can't solve anything. Their heads are stuck so far up their asses they had to bring in a goddamned psychic."

With his beer safely down on the long pine coffee table, he laughed and laughed. This was so perfect.

Abruptly the laughter died in his throat. He glared at the picture still on the screen, committing her features to memory.

She'd better not sense him. He'd fucking kill her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

11:15 pm

Brandt gazed down at the sleeping angel beside him. God, help him, he was just as much to blame for this mess. There were so many things he could have done. He could have talked to the station himself about who supplied the picture of the ring. He could have put the fear of God into Dillon and Kevin – let them know he was suspicious of them. Most of all, he should have beat the shit out of that asshole deputy from her past. He closed his eyes and groaned. Guilt squeezed his heart. Stupid.

He'd never knowingly do anything to hurt her. Ever. But just as bad...he'd promised to keep her involvement private and he'd failed.

His arm tightened around the tiny woman that had broken into the locked places in his heart. Lowering his head, he dropped tiny caresses to the side of her face tucked into his shoulder. Unbelievable. He cared so much and just the thought of anything happening to her made his arms squeeze tightly.

With a muffled protest, Sam, still asleep, shifted slightly out of his grasp. "Sorry, sweetheart." Brandt shifted to give her more space.

His phone rang again. Casting a worried look at Sam, Brandt slid upward to sit against the wall, cell phone in hand.

"Hello."

Captain Johansen's next words had Brandt hopping out of bed to the far side of the room. He stopped in front of the window. "What?" he hissed.

Brandt shook his head at the next piece of information. "He what? What the hell was he thinking? Yet, he says he didn't give them her picture and name?" Brandt, remembering Sam was still asleep, took several deep breaths. "Do you believe him?"

Brandt, tucking the phone against his shoulder, quickly pulled on his briefs and pants. Trying not to wake Sam, he walked downstairs and into the kitchen.

The captain's heavy sigh was unmistakable. "Yes. I do. He's an idiot, mostly a harmless one. Do you have a picture of her in the file?"

"No, I don't."

"Right, and he wouldn't have gone to the trouble of digging one out. He's too damn lazy for that. Chances are someone else did it. I just don't know who yet. The station did admit this information came from a different source than the one who provided the ring – which confirms Dillon's story."

"Christ, what a mess." Knowing the captain agreed didn't help any.

"Brandt – you know what has to happen. I'll deal with Dillon. You have to get her to a safe house."

Brandt laughed a short angry bark. "That's not as easy as it sounds. She's not going to be happy."

"To hell with keeping her happy. At this point, I'm only concerned with keeping her alive. If she won't come willingly, you know what to do."

The captain rang off, leaving Brandt glaring at the phone in his hand.

Someone had deliberately put Samantha in danger. Whoever had done this might as well have pointed a gun at her head and pulled the trigger himself.

What if that was exactly what this asshole intended? Deputy Brooker came to mind. The more he thought on it, the more his suspicions grew. It shouldn't be too hard to pick him up. Adam had been working on tracking where he was staying earlier today. Brandt quickly made a couple of phone calls. Within minutes, an APB was put out on the vehicle, and Adam was heading into the office to pull a photo off the database to circulate as well. Then he'd be taking the photo to the newsroom to confirm Brandt's suspicions.

Could anyone else have done this? Sam said only a few people knew about her skills. After today's mess at work, that select few had grown considerably. Several of those might have wondered about her skills before – not after today. God damn it. He highly doubted Kevin would have done something like this, particularly after seeing Sam in action today. Besides, he'd have never put the department at risk.

"What won't make me happy?"

Startled, Brandt turned around to find Sam, with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, leaning against the doorway. Tousled and tiny, she appeared so lost Brandt couldn't help himself. He walked over, tugging her into his arms.

He didn't want to tell her. Brandt grimaced. There was no way around it. She had to know.

"That was the captain. One of our detectives has fessed up to telling the media that you were helping the police with this case. He swears that's all he said. But on the news tonight there was a little more to it than that."

"Exactly how much more was there?" Her voice was quiet, too quiet. So were her eyes.

His heart sank. She already knew.

"Your name and picture."

She froze. Brandt rubbed her back soothingly. "It's okay. I won't let anything happen to you."

Stiff and unyielding, Sam didn't answer. After a few moments, Brandt tilted her chin so he could gaze into her eyes. Searching deep, he tried to find out what she was thinking.

Her eyes were frozen blanks.

"Oh, God, Sam. I am so sorry." Brandt tugged her closer, rocking her gently in his arms. "Captain Johansen wants you to go to a safe house where we can keep an eye on you."

Sam shook her head vehemently. "I'm not going."

Brandt winced. "I'm afraid it's not a choice."

Sam reared up, glaring at him. Brandt, damn his hormones couldn't resist noticing the gentle sway of her breasts. Now that he knew what those God-awful sweaters covered up, he whole-heartedly approved of them. He didn't want every other male getting an eyeful. Christ, she was gorgeous when she was mad. Peach flushed her normally pale skin, giving her a lively bloom that was so often missing from her skin.

"Like hell. You can't force me," she declared defiantly.

He sighed and tried to tug her down against him, only she was having nothing to do with it.

"Actually, I can, but I don't want to have to." He shifted slightly, realizing his body's interest in her nude state wouldn't be received well at the moment, but knowing there was damn little he could do about it. "Sam, try to be reasonable. The killer now knows who you are and it won't take him long to find where you live."

"Do you realize what you've done? It's not just the killer. It's my job and my friends." Sam stopped, a stunned look on her face. She snorted. "Okay, so they may not be friends in the 'forever' sense, but they were friendly to me. Why is it, I'm only just understanding what that means, now that I'm about to lose them?"

"Not everyone will see the news."

Sam snorted. "This is a small town. Whoever doesn't see the news will be told by 9 am tomorrow."

She was probably right. "That doesn't mean they will treat you any differently." Besides, he couldn't let anything else matter. She had to stay safe. Nothing else was acceptable.

Fine tremors ran through her. "I don't think I can I live here if I'm an outcast again."

Brandt ran his fingers through his hair. He couldn't imagine what her life had been like up to now. She'd built herself a life here. He didn't want her to lose that.

"I can understand how you feel."

An angry laugh escaped. "Can you?"

Brandt could feel the slow burn he'd stomped on earlier, start to flare up. Her anger was nothing in comparison. He couldn't let it be. This was beyond serious. She had to leave and now. Staring out into the black of night, he realized they didn't have much time. The killer could already have found her location and be on his way. His voiced his thoughts. "You have to consider that he could be on his way right now."

Sam aged before him. His heart went out to her.

"I'm sorry, Sam. But this is the way it has to be."

Sam blurted out, "The animals. I can't take them to a safe house. Soldier needs this place as much as I do. To take him anywhere else will slow his rehabilitation, magnify his trust issues if you take him away from his new home."

She had a point – just a small one. He was concerned about her though, not the dog.

"Staying here is out of the question."

"Why?" she interrupted.

"There's too much cover for a predator. It would be hard to defend."

"Not true," she answered shaking her head. "Someone could stay in the house with me."

"We don't want to use you for bait. He's going to come looking for you and you know that. If we take you to a safe house, he won't be able to find you."

"Really? You mean until another detective leaks that information too. Thanks but no thanks. I didn't trust the police before, and the behavior out of your office hasn't changed my opinion one bit." Sam walked over to curl up on the couch with the blanket wrapped around her body.

Sadly, he watched as those beautiful curves disappeared from view.

"Besides, if he can't find me, he'll just kill other women. You..." her voice choked, "or someone else has already set me up as bait. So you might as well make good use of the opportunity." Bitterness edged her voice.

Shit. Brandt sat down beside her. "Sam, I'm wondering if this isn't part of Deputy Brooker's machinations. If the killer found you, it would be an easy solution to his problem."

Sam shot him a considering look. A sweater lying over the couch caught her eye. Dropping the blanket to her waist, she pulled the sweater over her head, tugging it down under the blanket. Oddly enough, it was that action that made him suddenly very nervous.

"God damn it Sam. I didn't set you up. You know what a media frenzy is like. Once they sniff out a story like this, there is no letting go."

"Thanks, but I don't need the reminder." Sam curled into a tiny ball and stared out into the night.

3:15 am

Now fully dressed, Sam curled up in a small ball in the corner of the couch where she could look out. Darkness still blanketed the valley, giving it an eerie glow. She wasn't going to leave her home. The police had created this situation, so they could damn well fix it. She wasn't being stubborn; she was being sensible. They wanted to protect her, fine. They could do it here.

Moses pushed his cold, wet nose against her arm. "Hey boy. That's right, isn't it? We couldn't possibly move you and Soldier. He's just starting to adapt to this place as it is."

She peered around at the simple room. This was her home and she wasn't leaving. She knew better than most what this killer was capable of doing.

Brandt walked down the stairs. Her heart twanged. She didn't want to see him. She didn't like this sense of betrayal. If Brooker had done this, then it wasn't Brandt's fault. Except he'd promised to keep her name out of this. Unfair or not, there it was.

She geared up for the fight to come. Still, the feelings of resentment were hard to maintain as he walked toward her. Her nostrils flared. Her heart and mind flooded with images of last night. It couldn't be. She refused to be swayed by sweet memories. Damn it.

Ruthlessly, she forced down tears.

Brandt gingerly stepped over the sprawled dog to sit on the couch with her.

"You may not be feeling very generous toward me at the moment, however, I need you to understand and believe in one thing – I didn't set you up. I wouldn't – couldn't – do that to you. And I will do everything in my power to keep you safe."

When she stared at him, but stayed quiet, his shoulders sagged.

"Please," he whispered, "Just believe in me, in us, that much. We'll work out everything else. I promise."

This time, she couldn't hold back the tears. They pooled at the corner of her eyes before slowly running down her cheeks. Burying her face in her arms, she tried hard to stifle the sniffles. When his arms wrapped around her, lifting her to his lap, the dam broke.

Brandt held her tight, murmuring nonsensical things in her hair.

Finally, her sobs ran down until she rested quietly in his arms. Where did she go from here? How to go on? She'd lived so isolated for so long, she didn't think she could handle being pointed and laughed at again. She shook her head slightly. Tough as that might be, losing Brandt would be the worst. For the first time, she was experiencing this connection, this sense of belonging with another person. He fit like her other half, making her whole.

"Honestly, I don't think many people will recognize you. Apparently, it's an old picture."

Sam stilled then tilted her head. "Did you read my mind?"

He smiled and dropped a tender kiss on her nose. "No. I figure that's your department."

She leaned against him, not sure how she felt anymore. She hadn't really thought he was to blame. That responsibility belonged with the asshole who'd released the information. Still, how much did she really know of Brandt? Sure, her mind mocked. You only know him well enough to have wild, uninhibited sex with him. Sam winced at the reminder.

"What's the matter now?"

Deciding to be honest, she answered, "I'm realizing that I've only known you for a few days."

His arms tightened. "You know all that matters."

She wondered about that.

6:10 am

Several sleepless hours later, Brandt walked into the kitchen expecting, even spoiling, for a fight. "I hope you've reconsidered."

She pulled the bread out of the toaster and buttered the two pieces and didn't answer.

"I hope you're prepared to be reasonable." Brandt knew he should shut up, yet found himself aggressively defensive. He needed her to understand, to care about staying safe.

She shot him a look. "Reasonable? Take another look at what has happened to my life, then tell me that."

"Damn it, I have. I wouldn't have wished this on you for anything. But it doesn't change the facts. You have to be protected, and we have to catch this asshole. This could be the same guy I'm hunting, or it may be an entirely different asshole. I don't care – we have to get him off the street. You have to stay safe." His voice rose at the end of his sentence. He visibly struggled to regain control, but it was tough. She was fighting him over something that was inarguable.

She finished buttering the toast on the plate and carried it over to the table. "I don't have a death wish, but I do want this to be over. I can't live in a cell, and I have to have some space for my..." Out of words, Sam wafted her hand in the air. "For my abilities or whatever you want to call them. I can't live the same as everyone else. Don't you understand? These things happen and I don't know when they will. I have to feel safe in my world." Glancing around at the cabin, she added, "It's not much, but it is home. I feel good here, rested. Being in the real world all the time hurts me." She paused briefly. "I don't want to leave this place."

Brandt leaned against the table, trying to give her a chance to express her needs. He didn't think she'd had much time or opportunity to have anyone care about what mattered to her.

She turned to face him, her hand out in a beseeching way that wrenched his heart.

Her voice continued the tug. "I trust you to keep me safe, regardless of the problems with your department. But if I go to a safe house, I won't have an easy time of it." Sam reached out, covering his hand with her own. "Brandt I just want this over. I don't want anyone else to get hurt – including me." At the furious look on his face, she backed off slightly. "I think you should use me as bait. Go ahead and involve Stefan. He has a great inner warning system, so use it."

Seeing his mouth open to protest, she held up her hand to forestall him. "But I will leave that up to you."

Brandt placed his hand flat on the table and slowly sat down, deep in thought. She had a valid argument in terms of her abilities. She wasn't the same as everyone else. Was it unreasonable to force her to go to a safe house? No. However, it would be intolerable for her. He had his orders, still... He straightened up and looked around the cabin, considering location and the problems of guarding her here. Using her as bait was out of the question. A policewoman now...that was possible. Stefan was also a hell of a good idea. He narrowed his eyes, considering her earnest face.

He knew what he had to do. Right or wrong.

"Alright. I'll talk to the captain. Maybe we can find another way."

She turned to look at him in surprise. "Really?"

At his nod, her smile burst free, warming and calming the fear inside him.

"Thank you."

He smiled grimly at her. "Don't thank me yet. The captain isn't going to be happy and may order you to be picked up regardless. Even if that means bringing you in for questioning where we can hold you for forty-eight hours."

She swallowed hard. "I understand and thank you... Thank you for considering my needs." She shrugged. "Maybe, he'll understand."

Brandt didn't think so, but he'd made his decision and he'd stand by it.

But he wasn't looking forward to telling the captain.

10:15 am

Sam kept to the rear of the vet clinic as much as possible. It helped that business was brisk and there were plenty of animals needing her attention.

It also helped her ignore the six-foot-four security guard that stood just inside the door watching her every move. He'd arrived at her house just before seven this morning. Open-mouthed, she hadn't had time to protest. As this guy had walked in, Brandt walked out. Not a good way to start the day.

She tried to stay focused and give the animals a little extra of her time. These poor things needed a warm, caring voice and a shot of love. She needed to stay away from the chaos in her mind. Somehow, she'd thought Brandt would be the one to stay by her side.

She stole a glance at the tall, silent ghost beside her. He'd introduced himself, shown her his ID and had stayed quiet ever since. Watchful, ever present, quiet – Sam, so used to silence, found his unnerving.

Lucy pushed open the door and walked toward Sam. She cast a nervous glance at the man standing silently to the side. "Sam, can you give us a hand? We need another person for a moment."

Sam nodded and followed her into the surgical ward. There was no animal on the table. She turned around in confusion. "What do you need help with?"

Three women converged on her.

"Sam, are you okay?"

"Why do you have a bodyguard?"

"Was that you they were talking about on the news last night?"

Their questions came hard and furious. She stared from one to the other, more than a little overwhelmed. It didn't take long to realize their questions came from a place of caring.

Dr. Wascott walked in. He headed straight for Sam, where he gave her a quick hug. "I can't stay and talk. But you take care of yourself. That psycho could be after you."

A wry smile lit Sam's face. "That's why the bodyguard."

"OMG!"

The girls' excitement and fear melded and blended until sentiments were impossible to tell apart. It took several minutes of explanations before they finally ran down. They gave her a big hug each and ran back to their duties. Sam stood there bemused, a warm glow inside and out.

So that's what having friends felt like. She could get used to this.

11:35am

Plans, plans, and more plans. He'd done what research he could. There was little enough to find. Bill hoped she was enjoying her celebratory status. Because soon he'd make her famous. He could see the headlines now: Psychic Who Couldn't See What Was Coming.

Serve her right. He preferred to study his victims, to learn everything he could about them. That was the best part. He loved finding out where the women worked, who their friends were, and especially about the lovers they slept with. Every tidbit helped him to know them just a little bit better. Once he'd collected all the little details then he could choose the perfect time and method for her death.

There was not time for all this now. He couldn't take the chance.

She also didn't fall into the same category as the other women. They were chosen. She was just an irritation to be taken care of.

He smiled. Cutting her brake line would be too easy. He already knew that she owned an old Nissan truck. He'd found that out within minutes of hearing her name. He used that method sometimes, just not with the chosen ones. Besides he couldn't guarantee the success like he needed to.

Many people deserved death. Not every one of them deserved his personal attention. Sometimes, men needed killing too. His old boss was one of them. The asshole had the audacity to fire him. Bill hadn't liked the damn job anyway. He frowned. That reminded him. That asshole had escaped. His damn girlfriend had borrowed his Mercedes, dying in his place. His stomach soured. Now, he'd be sure to take care of that bastard personally. But there were more pressing issues to take care of first.

Parksville was only a few miles away. The psychic wouldn't know what hit her.

The cops were particularly stupid. She'd be placed under police protection and the cops would be waiting for him. Bill was too smart for that. His mind spinning with ideas, he couldn't help but appreciate the extra challenge. It definitely added a little spice to brighten up his day.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

5 pm, June 24th

Sam slowly found a level of comfort with having a constant companion. Her daytime watchdog changed shifts regularly, and Brandt stayed for the nights. There'd been a suggestion of a policewoman moving into the house in Sam's place. She'd nixed that. What if the poor woman were killed? Sam didn't want that on her conscience.

Sam still looked over her shoulder at odd times. At unexpected moments, she felt eyes on her. No matter how fast she spun around, she could never find her stalker.

Still, as time passed, she adjusted.

The detectives were busy doing their thing. They'd found out where Brooker was staying. He'd denied anything to do with the media, and hadn't planned for Sam to identify that the picture shown on television had been taken during her time in Nikola County. He'd blustered for hours, but Captain Johansen, paired with Brandt and Sam's evidence, convinced the overweight bully into giving them a cowering confession. Kevin wanted him to confess for trying to run her off the road, but Brooker wasn't going for it – yet. A crew had gone to her cabin searching the area for evidence where Soldier had been shot, in an effort to pin that on him, too.

Sam didn't ask for the details. That asshole was a minor blip in her life now.

Brandt's mother was having an easier time of it, too, now that the colonel had woken up. He couldn't remember what happened, which wasn't unreasonable considering his injury and age, but he knew her. She'd stayed at his side these last few days, only leaving for showers and changing of clothes. Brandt would be heading over tomorrow to take both back to the care center.

As for Sam, she was surrounded by friends and her bodyguards were reserved, yet friendly. That suited her. Best of all, Brandt came home every night and slept on the couch he'd moved into her room.

She hadn't invited him into her bed again and he'd never mentioned it either. The unspoken word 'later' hung in the air. There would be time down the road to talk and sort through their convoluted relationship. Not that she didn't wake up in the night and reach for him, because she did, then hugged her pillows close when she found herself alone. The temptation to go to him often overwhelmed her. It was the knowledge that her advances wouldn't be welcomed that stopped her. He considered himself to be on duty.

She planned to present him with a ready dinner tonight. Return some normalcy into their lives. Not that they'd had a chance to experience such a commonplace thing yet. That was for other people, other relationships…

By the time she'd made pork chops with a creamy mustard sauce and stuffed tortellini on the side, with slices of cucumber and tomato in apple cider vinegar, she was feeling quite proud of herself.

Brandt arrived just in time, only stopping outside to speak with the guard briefly. Sam's heart lifted at the sight of him. Sam walked to the front door. "Hi, how are you doing?" There, that was just the right note, casual and friendly. She waved good-bye as the guard hopped into his car and drove off.

Brandt walked in, sniffing the air. "Whatever it is, it smells wonderful." He dropped his coat and laptop bag on the end of the couch and walked over to sweep her into his arms, where he twirled her around so he could check out the pots bubbling on the stove.

Laughing, she squeezed him before stepping back. "It's ready. Wash up."

"How was your day?" he asked, walking over to the kitchen sink.

Sam started serving the plates. "The same as usual. Yours?"

"Same old. How's Soldier?"

"Not impressed." Soldier had objected strenuously to the added male presences. One of the guards had made the mistake of walking too close. Soldier had barely missed snapping his hand off. Sam had been horrified, apologizing profusely and had gone to calm the dog down. The guard had been wary ever since and had passed the word on.

Soldier spent his days in peace and quiet, his mornings and nights on full alert. She appreciated the fact that he never ventured far away from her. The two of them had an unspoken truce. She helped him to heal and regain his strength while he kept her company and worked to keep her safe. That it kept the men away from her and him was a benefit to both of them.

By the time bedtime rolled around, Brandt and Sam had spent several comfortable hours talking. They discussed everything from global warming to hybrid cars and even favorite recipes. By bedtime, Sam had a warm glow of friendship around her. She'd really enjoyed tonight. Still smiling, she fell asleep immediately.

Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, Sam surfaced from her dreams to hear the unfamiliar sounds of voices in her living room. Listening from under her covers, she heard Brandt move around.

Something was wrong.

Concerned, Sam hopped out of bed, grabbed up her old terry cloth robe and slipped downstairs. Brandt stood at the bottom of the stairs, fully dressed.

"What's the matter?" she asked, frowning.

"The hospital' raised the alarm. Your suicide victim has been attacked."

Sam wrapped her arms around her chest. "Oh no," she whispered. "Is she okay?"

He shook his head. "I don't know the details. We put a guard on her too, once we matched the earring to her."

"You did?" Sam felt warmed at his concern for the unknown woman. He was a good man. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you would just worry even more." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. "The guard has been injured, as have two nurses."

"Oh, God." This asshole was a sick bastard. "What makes you think he's not on his way here?"

"The hospital security chased him outside and saw him take off in his car. The police have picked up his trail, heading north to Washington. He's probably planning to run across the border." He kissed her on the cheek. "Just in case, there's another cop on his way here. I'll wait until he shows up and then head out."

Sam wrapped her robe tighter around her. "I can't believe how many people he's hurting."

"He's a serial killer, and the noose is tightening. He's going to do everything he can to survive."

Lights shone through the trees into the living room.

"Here he is. I'll see you in a couple of hours." He walked to the door and opened it. "Get some sleep. Remember, the cops are on his ass and should have him in handcuffs within hours."

Sam frowned. "He's pretty smart for that."

"Not this time."

David, an older man,, walked in, smiling at her. "Good news, huh?"

"Yeah. But I'll feel better when he's behind bars." With one last glance at Sam, he said, "I won't be long, but it's important to get to the hospital as soon as possible. We need every bit of evidence we can to nail this bastard. I shouldn't be more than a couple of hours."

Sam nodded, giving him the reassurance he needed to leave. She couldn't quite believe that this was almost over. This worry had been with her for so long. It didn't seem possible that the end was near.

She smiled at David. "Thanks for coming. I'm heading to bed. Maybe I'll be able to sleep for the first time in weeks."

David tipped his cap. "Go rest easy. We'll get this guy."

Sam nodded, as expected, and walked to her room. She didn't have the same level of confidence. She knew this asshole had evaded cops for decades. A car chase was small change for him. He'd taken out a guard and injured two nurses tonight alone.

Who knew what other damage he could inflict this night?

2 am

Brandt drove fast, carefully. The long, twisting dirt road didn't offer much opportunity for speeding. He hated to leave Sam. Reaching for his cell phone, he called Captain Johansen for the latest.

"I don't have an update. I'll get one and call you back. Where are you?"

"Almost twenty minutes out from the hospital." Brandt hung up, turned on his sirens, and slammed his foot down on the pedal. His stomach churned with nerves. Leaving Sam was the last thing he wanted to do. They'd better have this bastard locked up by the time this night was over.

His cell phone rang.

"Hello." Brandt glanced in his rear view mirror. Other than a semi that he'd passed a few miles ago, the highway was deserted.

"Brandt, turn around," yelled the captain. "The cops pulled the car over. A stupid assed kid had been paid a hundred bucks to drive the car north as far and as fast as he could. The cops tracked the car. It was stolen yesterday."

"Shit!" Brandt hit the brakes. His tires squealed loudly as the vehicle spun sideways before coming to a violent, rocking stop across the highway. He turned the wheel and hit the gas. "Call David and warn him. I'm on my way."

If Brandt thought he drove fast on the way into town, he burned rubber heading to Sam.

A diversion. A fucking diversion to leave Sam open – and defenseless.

Christ.

He tried calling Sam's cell phone. No answer. Shit! She hadn't turned the damn thing on. He called David. No answer.

Oh, God, please let him be in time.

2:24 am

Sam curled up in bed. She couldn't help feeling terrible about the guard and nurses. She didn't even know how the victim had fared in that confrontation. Hopefully, everyone would survive. Sam really wanted a happy ending to all of this. With the blankets pulled up to her chin, she found herself listening for the phone downstairs announcing the good news. Uneasy, without explanation, Sam found herself giving extra thanks for her bodyguard downstairs. Brandt...well, he'd be home whenever he was done.

Home. That had such a nice cozy ring to it. Maybe when this mess was over... After twenty minutes of not being able to stop her mind from circling uselessly, she compromised and took a, herbal sleep aid. It wouldn't knock her out the same as a sleeping pill.

Brandt. A warm contentedness filled her mind. An irritating pinch on her arm made her frown, but then his hands slid over the smooth surface of her hips. Mmmm. Heat flushed through her veins, awaking nerve endings she'd forcibly capped for the last few days.

Moving sensuously under his soothing caresses, Sam moaned in joy. She reached for him, but let him turn her hands aside as his caresses explored the soft valley of her abdomen. He was purely delicious. He was also too good at what he did. Lost in the sensations of building lust and the unique experience of enjoying her lover's attention, Sam slid deeper under his spell. Placing her hand over his, sliding her fingers gently through and over his, Sam explored his strong muscled hands before sliding slowly up his wrists. They felt different.

He still had clothes on.

With a slight moue, she tugged at the sleeve that interfered with her exploration. Gently, he grabbed her hands and raised them over her head, holding her in place. She murmured in delight and tried to tug. It didn't work.

He bent his head and nuzzled the plump side of her breast through her pajama top.

Sam moaned and twisted under him. Her stomach roiled, at odds with the rest of the sensations happily flickering though her body. She frowned in confusion.

His mouth fondled the pouting nipple under the cotton material.

"Please," she pleaded.

Silence.

A tiny bit of doubt crept under Sam's guard. It seemed so real. But so were her visions. A weird fog rolled through her mind. Shit. Realization was slow to come. Brandt was gone. This was another vision. No. Surely not. Sleepiness mixed with the images overlapping in her mind – all in bright Technicolor.

Heat flashed over her skin at the memories of her previous lovemaking with Brandt. Overlapping were sensations on her skin even now. Hands moved to cup her breasts and squeeze gently. She sighed. But her mind wouldn't relax. Caught in limbo between worlds, she struggled to stay real in another woman's dream. Wanting it to be Brandt, yet knowing the killer had taken another victim.

His mouth tugged and teased, tantalizing her nipple, bringing her back to a sensual high, all the while her mind operating in the background, struggling to remember Stefan's lessons.

Teeth clamped lightly on the end of the sensitive nipple.

Then bit down hard.

The woman screamed. Sam screamed.

Her spine arched and she tried to curve away from the pain. Her hands were held above her head, keeping her captive. Her eyes opened. Then closed again in despair.

Oh God. It was him. She was caught in another vision.

Sam struggled to separate the vision from the reality.

Oh, God. Oh, God. The poor woman. Sam knew she could do nothing, but endure. Locked inside her mental labyrinth, Sam felt the victim's pain and horror, as she finally understood.

She twisted and struggled, hearing the words. "Please don't hurt me." Were they from the victim or her? Sam didn't know. It didn't matter. Both of them wanted this to be over. They wanted to be saved. And they both knew it wasn't going to happen.

Low masculine laughter filled the room.

"Please," pleaded the same voice. "Let me go."

Her arms were wrenched above her head and held in a punishing grip. The attacker pressed down hard on the wrist bones. Pain squeezed through injured nerve endings, ripping scorch lines throughout her body.

Sam, desperate to separate herself from the woman's pain, tried to seek the blackness of the etheric world. This torture was just beginning. Sam didn't want to be here and most definitely not this early on. She normally came in at the end, those precious few minutes to help the victims cross the line to death.

She was part of this experience to help the victims and if she could, to help the police find justice for the victims. She wasn't here to suffer. Her mind waffled then raced in different directions from what had to be drugs, sliding insidiously through the victim's veins. She wanted out. Stefan had given her some tips to try, what were they? Right. Grounding herself by following the line of her skeleton down to her feet and imagining them coming from the center of the earth. Except, she hadn't expected to do this under these circumstances. Concentrating was almost impossible. The woman's terror, her pain dominated. Sam struggled to free herself of the dark sucking energy.

"Samantha."

Sam's mind froze. Then her heart slammed into her chest.

Who called her?

Her eyelids flickered and she was suddenly more afraid than she'd ever been in her life. Never had a vision called her name. She wrinkled her nose. A fetid odor filled her head. Something awful wafted through the air. A metallic bloody smell. God, she didn't want to open her eyes and see what she knew would be there.

"Look at me, Samantha."

She forced her eyes wide.

And found herself in her own bedroom, staring up at the same whitewashed ceiling. She was home. Oh God. She was not alone.

This time, she was the victim.

2:29 am

Stefan slammed into awareness. Shoving his bedding back, he came to a standing position before he'd even realized what had happened. He couldn't see where he was, his bedroom was seeped in darkness. His curtains were open – still no light shone in.

Looking around, his hand went to his throat. Jesus. Sam. She was in danger. He reached for his phone. No answer. Shit. He called Brandt. It was busy. Fuck.

Pushing into a sitting position, he crossed his legs and sent himself deep into a trance. He had to find Sam. Soon. She needed help. Evil was wrapping her up in the dangerous torrent. He had to make her aware...and fast.

He tried to block out the unwanted thought, then realized it was stopping his gifts. Better to acknowledge the possibility so he wouldn't be crippled by the fear. He knew that before this night was over she'd be fighting for her life

Or...even worse, he'd be helping her cross over to the other side – to her death.

2:39 am

No!

She tried to struggle. Panic dimmed her sight as she realized there'd be no waking up this time. There'd be no last minute rescue for her. It was her turn to die.

It wasn't supposed to happen this way. Where the hell was Brandt? Even as she panicked, vestiges of old resentment rose to the surface. Why was there no one there to rescue her? Wait. David. Her security guard. Oh no, the poor man.

I'm here.

Stefan.

Call Brandt!

He knows. He's on his way. Keep fighting.

I'm trying.

Fight harder.

Stefan's voice started to fade. No. Wait. Remember your lessons. Disconnect.

Her mind cried out for him. There was no answer.

She glared at the asshole that had hurt so many people. She'd never even seen him before. This time he had no mask. Why? As she tried to focus in on the details of his face, his features zoomed out, leaving her with a faint impression of dark wide-set eyes with heavy brows and thick cheekbones and prominent nose – his eyes black empty holes. His face look oddly colored, out of proportion.

Drugs. Of course, he'd given her drugs. Different ones this time. Her mind tried to puzzle through the convoluted maze of thoughts, then quickly frazzled out. It didn't matter anymore.

"What kind of useless psychic are you? You couldn't even see this coming." His mouth twisted into a malevolent mockery of a smile.

"What did you do to my bodyguard?" She spat the words at him. She twisted in vain.

He reared backwards. "Must have been a cop. Just as useless as the rest of them." He shifted slightly for a better look at her face. With a big smirk, he added, "You were supposed to be a bigger challenge, being a psychic and all." Coarse laughter filled the room, grating on her ears and sending terror running through her soul. "I was looking forward to this." He stared around in disgust. "Nothing to it. Or you. God, what a loser. Look at this place. It's a dump."

Evil glistened from his eyes, sourced deep in his soul. It would be a bad day for those who'd crossed him. Like her.

She, remembering Stefan's lessons, searched for lightness inside her center of being. His blackness was overwhelming. The light sustained her. If she let the blackness gain control, it would be over. If it were her time to die like all the others, then she'd rather go kicking and screaming – and taking a piece of him with her.

She reached out in her mind's eye. She could barely sense the bodyguard. He was still alive. The dogs' energy was outside her bedroom door. She could almost hear them whining. The bastard had shut it, locking them out. No sign of Brandt or Stefan.

"Damn you to hell." She glared at him, furious at herself, and the situation.

He laughed. "Not like you planned, huh?"

She twisted her head to check the window. It was wide open.

If she screamed, the dogs still would not be able to get through the door. There was no lock, still she had yet to teach any animal to open the door latch. Soldier was an incredibly determined animal. He was strong enough to break the door down if he wanted to. Or if he were mad enough. If she could find the right trigger. What had she called him in the vet's office so long ago?

At the top of her lungs, she screamed, "Major, git!"

"Whoever you're calling – let him come. I'll kill him too."

His knife slid upward without warning, cutting her throat under her chin.

Sam screamed. The drugs gave him enormous size. Nothing was needed to emphasize his natural cruelty. He was too big for her to move. Furious and in pain, she struggled for freedom. He laughed again, placing a knee on her chest. In a startling motion, he stabbed the knife into the mattress beside her ear, cutting locks of hair and grasping her throat in both hands.

"I want to squeeze the life from your body myself, you stupid bitch."

Black dots appeared before her eyes. Static filled her ears. She automatically grabbed his hands, trying to free her throat from his grasp. She gurgled for air, bucking to get rid of him. To no avail. With her strength gone and almost no air, she collapsed back down. This was the end then.

Her mind went cloudy. The killer's face blurred. The rage and joy in eyes blended into something pure evil. Her arms fell to her sides.

The last of her air bubbled from her lungs. Suddenly, the weight was lifted off – she was free. Sam gasped frantically for air, her hands circling her own throat, protectively. She rolled over into a tightly curled up ball, coughing as she gulped for air. "Oh, God," she whispered, her voice barely recognizable.

Noises penetrated the fog in her mind. Growling, and yelling, thuds and blows surrounded her. She shuffled on the bed to huddle at the headboard, trying to avoid bodies that crashed down beside her. Teeth bared, fur flying, Soldier had locked onto the killer's shoulder. Moses had locked on the man's leg. The killer grunted and punched, kicking any area he could as the three rolled in mortal combat.

The bedroom door swung in the cold night air.

Sam winced at the heavy thud of boot on bone. Soldier howled.

God, Soldier was already injured. She had to help him. Her body refused to respond to her orders. The shine of the blade, still embedded in the mattress, caught her eye. She focused on the shine.

Her hand grabbed the hilt just as the killer grabbed her arm pulling her back. Sam punched with her free hand and tried to kick. There was too much dog in the way and too many drugs in her system. She stumbled.

Finding an opportunity, she collected the last of her cohesive energy and lunged, digging her right hand, fingers stiff like claws, into the soft spots of his throat. Her left hand stabbed upward with the knife. He raised his arm defensively. The blade caught his arm and sliced upward, deflecting off bone. He screamed. "Bitch."

His much longer reach latched around her throat. Sam screamed at Soldier again, "Major. Kill."

From the corner of her eye, she hardly recognized the dog. His fangs dripped saliva and blood, and the howl coming from the back of his throat was...otherworldly.

Soldier was on a mission, and she was in the way.

His lip curled, his shoulders hunched up. Sam pushed herself away in a clumsy movement that tumbled her backwards onto the mattress. She needn't have worried. Soldier's jaw replaced her hands, ripping into her attacker's shoulder. The knife was jerked out of her hand.

Soldier's howls, dragged from deep down and forced through his clenched jaw, scared her shitless.

She turned slightly. The killer had the knife raised to bring down on Soldier's spine. "No!" She grabbed his knife arm with both hands and tried to stop him. "You bastard, leave him alone." Her arms trembled. Still, she fought. He grinned at her. She couldn't beat him. He was too strong, and knew it. Soldier continued to howl, splitting the air with his tone. The noise drove through her brain. She groaned, her knees collapsing under her weakening body.

"God, Brandt, where are you?" She needed him. She screamed silently into the dark of night. Now.

2:44 am

"Jesus." Brandt swore he could hear Sam yelling in his head. It was bad enough hearing Stefan screaming though the phone at him a few minutes ago and knowing no one else could get to her before him.

The sounds coming from inside the house sent terror stabbing through his heart. 'Hang on Sam! I'm coming," he yelled. Brandt raced through the living room, barely noticing the body collapsed in a pool of blood on the porch. The screams and howls from upstairs pierced the night. He took the stairs two at a time. The scene that greeted him made his stomach churn.

Blood splattered everywhere. Soldier and Sam were locked in a death fight with a large male, Moses reduced to a crumpled heap of fur on the floor.

Brandt jumped into the fray, knocking the knife from the killer's hand and pulling Sam loose. She stumbled a few feet then collapsed to the floor. The killer ignored him. Bent on destroying the fury chomping through his shoulder, he immediately locked his hands around Soldier's throat, squeezing tight.

Bloody bubbles foamed out of Soldier's mouth. Blood coated his fur. The sound coming out from his mouth, an unholy alliance with hell.

His gun trained on the two still caught in a life and death grip. "Sam, talk to me. Are you okay?"

"Yes," she mumbled, managing a small nod to reinforce her statement. "I think so." She reached up to her throat, barely able to touch the raw skin. "Save Soldier."

He spared her a quick glance, slightly reassured that Sam had crawled to Moses and was talking – not very coherently, still she could communicate. "Stay back. I have to get Soldier off first. I don't want to have to shoot him."

Brandt turned his attention to the still-howling dog locked on to the killer's shoulder. "Let the dog go. I'll get him off you."

"Like hell.," the killer gasped. "This asshole should have died a long time ago. Worthless piece of shit."

Brandt didn't know what he was talking about, and it didn't matter right now. Somehow he had to save the dog. For Sam's sake. The killer be damned. "Let go of the dog, or I'll shoot."

"Fuck you." The killer grinned at him through bared teeth as he removed one hand from Soldier's throat and with a quick twist of his wrist slid a dagger free from his belt and threw it.

"Brandt!"

The dagger stabbed into the wall behind Brandt, missing him completely. Brandt didn't miss the killer. The bullet hit him low in the left shoulder. The grin fell off his face as he stumbled to the floor.

Soldier, now with the upper hand and caught in a blood lust of his own, lunged again. He reclamped his jaws into a tighter grip.

"Soldier!" Brandt ordered. "Soldier! Stand down." He repeated it twice before the dog stopped trembling and unlocked his jaw. Brandt stepped closer, the gun trained on the killer.

Soldier curled his lip at him.

"It's okay, boy. You've done good. Move, Soldier."

The dog dripped blood from open tissue shinning wetly in the dark.

"Soldier. Down."

In the distance, the sound of sirens grew stronger.

Brandt didn't think the dog was going to listen. Finally in a crippled shuffling movement, the dog slid to the floor. He was hurt, and badly. Brandt kicked the knife away. The killer glared at him, blood pouring from both shoulders.

Sirens filled the air, colored flashing lights filled the room.

"It's okay Sam. The ambulance and police are here."

"Sam?"

Silence filled the room.

Brandt spun around to look, his gun still trained on the killer. "Sam?" Fear spiked his voice to a scream. Crumpled in a bloody pile on the floor, Sam lay between the two dogs. All three looked dead.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Sam walked slowly down to the dock, Brandt at her side. Soldier hobbled behind them. Moses, moving much slower, brought up the rear. Sam wouldn't want it any other way.

She tried not to dwell on the events of that night. She didn't remember much and that's the way she wanted to keep it. She'd been rushed to the hospital where the doctors had frantically tried to stop the spread of the poison from the cocktail of drugs guaranteed to kill her. If it hadn't been for Brandt she would have died. Chills ran down her spine at the reminder.

It had been late the next day before she'd surfaced – screaming. Brandt had been at her side, a place he'd stayed during the first week of her recovery. Once out of hospital, they'd enjoyed the time alone at the lake. A healing time. But then he'd had to go back to work.

Sam had returned to the clinic soon after.

At the clinic, she'd refused to talk about the events, hoping the chatter would die down and with time – it had. Still, David, a good family man and an off-duty cop pulling extra time, lost his life when he'd stepped outside for a cigarette. He'd wandered out to the deck and never had a chance to draw his first smoke-filled breath.

The dogs had been rushed to the clinic where they'd both undergone surgery. Thank God, the vets had done it for free. Sam didn't have that kind of money, and although Brandt had joked that his department should pay the dogs' medical costs, she hadn't wanted to ask for it.

She didn't know what the future held, although more people than she'd ever thought possible stopped her on the street to ask what she saw in their futures. Her fame as a psychic had spread after the details of the attack had leaked to the press.

Speaking of leaks, Dillon had been reprimanded and transferred to another station.

As for Deputy Brooker, Brandt had matched shells picked up from the woods around her place to his gun, finally. He'd followed Brandt to her place when Soldier had caught his scent in the woods. His truck was the same as the one who'd tried to run her off the road. He wasn't admitting anything more at this point. She didn't know what he was going to be charged with at the end of the ongoing investigation, yet she could count on Brandt to make sure he'd be out of commission for a long time. Sam had agreed to testify and help their case in any way. She wasn't looking forward to seeing Brooker face to face, only knew she could do it and survive. She was stronger now – in many ways.

Captain Johansen had apologized profusely. Every time he saw her, in fact. He'd even thanked her. Who knew how long William Durant would have continued killing women if not for her visions. She could grin at the captain now. It had taken awhile, but she was slowly getting used to being around people.

Brandt had helped with that. So, too had Maisy, Brandt's mother. The colonel had recovered. He'd recognized the ring as being on the hand of the dog handler that brought the animals in to visit the patients at the center. A very subdued Maisy confessed that the dog handler had been there when she'd established the pool on when the colonel would remember what he'd forgotten about the ring. She'd actually asked him if he wanted in on the bets. That had sealed the colonel's fate…or nearly.

Even Soldier's story might have been connected. Although, chances are they'd never know for sure. The dog had certainly known what to do when the time had come. William Durant hadn't survived surgery. Sam found it hard to care. The world was better off without him and this way she didn't have to go through two trials.

Brandt was backtracking the guy's life, searching for links to other murders in his files. He was hoping for evidence to close dozens of cases – not to mention bring closure to dozens of families.

It would take some time. As a dog trainer, Bill had exposure to people, care homes, and even the hospital where he took animals in to visit with the patients. This allowed him to travel to various locations without raising suspicion. Teaching obedience training gave him access to hundreds of women. An opportunity he'd taken full advantage of.

Louise Enderby's long-time partner had come forward after seeing the news. He'd been on the board for the city's animal shelters – he'd fired William from a part time job at the pound where he was to rehabilitate last-ditch cases. He'd been caught abusing the animals instead. An organization that relied heavily on donations, the pound hadn't wanted any negative publicity and agreed not to press charges if Bill disappeared – for good.

They could only speculate, yet it appeared that Louise had become an innocent victim of a war she hadn't even known about.

The best that Sam could understand, Bill picked his victims out of numerous loving couples where the man had been supposedly considered to be 'the best' man – theoretically underlining that, Bill himself, wasn't good enough.

Sam didn't understand the psychology of it all. Who could understand a twisted mind like his? Who would want to?

Stefan had even shown up at her cabin during the first week of convalescence, threatening to do her serious harm if she ever got herself into that situation again. Said it had cost him ten years off his life. He'd also pulled her training forward to avoid a repeat of this mess.

Sam smiled. Stefan was a special man and she loved knowing he was in her life. They had a closeness that she had never known was possible. She could only imagine it was similar to the relationship between twins.

As for her and Brandt, well they were slowly adjusting to life as a couple. They both had things to learn and Sam wasn't sure she was ready to live together, although the topic was under discussion. At the same time, she didn't sleep nearly as well alone. Not that she had the chance to.

It was Brandt who refused to sleep alone. According to him, he was planning on always waking up with her beside him. She hoped he meant it. She wanted to believe in a 'happily ever after.'

Her visions weren't ever going to stop, but she'd become accustomed to them. It wasn't about accepting them any longer, it was about understanding and utilizing them. Progress.

Her visions didn't make her an easy partner, then Brandt's job wouldn't be easy on her. They'd work it out. For the first time ever, she could see a future. It was bright and rosy. She'd like to have had a vision that told her Brandt was her future and she'd be spending the next forty years happily at his side, but as she'd found out, visions didn't work that way.

Brandt glanced at Sam, standing at his side, staring out over the water. He couldn't help but feel protective of this woman, so slight, so strong, and so damaged. She'd been a tormented soul who walked with one foot on the dark side of the universe. Now there was a lightness to her.

She was everything to him. He stepped closer, wrapping his arms protectively around her shoulders. He'd do anything to keep her safe. In this world and the next. They were a matched set. Their future wouldn't be the standard two-storey house and white picket fence life. No. But it would have its own rewards.

And he was going to make sure they received each and every one of them.

Hide'n Go Seek – Book 2 of the Psychic Vision Series

A twisted game of Hide'n Go Seek forces an unlikely alliance between a no-nonsense FBI agent and a search-and-rescue worker.

Celebrated search-and-rescue worker Kali Jordon has hidden her psychic abilities by crediting her canine partner Shiloh with the recoveries. But Kali knows the grim truth. The Sight that she inherited from her grandmother allows her to trace violent energy unerringly to victims of murder. No one knows her secret until a twisted killer challenges her to a deadly game of Hide'n Go Seek that threatens those closest to her.

Now she must rely on FBI Special Agent Grant Summers, a man who has sworn to protect her, even as he suspects there's more to Kali and Shiloh than meets the eye. As the killer draws a tighter and tighter circle around Kali, she and Grant find there's no place to hide from themselves.

Are her visions the key to finding the latest victim alive or will this twisted game of Hide'n Go Seek cost her...everything?

About Dale Mayer

Dale Mayer is a USA Today bestselling author best known for her Psychic Visions and Family Blood Ties series. Her contemporary romances are raw and full of passion and emotion (Second Chances, SKIN), her thrillers will keep you guessing (By Death series), and her romantic comedies will keep you giggling (It's a Dog's Life and Charmin Marvin Romantic Comedy series).

She honors the stories that come to her - and some of them are crazy and break all the rules and cross multiple genres!

To go with her fiction, she also writes nonfiction in many different fields with books available on resume writing, companion gardening and the US mortgage system. She has recently published her Career Essentials Series. All her books are available in print and ebook format.

To find out more about Dale and her books, visit her at http://www.dalemayer.com. Or connect with her online with Twitter at www.twitter.com/dalemayer and on Facebook at www.facebook.com/dalemayer.author.

If you like Dale Mayer's books and are interested in joining her street team, sign up here - https://www.facebook.com/groups/402384989872660/

Books by Dale Mayer

Psychic Vision Series

Tuesday's Child

Hide'n Go Seek

Maddy's Floor

Garden of Sorrow

Knock, Knock...

Rare Find

Eyes to the Soul – Jan 20th, 2015

By Death Series

Touched by Death - Part 1 - Free

Touched by Death - Part 2

Touched by Death - Full book

Haunted by Death

Chilled by Death – March 31 2015

Second Chances...at Love Series

Second Chances - Part 1 - Free

Second Chances - Part 2

Second Chances - Full book

Broken, but… Mending Series

Skin

Scars – Feb. 24th, 2014

Novellas

It's a Dog's Life - romantic comedy

Charmin Marvin Romantic Comedy

Broken Protocols #1

Broken Protocols 2

Broken Protocols 3

Broken Protocols 3.5

New adult/adult crossover Books

In Cassie's Corner

Gem Stone (a Gemma Stone mystery)

Design Series

Dangerous Designs - Free

Deadly Designs

Darkest Designs

Family Blood Ties Series

Vampire in Denial - Free

Vampire in Distress

Vampire in Design

Vampire in Deceit

Vampire in Defiance

Vampire in Conflict

Non-Fiction Books

Career Essentials: The Resume

Career Essentials: The Cover Letter

Career Essentials: The Interview

Career Essentials: 3 in 1

JUMP TO...

NEW REVELATIONS by HEATHER TOPHAM WOOD

ARMAND by APRIL AASHEIM

TUESDAY’S CHILD by DALE MAYER

JUST A LITTLE NUDGE by JESI LEA RYAN

HAUNTED ON BOURBON STREET by DEANNA CHASE

SPIRITS AMONG US by MORGAN HANNAH MACDONAND

LONDON by JC ANDRIJESKI

AMONG THE LIVING by JORDAN CASTILLO PRICE

VAMPIRE VACATION by C.J. ELLISSON

TOUCHED by HAZEL HUNTER

JUST A LITTLE NUDGE

BY JESI LEA RYAN

Marley Sexton never aspired to be a stripper. She even chose the stage name Misty Showers as a joke, thinking she’d make a few quick bucks and move on to greener pastures. Three years later, Marley’s still stripping. It’s the only job she can land that will put a dent in her mother’s mounting medical bills.

It’s also the only job where she feels justified parting fools from their money with a little talent she calls nudging.

As psychic powers go, nudging isn’t impressive. Marley can’t get people to do anything they’re not already inclined to do. Useful for making a seedy customer grab a larger bill from his wallet, but not strong enough to ditch a drug cartel that’s on her tail.

Marley is in over her head. She’s not big on trusting people, especially a strange man with a gun, a badge, and a story that doesn’t quite add up. JC Moreno figures out that Marley may have taken the nudge a little too far. But how? Whoever the guy actually works for, one thing’s for certain. He has a history with the cartel and an agenda of his own. Although the suspicion between Marley and JC runs both ways, maybe they can work together to both get what they want…if they don’t get killed in the process.

Heat Level: 3

Dedication

If not for fellow author Jordan Castillo Price, I’d probably still be agonizing over this story.

Thank you for your support and friendship.

Chapter 1

Marley

Mama always said, “Some people so bad they just need killin’.”

’Course she was referring to the most villainous characters on her daytime soaps, and not about the corpse lying at my feet, but I figured the sentiment applied.

“Oh, holy Jesus!” sobbed my co-worker, Destiny, from where she knelt in the back-alley grime, ripping the hell out of her thigh-high stockings and poking the dead man with her talon-like fingernails. Then she gave a half-hearted shove on his chest in what I assumed was a bastardized version of CPR. I could’ve told her there wasn’t anything she could do that would be bringing that man back, but it seemed to make her feel productive until the ambulance arrived. I’d called them ten minutes before, but in this neighborhood? Even emergency personnel paused to draw straws before sending the losers out on the call.

I should’ve felt bad for killing the guy, but the truth was I didn’t. He was a new face at the gentlemen’s club where we danced, and trust me, he was no gentleman. In fact, when I’d stepped out back to make a call to the home to check on Mama—the club didn’t get cell reception for shit—that man had Destiny half-beaten to death and was all set to force himself on her. No, I didn’t feel bad for ridding the world of a violent, despicable person. But I was plenty freaked out at my ability to kill him from ten feet away with only the power of my mind.

“Misty, don’t just stand there. Do something!”

I worked to still my shaking hands. “Dest, honey, there ain’t no more helping that man. He’s gone. We just need to sit tight until the cops get here. Why you helping him anyway? I saw the way he attacked you.”

Destiny stopped her incessant pounding on the man’s chest and slumped back with her ass in a puddle of what I hoped for her sake was water, even though it hadn’t rained a lick in Austin in months.

“Yeah,” she sniffed. “But what kind of person can just sit back and watch somebody die?”

Me, apparently. No way was I lifting a hand to help a would-be rapist.

She buried her snotty face in her hands and sobbed silently, overwhelmed by the weight of the night, or maybe her life. I’m sure to her I looked calm and in control, but inside, shock raced through my veins for an entirely different reason.

You know how some people predict the weather? Or how some know when company’s coming? Well, Mama always called my gift nudging. I sort of implant suggestions in people’s heads. Don’t get me wrong...I can’t lead people around like puppets on strings...but if a person is set on doing something, I can kind of nudge them into a slightly different direction. Say I see someone at McDonald’s ordering a small coffee. I can nudge them into making it a large. Or when men reach for their wallets to get a dollar to shove in the band of my G-string. I can nudge them to grab the twenty instead. Now, don’t judge me. If those men were home with their families where they ought to be, and not panting after strippers, they wouldn’t have to worry about keeping track of their cash.

In the past, my nudging was just that...a small suggestion, barely noticeable. Like I said, I’m not a very impressive psychic. But when I’d stepped outside the back door and saw a man easily three times Destiny’s size, shoving up her skirt and ripping off her undies, I took one look at her split lip and swollen face, and I nudged him to stop. Before I knew it, he’d let go of Destiny, blown out all the breath in his body and never inhaled again. All of him stopped at once.

I shivered and sort of wished I smoked so I had something to do with my hands. The sound of sirens tickled my ears, distant, but headed our way. As I straightened, a movement in the darkness down the alley caught my attention, and my heart jumped. A shadow shifted...no. Must be my freaked-out imagination.

An ambulance rounded the corner, blocking us from view of the main avenue and sending the red and blue disco lights glittering off the broken glass and condom wrappers around us. As the EMTs wrestled with the gurney, two of Austin’s finest jogged over. One officer knelt beside the body to check for a pulse. The other helped the hysterical Destiny to her feet and pressed a handkerchief into her hand. I leaned heavily on the brick of our club to make way for the rushing EMTs.

Marco, the owner of the club, and Jimmy, the head of security, came out to see what all the commotion was about. Seeing me doing my best to appear invisible, Jimmy slipped off his giant-sized jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders. February nights in Texas were chilly, especially for someone wearing a micro-mini and a tube top.

It didn’t take long for the EMTs to halt resuscitation and step out of the way so the crime scene investigators could do their thing. The cops’ attention fell on us. Cop #1 examined Destiny’s busted up face with a flashlight, and Cop #2 asked Marco if there was somewhere he could take us to get statements. Very reluctantly, Marco led us to his office. It was the only room in the house with a door thick enough to hold out the club’s thumping bass.

While Marco hustled to clear his personal papers from his desk and leave, the cops introduced themselves, names that I immediately forgot. I wasn’t good with names on a good day, and this definitely wasn’t a good day.

Cop #2 produced a small notepad, leaned his ass on Marco’s desk and set to asking his questions.

“Can I get your names?”

Destiny sniffed and dabbed at the horror show the running make-up made of her face. “Destiny Star.”

He looked over her skimpy, glittery outfit and sneered. “Your real name?”

“Darla Parsons.”

He glanced to me still huddled in Jimmy’s tent of a jacket on the sofa. “And you?”

“Marley Sexton.” My stupid stripper name was Misty Showers. When I chose it, I did it as a joke. Like, what’s the worst stripper name you can think of kind of thing. I thought I’d work at the club for a couple of months, free up some cash from cheating husbands and college boys, and then be on my way to California. What I hadn’t counted on was Mama having a major stroke and me having to pay for her nursing home. So now, almost three years later, I was still taking my clothes off and being referred to by that ridiculous name.

“I assume you both work here at the club?”

We nodded.

“You’re a dancer,” he said to Destiny, before turning to me. “But what about you? Bartender, waitress?”

Now, I almost took offense to that. Okay, I might not look like the other glamazons riding the pole. My body was too skinny and short on curves. And the red hair/freckle combination I had going on made me look better suited for an episode of Hee Haw than Girls Gone Wild, but hell, I was the best paid dancer in the place! So what if I didn’t come by all my tips honestly.

“I’m also a dancer.”

He raised one brow but wisely moved on in his questioning.

“Miss Parsons, do you want to tell me how you came by those bruises?”

We spent the better part of an hour explaining the same thing over and over. Destiny had stepped out back for a smoke after her set. Mr. Gomez—or so his driver’s license read—followed her out for a little something extra, figuring she’d be an easy lay. When Dest refused, he got violent. Just when he had her pinned and reached for his zipper, he suddenly stepped back, turned blue and fell dead.

I was written off as an innocent bystander.

“Okay, ladies. I think that’s all. Here’s my card if you think of anything else.”

Marco gave us the rest of the night off, but Destiny headed out to the bar. Said she needed a drink to cool her nerves. I, on the other hand, didn’t need to be told twice I could leave. The less time I had to spend in The Henhouse, the better. I ducked into the dressing room, winding around women in various states of dress to get to my locker. I didn’t bother removing my pancake make-up. I’d take a shower at home. I just tugged on some jeans and grabbed a hoodie before heading for the back door.

This time I paused with my hand on the cold metal handle. The memory of Destiny being attacked by that man filled my head, and for the first time, I let myself think of what would’ve happened if I hadn’t been there to stop it.

“You okay, Mist?” Jimmy asked, placing his sausage-fingered hand on my shoulder.

I nodded. “I’ll be all right. I just never saw someone die before, is all.”

“You need a ride home? I can call you a cab.”

“Nah. I have my car.”

He gave my shoulder one last comforting squeeze before he reached around to hold the door open for me. “Okay. You just text me if you need anything. Drive careful.”

I held up my pepper spray and called back, “Don’t worry, Jimmy. I’m covered.”

His chuckle rumbled as the door closed. Then, alone in an alley lit only by one dim bulb, I immediately regretted not asking him to walk me to my car parked at the far end of the long block. My feet hustled me past the spot where Mr. Gomez had lain earlier. Because of her busted up face, Destiny was still a “person of interest”, at least until the coroner settled on a cause of death. I wasn’t exactly sure what I’d done to make the guy keel over, but I was pretty sure it wouldn’t link back to either of us in the end.

I drew my sweatshirt sleeves down over my cold hands and walked quicker. I was almost to the end of the block when a hand reached out of a doorway and yanked me into the shadows.

Chapter 2

JC

I pressed my gloved hand over the girl’s mouth to muffle her scream. She lifted her leg and shoved back, trying to smash her heel into the top of my foot. It was a basic self-defense move, and one that I easily dodged, though I ended up with a mouthful of hair that tasted like styling product. I pried the pepper spray from her fist and yanked her deeper into the shadow of the alcove. The pawn shop next door had security cameras in the alley, and I couldn’t take the chance of being seen.

“Settle down. I won’t hurt you,” I whispered into her ear. She twisted and wriggled around more. If it weren’t my ass she was trying to kick, I’d admire her spunk. I was coming off as a creeper here, but I needed to question her, and I wasn’t in the mood to play games.

“I said I won’t hurt you. I’m an investigator. Just need to talk to you. I’ve got ID. If I let you go, do you promise not to scream or run?”

She calmed her struggling and gave a brief nod. I didn’t trust her any more than I trusted the bureaucrats I worked for. I turned us, putting her against the door, so I could block her access to the alley with my body. Slowly, I loosened my grip.

Her breath was ragged from the struggle, and even in the dim light, I could see her eyes darting around, looking for something to hit me with. “ID...now.”

I moved slowly, not wanting to frighten the wild little thing. “My wallet’s in my inside jacket pocket. Is it okay if I reach in for it?”

“Give me back my pepper spray first.”

“No. After we talk. Wallet?”

“Whatever...”

She really didn’t have much of a choice. If I wanted to kill her, I would’ve just done it already. I drew out my wallet, and fished out a driver’s license and a business card. Neither real.

“How’m I supposed to read this in the dark?”

I clicked on a tiny penlight and handed it to her. She huffed, clearly not impressed by my resourcefulness.

“Jace Martin? Thought you said you’re a cop.”

“No, I said I’m an investigator. There’s my business card.” My real name was JC Moreno, and I really was an investigator. The fact that I did it for the CIA was on a strict need-to-know basis.

She blew a hunk of hair off her face and gave me a glare that could peel paint. “So what do you want with me?”

Now that was a good question. I wasn’t sure how the girl fit into my case, but I was convinced she did. I’d been tailing Felipe Gomez off and on for a week, waiting for him lead me to Nico Diaz, the local drug lord. Thought I hit the jackpot when Gomez headed for the strip club alone on a Tuesday night. The only guys who go see strippers on a Tuesday in this neighborhood were pervy sex addicts or dealers looking to do business. To my grave disappointment, Gomez turned out to be the former, not the latter.

I’d seen him trail the busty blonde out the back door, but I was too busy fending off an overly aggressive lap-dancer to follow right away. Besides, by that point I was fairly sure there would be no deals going down, and I really didn’t want have to watch that fat fucker getting a hummer in the alley. After I escaped the handsy dancer, I exited out the front and stealthily rounded the building. Gomez had the blonde pressed against a wall. It took a moment for me to realize her cries were from pain, not pleasure.

In one of the many hidden compartments of my jacket was a tranq dart. It was tiny and difficult to load in the dark, but the perfect thing to stop Gomez without forcing me to break cover. Just as I aimed the loaded dart at Gomez’s considerable ass, the redhead stepped out of the club.

I recognized her from inside. Normally, strippers bore me. They tend to be as homogenous as my little sister’s box of Barbie dolls. So this one was unique in that she stood out from the pack. Her body was athletic and strong, allowing her to work the pole like a monkey acrobat, but not voluptuous with silicone enhancements. She had that girl-next-door thing going for her. More cute than bombshell, if you know what I mean. But it wasn’t only her looks that set her apart. My job required me to pay attention to details. You never knew what was going to be important to an investigation. And my detailed eye noted that this girl walked off the stage with more dinero stuffed in her drawers than any five of her co-workers. Interesting.

“Just want to talk.” I tried to assure her with my best innocent face. I needed her to trust me, because if this girl was what I thought she was, she might be the scariest person I’d ever come across. The loaded tranq was still tucked into my glove, and I was prepared to use it if needed.

She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot, reminding me of my mother when she caught me up to no good. “If you just wanted to talk, why didn’t you walk up and say hi like a normal person? Do you always snatch girls in the dark? If so, you need more help than I can assist you with.”

I kind of loved her cornpone accent. My own accent was white-bread middle-America. I worked hard to sound like I came from nowhere. I grinned as I rubbed my temple, letting my thumb drift back to click on the digital recorder hidden in my earring. “You’re a funny girl.”

“Look, I’ve had a long night. I just want to go back to my shitty apartment and get some sleep. Alone. Ask what you need to so I can go.”

“All right. Tell me who you’re working for.”

“I work at The Henhouse.” She pointed back in the direction she’d come from. “My boss is Marco. If you have a problem with me, feel free to make a report.”

She started to move past me, but I shot my arm out to stop her. “Ah, ah, ah. That’s not what I mean. Who are you really working for?”

“Trust me. If I had another job, I wouldn’t be here. Is that all?”

She was lying. I decided to try another tactic. “What’s your name?”

“Misty Showers.”

“ID, please.”

“Fine.” She reached into her small purse. “I’m Marley Sexton. Here.”

I examined her license under a different pen light. The one she’d used was now tucked into a plastic baggy in my pants pocket. I memorized her address and license number before handing the card back. If it was a forgery, it was done well.

“All right, Marley. If you aren’t going to tell me who you’re working for, why don’t I take you downtown, and you can explain to the police how you killed Felipe Gomez?”

Her eyes grew so big, the whites of them shone in the darkness. “W-what? I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Let me refresh your memory. Felipe Gomez...money launderer for the Mexican drug cartel El Caos. You know, the guys who control northeast Mexico and like to behead people who get in their way? The dead body that you and your friend spent all night talking to the cops about. The guy who told me you ordered his execution.”

Marley stepped back and pressed herself against the locked door, as if trying to put as much distance between us as possible. “That guy was with El Caos?” I didn’t blame her for looking a little green. “How could he have told you I was gonna kill him when I never even saw him more than thirty seconds before he keeled over?”

I grinned. “He told me after you killed him. Marley, I can see and talk to ghosts.”

She pressed her fingers to her mouth to stifle a gasp. I was all set to ask her again who ordered the hit on my witness, when I suddenly felt the need to step back into the alley and let her through. Yes, she had to leave now. I moved to give her more space, and then stood rooted to the spot while she took off running.

Chapter 3

Marley

Oh, sweet Jesus, I prayed as I ran for my car. My nudge wouldn’t hold the guy for long, and I needed as much distance between us as possible before he came to his senses. I’d met his kind before. My daddy’s great-aunt Zinnia used to travel with the carnival, doing séances. I’d only met her a few times when I was a little girl, but she’d scared the bejeezus out of me every time she’d include her spirit guide in her conversations. Was Jace really like her? An icy chill ran through me. He had to be if he knew I killed Gomez. Dang it, what did Gomez tell him about me? I didn’t want to go down for murder. Redheads look like shit in orange, and what would happen to Mama?

My keys were out and ready before I reached my car door. I hopped in and twisted the ignition. Now would be a really bad time for it to die on me. I drove a Chevy Nova. Not the cool one from the 70’s, but the 1980’s piece of shit re-boot model that Mama drove until her stroke. It was as temperamental as a badger trapped in a chicken coop on a hot day. To my relief, the engine coughed to life after only two tries, and I raced for home.

The studio apartment I rented was in the attic of what used to be a large single-family home. What was probably a perfectly nice house eighty years ago was now was a cobbled together mess of tiny low-income apartments.

Studio was just a fancy word for one large room. The place was depressing. All my furniture, including my giant tube TV that only received fuzzy local channels, came from the Goodwill. One corner had a small sofa, another had my bed, a third corner held a dorm-sized fridge and a hot plate, and the last, cordoned off by one flimsy wall, was a toilet/shower combo. It wasn’t much. Hell, I doubted the housing inspectors would even consider it a legal apartment. But it was cheap, and the landlord liked it that I paid my rent in cash.

I deposited my keys and purse on a small Formica table along with a stack of unpaid bills. It’d been a decent week at the club, but Mama’s doctor had left another message about some fancy physical therapy program he wanted to get her into, and there was no way I could afford it. Marco was sick of me asking for more shifts. I already worked more hours than any other girl there. But what else could I do? The gas station on the corner was hiring, but minimum wage just wasn’t gonna be enough.

I crossed to my dresser and switched into a pair of cotton pajamas before ducking into the bathroom to wash off my cakey make-up. As the orange and black gunk swirled down the drain, I imagined it collecting on the insides of the ancient pipes, gearing up for the mother of all clogs. Once my pores could breathe again, I began to get down on the floor for my nightly stretches, but someone rapped at the door.

My stomach dropped to the vicinity of my knees. Could it be that that damn guy from the alley? Nah, it was probably just April from downstairs. At least once a week, she’d wander up after her waitressing shift with a box of wine and her latest complaint about the married man she was seeing. I wasn’t in the mood for company, but she’d know I was home, and I didn’t want to be rude. I approached the door and wished for the millionth time I had a peephole.

“Who is it?” I called.

“Open the door, lady.”

Oh, hell! It was him.

“How’d you find me?”

“You’ve got ten seconds to let me in before I report you to the cops for murdering my lead.”

I couldn’t let him call the cops. While I was pretty sure they wouldn’t be able to link me to the dead guy, if Marco found out I was a suspect, he’d fire me. There were plenty of illegal things going on the club, and he wouldn’t tolerate any employee attracting the attention of law enforcement.

“Fuck me,” I muttered as I flung open the door. Jace barged in, eyeing the place, gun in hand as if gangsters might leap out from under the bed any moment. I shut the door quickly to keep my neighbors from overhearing what I was sure would be a tirade of epic proportions.

After his brief search proved I was alone, he spun on me, brown eyes blazing.

“You fucking hypnotized me!”

I narrowed my eyes on him, forcing myself to appear strong, hoping he wouldn’t hear my pounding heart. I just had to keep in mind, if he hadn’t wanted to let me go, at least a little bit, my nudge wouldn’t have worked. “I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

Jace swept up on me and clutched my chin hard. “Don’t play games with me.”

Now normally, I didn’t go around blabbing about my gift, but if what he said about talking to Gomez’s ghost was true, then he wasn’t likely to call me a liar like the few other people besides Mama I’d told. Besides, he still held that gun.

“I didn’t hypnotize you. I just nudged you.”

Jace dropped his hand from my face but kept me backed against the door. “What do you mean, you nudged me?”

“I told you to back off, and you did.”

“Like you told Gomez to die, and he obeyed?”

“That what he told you?”

Jace nodded once.

“Fine, yeah. But I didn’t tell him to die. I told him to stop. He’s the one who took it to the extreme.”

His voice dropped to a low growl. “What are you?”

“I’m a human, stupid. You’ve been watching too many of those paranormal shows.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

I shrugged. “Fine. I’m kinda like a weak psychic.”

After considering that a moment, he stepped back, giving me some breathing room, and he holstered his weapon. “Weak? What I saw tonight wasn’t weak. You commanded someone to die, and he did. I was there. I saw him go down. I questioned his ghost.”

My anger escalated again. “You watched that man try to rape Destiny and didn’t stop him? What kind of person are you? Don’t tell me you get off on that shit.”

“Of course not! I was just about to tranq him when you showed up.”

“Tranq? Like tranquilizer?”

“Yes. I couldn’t just jump in there to whoop his ass without blowing my cover.”

“You could’ve shot him.”

“Why would I shoot my best lead? Besides, I don’t just run around killing people.”

“Are you judging me?”

Jace threw his hands up in the air and paced around the room until he stopped beside my table. When he spotted the stack of mail, he picked it up and started leafing through. “What’s all this?” he asked.

I stomped over and ripped it out of his hands. “Bills. What the hell do you think they are?”

“But why so many? And why are they all past due?”

“Because I’m a deadbeat. God, you’re nosy.”

“Not nosy. I’m an investigator.”

“So you’ve said.”

I tucked the mail into my dresser. No Southern gentleman would think of reaching into a lady’s underwear drawer. Jace didn’t sound Southern, but he looked Hispanic, and the Latina mothers I’d grown up around knew how to raise their boys right.

“Look, I’m going to level with you,” he said, plastering on a fake smile. Good-cop persona? “I had you checked out. Nothing. Not even an unpaid parking ticket.”

“You had me checked out? When?”

“What do you think took me so long to get here? I ran a background check on your ID.”

Now that pissed me off. “Oh, really? And what did you learn about me in twenty minutes?”

“That your license isn’t a forgery. Marley Mae Sexton is your real name. You are twenty-two years old, from a little town in the ass-end of Texas, and your mother still lives there. Your father is deceased, and you have no known siblings. You graduated high school but were only an average student. You have no criminal history. You pay your taxes, though I seriously doubt you report all your tips. And your credit score is in the tank. Just trying to figure out why.”

I sank down onto the end of my bed. “You gonna want DNA next?”

One side of his mouth twitched. “Already got it.”

“What? How?”

“The penlight you used to look at my license. It has a micro needle in it that nabbed a tiny skin sample from your finger.”

“That’s not legal! Who do you think you are? James Freakin’ Bond?”

“Something like that.” Jace drew out my only kitchen chair and straddled it. It whined out a loud groan. Jace wasn’t a big man. Five foot ten or so. Lean build. But he had at least fifty pounds on me, and I couldn’t be sure my wobbly chair was up to the added stress. “And the DNA sample is for a wider criminal history search. Marley Mae Sexton doesn’t have a record, but maybe your other aliases do.”

“Do what? Mister, you are barking up the wrong tree here. I already admitted I nudged that man, but there ain’t a court in the land that would convict me on it. They won’t believe I’m psychic any more than they will believe you’re a...”

“Medium.”

“Whatever. So what is it you really want with me? I’m not sorry I killed your guy, but it wasn’t intentional.”

“Commanding someone to die seems pretty intentional to me.”

“I’ve never been able to nudge someone like that before. Didn’t reckon it was even possible. Telling that man to stop was nothing but knee jerk reaction. Feminine instinct. Besides, men who’ll do that once are bound to do it again. No such thing as rehab for sex offenders. The world is better off with him out of the picture.”

I was feeling pretty proud of myself, but Jace worked his hands like he was trying to hold himself back from strangling me. Don’t know what his problem was. I didn’t bust into his home at bedtime to poke around in his business.

“Listen, mister, we don’t seem to be getting anywhere. You obviously suspect me of something, so why don’t you go on and tell me what it is so I can deny it and get on to bed?”

His face tightened like he might be weighing his options. Finally, he said, “I suspect you are a psy agent working for El Caos. I think you were planted in the club to knock off Gomez.”

Well, that was quite a leap. My mouth just sort of hung open for a moment while I processed his words. Then I cleared my throat to answer. “Well...first off, I have no clue what a psy agent is. And I started working at The Henhouse three months ago because the club I worked at before lost its liquor license and closed.”

His stare weighed heavy on me, but I refused to break eye contact for fear he’d see it as an admission of guilt. By the time he glanced away, my eyes were dry and watery all at the same time.

“A psy agent,” Jace explained, “is someone who uses her psychic abilities in various clandestine ways.”

“Like a spy?”

“Sometimes. And sometimes like an assassin.”

A sick feeling filled my belly. An assassin? He thought I was a professional killer? Hey, I admit, I might be morally ambiguous at times, but I ain’t never killed nobody. Uh...well, before tonight anyway.

“I swear, Jace. I’m not a hired killer. That’s just insane! I couldn’t even go along to put our old dog to sleep.”

“You had no problem putting Gomez down.”

“When I told him to stop, I thought he’d stop hurting Destiny long enough for her to get away. Like I said, my nudges aren’t very strong. It’s not my fault the guy took me so literally.”

Jace’s stare was so hard, I could feel him thinking.

“A decent psy agent wouldn’t have spilled her guts until she was sure she wasn’t being recorded.”

My heart hiccoughed. “Wait, you recorded me?”

His lips twisted into a sly grin. “Of course. It’s evidence.”

A jury might not believe I can nudge a man to death, but a recorded confession could go a long way toward convincing a person.

“Jace, please.” I stood and grasped as his arm. “I didn’t mean to do it. I’m sorry I ruined your case. Don’t turn me in. I swear I’ll never hurt anyone ever again.”

His hard eyes studied my face. “I won’t turn you in. For now. But I’m still not convinced you weren’t hired to take out Gomez.”

Jace shook off my hand and strode to the door.

“So that’s it? You’re just going to leave? You think I might be killing people, and you’re just going to leave me to it?”

With his hand on the open door, Jace’s eyes scanned me from head to toe. “I’ll see what your DNA turns up. Don’t leave town. I’d just have to track you down, and that’d piss me off. I’ll be in touch.”

“Jace, wait!” I called to him as he started down the steps.

He gazed up from half a flight below. “What?”

“Are you going to tell me who you’re working for?”

He grinned. “Right now? I’m working for myself.”

He knocked once on the handrail and vanished down the steps into the darkness.

Chapter 4

JC

I didn’t lie to her. I really was handling the case by myself. At least the part of the case that involved me going after Nico Diaz. The CIA wasn’t keen on using taxpayer resources to settle personal vendettas.

Wearing a conservative gray suit, striped tie and sunglasses, I stepped through the revolving door of the high-rise office building in the heart of Austin. I crossed the busy marble-floored lobby and made my way to the long bank of elevators where I flashed an ID badge to a security guard. He nodded. When the bell dinged, I stepped into the waiting car.

“Hold up, Moreno,” called voice from the lobby.

I glanced to see one of the new recon agents on loan from the FBI for some joint task force. He was tall and blond and had a certain fake look about him. I could never remember his name. In my head, I referred to him as Special Agent Hunk Johnson.

Hunk flashed his ID badge at the guard and stepped into the elevator car.

“How’s it hanging?” He chuckled.

I was not a chuckler, and I didn’t trust any dude who made comic innuendos referring to current status of another man’s penis position. I gave him a curt nod of greeting.

When the door closed, I opened a panel in the wall and typed in a code. The lights flickered. Hunk and I stood straight, holding our arms slightly extended from our sides as a laser beam scanned us from head to toe, cataloging all the metal on our bodies down to our dental fillings. I had no sympathy for travelers bitching about invasive scanners at airports. I had a stranger examining what was under my clothes on a daily basis.

“Late night, homie? Looking rough.”

Homie? 1994 just called. They want their slang back. And I didn’t think I looked that bad. “Nope. Just didn’t have time to shave this morning.”

The scan finished just as the car drew up to the fourteenth floor. The doors opened to a normal looking reception area, staffed by a pretty, but forgettable, receptionist. A bronze plaque over her head read, Remington Investments. The company was as fake as the philodendrons decorating the lobby, and beneath that desk, there was an AK47 trained on our dicks.

“Good morning, gentlemen. Won’t you please scan in?” She said it like we had a choice, as if a swat team of armed guards wouldn’t descend on us if we refused.

Hunk and I each stepped forward and submitted our hands for the print scanner perched on the desk. It beeped an “all clear” signal. Beside the desk stood a large set of gleaming glass doors which led to a couple of mundane and completely unused offices, staged to look like hardworking stock brokers just left to get a coffee and would be back any minute. Hunk and I ignored these obvious doors and walked to a small janitor’s closet on the left. Of course, it wasn’t really a closet, despite all the brooms and cleaning detergent. Once we were inside with the door closed, we crossed to the back wall. There we took turns entering our employee codes and leaning in for our retinal scan.

As we waited the sixty seconds or so for the guards monitoring us with tiny cameras to confirm that we did in fact belong there, Hunk decided to fill the silence with vapid conversation.

“Yeah, working this task force has been amazing. I love being part of missions so important to national security. My boss back in Quantico said you boys can keep me as long as I’m needed.”

“It’s a wonder he can spare you.”

My sarcasm must have been lost on him because Hunk puffed his chest out and beamed.

Thankfully, the hidden door in the wall slid open before I had to engage in any more small talk. We walked down a long white hallway until we reached two doors across from each other. Hunk scanned in first, and when his door opened, said, “Well, it was nice seeing you, Moreno. Time to go save the world!”

I mumbled a goodbye and scanned into the opposite door. It opened to a sea of beige cubicles. Hunk the idiot got to shoot and dodge bullets. I had to sit at my desk and try to suppress the urge to eat one.

With a sigh, I made my way to my cube. Ringing the outer perimeter of the work space were offices with huge glass windows and conference rooms. Around me, people talked on phones and tapped on their keyboards, not paying me any attention. It really did look like an investment house. But it wasn’t. This was the Texas branch of the Central Intelligence Agency.

I’d been working undercover inside El Caos for three years when my cover was blown. Since then, the CIA’d had me riding a desk as a consultant. Don’t ask me what that meant, because I didn’t think even my bosses could’ve given my job description. Basically, I knew too much about the cartel to be transferred to another task force, but the giant price on my head meant the agency couldn’t take the chance of sending me out in the field.

My desk was located in the center of the office next to the 3-in-1 copy machine, as far from anything resembling natural light as possible. As I waited for my computer to boot up, I spotted a post-it note stuck to my keyboard. It read, “It would be nice if you would re-fill the printer when it runs out of paper. Thanks! :)”

The note wasn’t signed, but the passive aggressive tone could only be my boss’s tightly-permed assistant. The flimsy walls of my cubicle loomed over me. I tugged at the knot of my tie.

“Hey, JC. How’s it going?”

I glanced up to see Tom Miller. Tom was one of those guys who took to office life well. A little soft, a little quiet. The last person you’d suspect worked for the CIA, even as a data analyst. Tom was the closest thing I had to a friend. Pathetic really, since I never saw him outside of these walls. Being undercover for so long wasn’t conducive to cultivating personal relationships, and I was out of practice.

“Did you get that info for me?” I asked, careful to keep my voice low.

He nodded. “Just emailed you the file.”

“Find anything?”

“Nada. The DNA was a bust. The only interesting thing that came up involved the girl’s father. Eddie Sexton... he was a con man and petty criminal. Has arrest records in four states around the south. Was found dead in a motel room outside Vegas about fifteen years ago.”

“El Caos?” The cartel didn’t usually venture that far north of the boarder, but Vegas might be an exception.

“No. I didn’t find any cartel connection. Looked like a mob hit. Cops figured he tried to rip off the wrong person.”

A con man. Was this who Marley got her nudging from?

“Any indication father and daughter were close?”

Miller shook his head. “Looks like he didn’t have much to do with her beyond conception. Took off when the mother was pregnant, and they divorced soon after.”

“Okay, well, thanks for looking into it for me.”

“You gonna tell me who this girl is?”

“I’m not sure yet myself.”

“All right, man. If you need anything else, just let me know.”

Miller retreated to his desk across the aisle.

I combed through the file he sent, looking for anything he may have missed. Nothing. The girl might be clean. Then again, she might not be. Feeling the tension rise in my shoulders, I set thoughts of the telepathic stripper aside and turned my attention to my files on Nico Diaz. Shit, without Gomez, I needed another way to get to him. I wouldn’t get any help from the higher-ups. As far as the agency was concerned, Diaz was a small fish in El Caos, just one among hundreds of cogs in the organization.

I had been one of those cogs once. Most boys where I came from ended up working for the gang at some point. Especially troubled boys like me. But what people from the block didn’t know was that I joined the gang on the direction of the CIA.

It all started when I saw my first ghost at age thirteen. I was at a neighbor’s funeral, and while it scared the shit out of me, it wasn’t entirely unexpected either. Psychic abilities ran in my family, one or two people in every generation. My grandfather was the local Brujo, sort of like a shaman, in the Mexican border town where I grew up. I hoped that if I turned psychic, I’d develop a way to see through girls’ dresses. That’s what I was doing during the funeral mass, concentrating really hard on my friend’s sixteen-year-old sister’s floral-covered ass. The appearance of the bloodless body floating up the aisle killed my budding hard-on and had me tearing out of the church like el diablo was on my heels.

It pissed me off the way all those pansy-ass ghost hunters ran around with their little magnets and EMF detectors and shit. They wouldn’t be so tough if they had to see the shit I do. And I didn’t think it made me a pussy that at the age of thirteen, I had to sleep with the light on to keep visions of bloated corpses out of my head. Soon the lack of sleep from paranoia and fear gave me a temper. Didn’t help that the other kids thought I’d turned nuts. I got into a lot of fights, picked up the wrong kinds of friends. I think my family understood why I was acting out, but my poor parents couldn’t find a way to control me. When I was expelled from school for knocking the front teeth out of a boy, my grandfather urged my parents to send me to live with relatives in Chicago, where I could be kept well away from the local gangbangers. Before my fourteenth birthday, my ass was on a train headed north.

It was ten years before I saw my hometown again. Didn’t have much need since most of my family had immigrated to the States years earlier. But a job’s a job. I was a trained psy agent for the CIA, and my mission was to infiltrate El Caos. I took a job at a gas station just outside Monterrey and waited for my old friends to get in touch. It didn’t take long. I’d been briefed on which of those friends were members of El Caos, and I made sure to make nice. Within only a few months, I’d been recruited.

My role in El Caos was that of a low level thug. Mostly, I ran and dealt drugs. My strength and martial arts training made me the perfect muscle to accompany packages into the rougher neighborhoods. I flew under the radar—never good enough to attract attention from higher in the organization, biding my time in the barrios. Once it became apparent I could be trusted, they started using me as part of the cleanup crew. When shit went south, someone had to carry away the bodies. Perfect job for a medium spy.

People might think I saw spirits all the time, but it really wasn’t like that. Most spirits cross over quickly. “Cross over” to where, I didn’t know. I just know that they will eventually effervesce into the aether. Meaning, my window to question them is limited. Take Señor Gomez from last night. As his body lay on the ground getting CPR from the stripper, his spirit stood up and began wandering down the alley, confused. I called out to him with my mind.

Gomez looked at me for a long moment, as if he were the one seeing a ghost.

“Who are you?”

I answered him in Spanish. “My name is Juan Carlos. Do you know what just happened to you?”

The spirit stared down at his silvery, transparent hands. “Yes...that girl...she made me die.”

Then I was the one confused. “Which girl?”

Gomez pointed to where Marley stood, wringing her hands over his body.

“How did you die?”

“It was her. She did it with her mind.”

His form quaked, and I knew I was losing him. “Wait! Don’t go. I need to know where Nico Diaz is. Tell me.”

Gomez’s glowy form began to lose shape, his edges blurring. “You know Nico. He’s everywhere and nowhere all at once.” Then he glanced up at a rusty fire escape with far-away eyes. He quivered into a cloud of shimmery dust mites that rose and swirled away into the night.

Fucking ghosts! They always had to get philosophical in the end.

“Officer Moreno! Quit daydreaming and get your ass into my office.”

I snapped to attention. The barking voice came from Gary Frazier, the head of this branch and my immediate supervisor. He was also a massive jackass.

“Yes, sir. Be right there,” I answered, but he’d already begun walking away. Frazier didn’t like me. I suspected he was afraid of me, though he never communicated anything so blatant. I was the only psy agent in an office full of researchers, translators and analysts, and he didn’t quite know what to do with me.

I straightened my tie, which had gradually worked itself loose over the morning, and strode into Frazier’s office with an air of pleasant confidence that I didn’t feel. My entire life had devolved into “fake it ’til you make it”.

“Have a seat, Moreno.”

I closed the door and slid into the uncomfortable chair before his large desk. “Sir.”

He smoothed down his ridiculous greasy comb-over. “Have you completed your review of the files I sent you yesterday?”

I nodded and proceeded to give him my report. The files were financial transactions made by several leaders of the cartel. The work numbed the mind, and there wasn’t any usable intel to be gleaned from it. Of course, I gave Frazier the long, more polite version of “This shit is a waste of my time.”

When I finished, he grunted and continued to glare at me. Finally, he got around to the real reason he called me in. “Officer Trent Neil is in town this week, along with Deputy Director Chesley. They’ve asked us to join them on the golf course this afternoon.”

“Us who?”

“You and me, Moreno. Pay attention.”

I was going to fucking kill Neil. “There must be a mistake. I appreciate the invitation, but I don’t golf—”

“Well, then, you’re learning today. You’ve been requested, and we need a foursome. What is it, eleven now? You run on home and get changed. Meet us at Barton Creek Country Club at two o’clock. Plan on getting dinner afterward.”

The nameless place beneath my skin seethed, but I covered it with a smile and walked out of Frazier’s office with all the enthusiasm of a guy headed to his execution. I shut down my computer to leave, annoyed that I hadn’t had more time to find another lead on Nico. While walking across the office to the door, I ruminated over what in my wardrobe could possibly pass as golf attire. That was when I bumped into Betty, the one-woman office entertainment committee.

“Oh, there you are!” Betty always seemed surprised to see me. I wasn’t sure why. It’s not like I hadn’t been in the office five days a week for the past several months.

“Hi, Betty.”

“I’m taking up a collection for Tricia’s baby shower gift. Do you want to go in on it? We’re getting her one of those top-of-the-line breast pumps.”

I didn’t know anyone named Tricia, and I sure as hell didn’t know what a breast pump was, but in an effort to get Betty to stop saying the word “breast”, I cracked open my wallet and shoved a fifty at her.

“Oh, JC! That’s very generous.”

“Tell Tricia congratulations on the baby.” I stepped around the still-talking woman and escaped to my car.

I didn’t bother going home to check my closet. I just headed to the stuffiest men’s clothing store in the mall where I told the preppy-looking college boy working the floor to hook me up with something appropriate for Barton Creek. I left wearing a pair of ugly, ivory-colored trousers and a light green Polo shirt. I even bought special shoes to wear on the course. The boy assured me I’d be able to rent clubs there. Thank god, because this little outing of Neil’s was already costing me a fortune. I saved the receipt, determined to claim it on my expense report.

Officer Trent Neil had been my handler while I was embedded with El Caos. He was one of the bravest, most capable agents I’d ever known. He was also on the fast track for climbing the CIA ranks. Not to mention, a complete sadist for making me go golfing. How long did a game of golf take, anyway?

I made it to Barton Creek early, so I rented clubs and waited in the bar. I wanted a Cuervo, but since this was technically a work function, I settled for a sweet tea instead. Pulling out my phone, I did a web search on the rules of golf. I made it most of the way through a Wikipedia article before a heavy hand landed on my shoulder. I turned to see the Neil’s smirking face, teeth as white as a toothpaste spokesman.

“JC, my man! How’s it going?” He clasped my shoulder like a politician.

“I’m going to tear your balls off for this, Neil.”

“Yeah, I missed you, too.” He expertly slid on a visor without messing up his perfectly styled sun-streaked hair. “Come say hi to Deputy Director Chesley.”

I followed Neil outside to where Frazier was chatting with a gray-haired and stocky-looking guy. Chesley, I assumed.

“Ah, Moreno!” Frazier called, clapping me on the shoulder like we were old pals. “I’d like you to meet Deputy Director Wayne Chesley.”

I shook Chesley’s hand and had to resist wiping his dampness off onto my pant leg. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“So you’re the ghost whisperer. Are you going to tell me my future? No, wait! I don’t think I want to know.” He chuckled at his own joke, but I could tell I creeped him out just a little.

“Sorry, I left my crystal ball at home,” I answered. It wouldn’t do any good to explain that I wasn’t a foreseer.

“Ha, ha, just as well. I don’t buy into all that mumbo jumbo anyway.”

I loved the way the Agency shelled out good money to employ psy agents, but then doubted our abilities. I opened my mouth to tell say as much, but Neil pinched my forearm to shut me up. If this weren’t a business thing, and we weren’t in the presence of two people with direct influence over my paychecks, I would’ve cold-cocked him.

To say the game was sheer torture would be a colossal understatement, and to my surprise, the worst part about it wasn’t my swing. Oh, my game did suck ass. The highlight was when my ball took out the window of a neighboring house, and I had to knock on the door to confess my crime. I gave the lady at the door Neil’s name and address to send the repair bill. It was the least the asshole could do for dragging me out there.

No, the worst part of the day was listening to Frazier’s bullshit ass-kissing. My boss trailed around after Chesley like a needy dog all afternoon, and Chesley ate up the flattery.

“Great stance, Chesley!”

“Would you look at that swing? Rory McIlroy better watch his back!”

“That sure is a nice Rolex. Is that from the Cellini Collection?”

“Deputy Director Chesley, you’re such a handsome guy. Why don’t you let me suck your balls?”

Okay, that last one wasn’t said out loud, but I’m sure it was implied. Every once in a while, Neil, wearing his shit-eating grin, would inject a compliment, and then cut a glance to me to see if I caught his facetiousness. Yeah, he was fucking hilarious.

I’d lost track of which hole we were on in the-game-that-never-seemed-to-end when the boss men got tired of waiting for me to free my ball from a sand trap and chose to drive ahead. As soon as they were out of sight, I picked up my ball and stomped back up the green.

“That’s cheating,” Neil laughed.

“Yeah, well, if you don’t want this game to go on for ten hours, you’ll keep your trap shut.” Early on, Chesley decided that the only way I’d learn golf was by playing the game clean, no cutting corners. A-hole.

“Hey,” Neil said, holding me back from stomping after the others. “I want to talk to you.”

Finally! I knew Neil had a reason for dragging me out there besides the stellar opportunity to make fun of me. “What is it?”

“Not what. Who. Nico Diaz.”

My gut turned to ice. “What about him?”

“He’s in town.”

“I know that, but where?”

Neil shrugged. “At the moment, I don’t know. But I know where he’ll be Friday night.”

He drew a folded piece of fluorescent green paper out of his pocket and shoved it at me. I studied the paper eagerly.

“A rave?” I asked. “Why would he go to a rave?”

“The rave is just a cover. See that address? That’s a warehouse owned by the subsidiary of a subsidiary of a shadow corporation owned by El Caos. Word on the street has it Nico will be meeting with the distributors upstairs.”

“Does he have the boy with him?” I asked, my voice cracking on the hope.

“Don’t know. When Nico went ghost, the boy did, too.”

The vein at my temple throbbed. I’d never be able to live with myself if something happened to Lucas Banda.

“I have to get him away from those people, Neil. I told him I’d keep him safe.”

“What’s with this kid? Banda isn’t the only kid to ever be swept off the streets into a gang. You gonna try to save them all?”

I brushed my hand through my sweaty hair. “No. But Lucas...he’s different.”

Neil squeezed my shoulder. “Look, Moreno, just because you identify with the boy doesn’t mean you’re responsible for saving him.”

I did identify with Lucas, more than I’d admit to Neil. The boy saw spirits, too. Not as clear as I could, but with training... let’s just say, El Caos was no place for a psychic kid.

“He has no family, and he wants out. I promised him I’d make that happen. Anyway, it’s my fault Nico has him. If I hadn’t slipped up and let Nico see my interest in him, he would’ve left Lucas alone.”

“And what are you going to do if Nico didn’t bring him north?”

“Keep looking I guess. I’m not giving up on him.”

“No, I didn’t figure you would. Just don’t let Frazier catch you out in the field. He’d have you pushing the mail cart before you know it.”

Neil bagged his club and set off across the green after the others. I knew he was right. I wouldn’t be the first adult to write Lucas off and call it a day. At thirteen years old, the kid had already survived seven years on the Monterrey streets, scavenging through garbage dumps to fill his belly. Who could blame him for earning a few pesos running drugs? But Lucas hated all the violence, and ghosts that roamed the barrio streets scared him. My parents saved me from the gangs and set me on the path to master my gift. I promised Lucas I’d do the same for him.

Chapter 5

Marley

“Misty! Lap dance in room three.”

I nodded to the night’s floor manager as I removed the cash stuffed in my undies from my last set. I rolled the bills into a ball and stuck it in my locker. The time on my flip-phone showed it was still early enough to call Mama before she went to sleep. A little anticipation wouldn’t hurt the customer waiting on me. I’d keep it short.

The dressing room was too loud to talk in, so I carried the phone down the hall past the private rooms and to the alley door. I paused when my hand touched the cool metal, remembering what I’d found last night when I ducked out to make a call. Shaking my head to clear the memory, I stepped out back.

“Shady Pines Home,” the voice answered.

“Yeah, this is Marley Sexton. Is there someone available who can help me say good night to my mother?”

“Sure thing, sugar. Hold on.”

I tapped the toe of my sky-high Mary Janes and hoped this call wouldn’t take too long. Mama couldn’t really speak, but her ears worked just fine.

The voice of a night nurse who I knew fairly well came back on the phone. “Hey, Marley.”

“How’s Mama doing?”

“Good, good. Had quite the appetite tonight. She ate all of her supper and still had room for pudding. Has Dr. Brewer gotten a hold of you yet about the new PT program he’d like to try? It’s got a great track record with getting stroke patents up and walking again.”

My mouth went dry as cotton. It sounded really lame to say I couldn’t afford it. I mean, what should money matter when it came to the health of your family? But the social worker I’d spoken to already told me Medicaid wouldn’t pay for anything beyond what they were now. How was I supposed to come up with the money for this extra program when I could barely pay Mama’s bills now?

“I’ll think about it. Can I talk to Mama now?”

The nurse passed the phone to my mama, and I waited until I could hear her soft breath before I started in telling her about my day. Her only responses were grunts, but at least I knew she heard me. After a few minutes, I figured my customer’d been waiting long enough, so I said my “I love you” and hung up.

Slipping back inside, I headed toward room three. Along the way, I mentally shoved all thoughts of money and Mama into a box shelved it in the back of my mind. Think sexy, I chanted silently in my work mantra.

I stepped in the room to find a dumpy, middle-aged man sitting on the small couch, dabbing at the sweat of his brow with a handkerchief. Probably a married man put up to this by his buddies. My sexy school-girl outfit didn’t have a pocket for my phone, so I set it on top of a small cabinet that held various props and sex-toys. I wouldn’t need whips and cuffs for this one though. His nerves would have him coming in his pants or losing his erection soon enough. Good. Rubbing up on strangers was my least favorite part of the job, and the sooner this was over, the better.

“Hi,” I said with a hint of shyness in my voice. “I’m Misty. I’m just going to put some music on.” Because of my girl-next-door image, there were two types of men who requested me for lap dances: first timers who didn’t find me as intimidating as some of my less subtle co-workers, and those with barely-legal-virgin fetishes. The way this one couldn’t meet my eyes, I pegged him for a first-timer.

I set the iPod to a slow and sexy playlist and turned the volume to a level that didn’t discourage talking. The talkers tended to tip higher, partly because we put them at ease, and partly because conversation turned us into real women instead of just blow-up dolls. The man’s gaze roved over me as I strolled to him. When he focused in on the top of my white thigh-high stockings, visible beneath the super short pleated skirt, he gulped like one of those characters on the Looney Toons.

The dance was slow and sensual. I took my time, rocking my hips and contorting my back in time to the music. The man didn’t say much beyond a few embarrassed grunts, but his dilated pupils and shaking hands let me know he was getting into it. I slipped into autopilot, letting my body seduce him while my mind ran through the errands I needed to run tomorrow. I could use groceries. I was almost out of milk.

My white cotton shirt and velcro skirt were on the floor, and I was grinding on his puny dick when a loud crash clamored in the room next door, followed by raised voices. The spell I’d been carefully weaving broke, and the man pushed me off his lap, making me hit the floor hard on my ass. Fuck a duck, that hurt!

“Uh, sorry...I have to go.” He fumbled with the cash in his wallet, tossing several bills to me without looking at how much they were. He fled the room, leaving the door wide open behind him. I stood, rubbing my bruised tail bone, and picked up the cash. Three five-dollar bills? No way did I just spend twenty minutes dry-humping an insurance salesman for fifteen bucks!

Too pissed to mess with my clothes, I shoved the cash and my phone into my bra and stomped out of the room to find Jimmy. He’d make the guy pay up.

The door on the room where the noise came from was open, and I heard shouting inside. Unruly customer? I paused to listen.

“Tell me where they are, bitch!”

“I told you, I don’t have no codes!” sobbed Destiny inside.

“Someone does.”

“I swear,” she sniffed. “I gave him CPR, not a strip search!”

The noise of a loud smack rang out, and I hoped it wasn’t another hit on Destiny’s poor battered face. When she’d shown up at the club tonight, Marco refused to let her dance, but she stayed in the bar anyway. Given the number of times I’d seen her sneak off with different patrons, I assumed she’d come in to make money in other ways. But this didn’t sound like no John-gone-bad.

I peeked around the door to see two hulking Mexicans standing over Destiny, one pointing a gun at her. The prop cabinet was overturned, and sex toys were strewn across the floor.

“Not a good idea to lie to El Caos, woman. Gomez didn’t have the codes on him when they wheeled him into the morgue, and our friend in the cop shop said they aren’t in evidence either. So where the fuck did they go?”

Destiny swiped at her running makeup. “I don’t know...maybe...I guess Misty could have took ‘em.”

Me???? I hadn’t so much as touched that body! What was Destiny doing, pointing a finger at me?

“She that redhead who the police questioned?”

“Y-yeah. She’s here somewhere. I know she’s working.”

The one with the gun snapped at the other, “You go find the other girl. I’ll work on this one.”

Not having time to run, I stumbled back and pressed myself to the wall. An ugly man with a lazy eye stepped into the hall and looked right at me. In the split second it took him to register I was the redhead he was looking for, I sent a nudge. Nobody here.

The man’s face morphed from recognition to blankness before he turned and strode out in the other direction to the main club.

My breath grew ragged, and I reckoned I was well on my way to a panic attack. I had to get the hell out of there, like now.

I ran down the hall and out the back door. The cool night air reminded me that I wore nothing but a bra and underwear, and I didn’t have my car keys. I hustled down the littered pavement anyway, too freaked out for modesty. Spotting the alcove where that guy Jace had snatched me the night before, I ducked into the shadow just in time to hear the back door of the club swing open.

“Find the bitch!”

I crouched down, making myself as small as possible. I fumbled my phone open and dialed 9-1... Shit, I couldn’t call the cops on El Caos! They said they had contacts in the local police department.

I scrolled through my contacts. Most of my friends lived five hours away in my hometown of McCamey. My neighbor April would be working...

The lazy-eyed man I’d nudged in the hallway appeared in the alley in front of me, glancing from right to left, checking behind dumpsters and in doorways. When his eyes fell on me, I was ready, and I pushed the image of a garbage bag sitting in the alcove where I hid. The man’s gaze slid past me, and he kept walking.

My calves cramped from the uncomfortable position, but I didn’t dare move. Remembering my ringer, I pushed it to the off position. The last thing I needed was for some telemarketer to call and Carrie Underwood to start blaring. Out in the alley, the man scared up a cat in his search for me, and he cussed under his breath. I hoped the little critter clawed him in the balls.

I scooted my foot uncomfortably and saw a white rectangle sticking out beneath my heel. Holy Jesus! It was Jace’s business card, the one I’d dropped last night when I made my escape. I picked it up and stared at the number. Did I dare call? I didn’t see I had much choice. My fingers were dialing before my brain could make them stop.

Jace answered on the first ring. “Who’s this?”

Didn’t anyone ever teach him the polite way to answer of phone?

“Marley,” I whispered, barely above a breath.

“What? Marley? That you?”

Goddammit! I couldn’t talk. My nudges could only hide me so much. “I’ll text you,” I said, hanging up. My phone didn’t have a keyboard like the newer models, so I’d gotten used to texting with the number keys. Quickly I typed out, “Help. EC after me.”

“Where?”

“Alley.”

“There in 10.”

I closed the phone and tried to calm my breathing. Ten minutes? What the holy hell was I supposed to do for ten minutes? As tempting as it was to review all the major life decisions that had led me to this point of hiding in my underwear in a dirty alley, it didn’t seem very productive. Instead I listened, and looked around the little alcove for something to use as a weapon—nothing, unless I could figure out a way to fend off an attacker with cigarette butts and gum wrappers.

My feet grew numb, and I figured I’d need them to be functional at some point, so I straightened up to a standing position. It was funny. I didn’t have any problem prancing around mostly naked in The Henhouse, but outside in the real word, it was damn intimidating. And the thought of Jace seeing me in barely-there boy shorts and a push-up bra was maddening. I couldn’t believe I’d called him to rescue me like some horror movie bimbo.

The alley went still. I waited for several long minutes, and was considering poking my head out to see if the cost was clear, when the echoing steps of the Mexican returned. I smooshed myself into the corner as tightly as possible, but he didn’t look my way as he passed.

“Where the fuck is she?” he called out.

From further down the block in the other direction, I heard a muffled reply. I couldn’t make all of it out, but the words “kill” and “bitch” rang clear as a Windex commercial.

Behind me, the door shifted, and my heart did a painful summersault. I caught my yelp in time to turn it into a soft squeak. Jace’s face appeared in the crack, surveying the situation. Then he grabbed my arm and hauled me into a dark backroom filled with cardboard boxes. He pressed a finger to his lips in warning not to speak. He drew a small object out of his pocket and held it between his ear and the door, presumably listening. Where did he get all these spy toys? Must be a MacGyver fetish.

A fat shiver ran through me, and I realized for the first time just how cold it was. I tried to remember what this building was. A closer look at the boxes showed dry goods and cases of alcohol. Must be the backroom of that bodega.

Jace pocketed the little gadget, grabbed my hand and led me through the dark to the front of the building. Yep, it was a bodega, all closed up and dark for the night. At the front of the store, he peered out cracks in the shuttered windows, checking for dangers on the street.

“Okay,” he said, still looking outside. “Wanna explain to me what’s going on?”

I quickly related the conversation I’d overheard and how Destiny basically blamed me for stealing some codes.

“Did you?”

“Do I look stupid to you?”

“No. But if you’re not working for El Caos, you might be a plant from a rival gang.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh lord, don’t tell me you still think I’m some sort of magical assassin. I thought we’d moved beyond that.”

Jace’s mouth twitched into an almost smile. “Tell me about the guys who chased you.”

I described them as best as I could. When I mentioned the lazy eye, Jace’s jaw tightened.

“You look like you know who I’m talking about,” I observed.

“Yeah. Sounds like this guy Roberto. He’s an enforcer.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s not. He’s bad news. Listen, my car’s outside. I need to reset the security system on this place, and then I’ll drive you home.”

While Jace was fiddling with a panel behind the register, I looked around for something that might possibly pass for clothing. Nothing. I was holding a roll of paper towels and contemplating how I might be able to wrap myself in them when Jace returned and said, “Let’s go.”

“I can’t go out there naked!”

His eyes swept over me, as if just now noticing my state of undress. Either he was excellent at schooling his features, or I didn’t interest him in the slightest.

“We have about forty seconds left before that alarm comes on. It has a motion sensor. You can take your chances with me, or explain yourself to the cops when they arrive. I’m leaving.”

He turned to the door.

“Wait! Give me your jacket.”

He glared at me. “Fine.” He slipped it off and handed it to me. “But stay out of the pockets. There are things in there that can hurt you. And leave your hair tucked under the collar until we get in the car. That orange is like a giant search beacon.”

“My hair’s not orange,” I grumbled, but I did what he said and left it tucked in the collar. The jacket was heavier than it ought to be for such light-weight material. As we stepped outside, Jace wrapped his arm around me and held me pressed to his side.

“Pretend we’re together and you like me,” he instructed softly. “Walk casual. My car is the black Mustang parked at the end of the block.”

Even this close to midnight, people were out on the street, smoking outside bars and milling about on street corners. I leaned into Jace’s body heat. The jacket was warm enough, but I was still cold. I wanted nothing more than to go home to a hot shower. Of course in my apartment it would likely be a moderately warm shower, but I wouldn’t complain.

Aside from a couple of cat-calls as we passed a bar, people ignored us, and no armed bad guys appeared. I heaved a sigh of relief when we reached the gleaming black car. Jace tucked me into his passenger seat as if I were a perp under arrest. He’d said he was an investigator, but the move had me thinking cop. The thought was not comforting.

We didn’t talk much in the car. I debated calling Marco and explaining to him why I left work in the middle of a shift, but I had a bad feeling I was going to be fired. The only thing worse for him than a dancer bringing police attention was a dancer on the wrong side of El Caos. I stifled a groan.

Jace eased into a parking spot across from my apartment.

“Shit! I left my purse at the club.”

“So? You’ll get it tomorrow.”

“But it has my house keys in it.”

Jace rubbed his temple, and I wondered if he was getting a headache. Then, with a pained expression on his face, he turned in the opposite direction of my apartment an onto an I35 on-ramp.

“Hey, where’re we going?”

His face had all the signs of an inner struggle going on. “You don’t have money for a hotel on you, do you?”

“I have fifteen dollars tucked in my bra.”

His gaze flicked down at my cleavage and snapped back up just as quick.

“You got a friend you can stay with?”

“The closest I have to a friend in Austin is my downstairs neighbor. She works nights at a truck stop cafe, but she might be home.”

“Then I guess you’re coming home with me tonight,” he sighed.

I was starting to feel like a lost dog he’d picked up on the street, and now couldn’t wait to get rid of. Maybe I should suggest he drop me off at the pound.

Figuring the coast was clear, I moved back to my seat and clicked the belt. “Look, don’t strain yourself helping me. There’s a battered women’s shelter on Congress Avenue. Just drop me off.”

Jace clenched his hands in frustration. “Don’t be like that. It’s just...well, we need to talk ground rules.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “What rules?”

“For one, if I’m helping you, you have to promise you aren’t going to nudge me again. I won’t stand for it.”

Well, I guessed that was fair enough. “Fine. I’ll keep my thoughts to myself. What other rules you got?”

“I’m a private person. I’m not used to people in my living quarters. No getting nosey and going through my stuff.”

I laughed at that one. “You mean like running background checks on you and going through your mail? How did that DNA test come out, by the way? Did you discover my dark secret identity is Laura Bush?”

“That was different. You were part of an investigation.”

“Whatever. You don’t even have to make that one a rule. I have enough manners to stay out of other people’s business. If you just give me a couch for tonight. I’ll be out of your hair in the morning.”

Jace pulled off I35 and made his way into a parking lot. It was one of those big chain hotels that cater to business travelers. If Jace changed his mind and wanted to dump me off at a hotel, he’d better find one in a lower price range.

He tossed the jacket back to me. “Come on.”

“Jace, I can’t afford to stay in a place like this. Seriously, the women’s shelter will do just fine.”

“I’m not taking you to a shelter. I live here. So you better cover up, or the desk clerk will think I’m bringing home a hooker.”

Chapter 6

JC

Keeping my eyes off Marley’s legs in those white stockings while I followed her across the lobby was impossible. In fact, I’d had to pull out every acting skill in my undercover arsenal to act disinterested ever since finding her standing in the alley half-naked, the buds of her nipples poking her satin bra cups in the cold. It was stupid to give her my flak jacket, but it was better than having to pretend I didn’t have a boner.

The elevator dinged, and we stepped inside. I pressed the button for the third floor. What was I doing bringing her to my place? I could have picked the flimsy locks on her apartment door in under fifteen seconds. But this girl was no match for those goons from the club, and I wasn’t ready to let her out of my sight.

In the months I’d been living at the extended stay suite, I hadn’t invited anyone over. It was nice enough, but living in a temporary place felt too pathetic for entertaining. I considered again whether to break down and rent an apartment. When I first was pulled out of Mexico, I’d assumed I would be reassigned to another field team. The hotel suite rented by the week, and I figured it would be good enough. But now, months had passed, and no one at work seemed in a hurry to get me back out in the field.

“End of the hall,” I directed, pointing to the left.

Marley kept her hands tucked into the long sleeves of the jacket and walked in the direction I’d indicated. She hadn’t appreciated my hooker comment but couldn’t deny the truth of it, and that probably ticked her off.

I unlocked the door with my key card and held it open for her. The suite was made up of two rooms. We entered into the living area. To the right was a postage stamp sized kitchenette—mostly unused—and ahead was the seating area with a flat screen on the wall. Marley’s sharp eyes roved over the room as if filing away every detail for later use. I knew I shouldn’t have brought her here.

“I’ll, uh, get you something to wear.”

I crossed to a door leading to my bedroom. Once out of her sight, I felt my breath whoosh out of me. This was going to be fine. I’d set her up on the couch for the night, and in the morning, hustle her out on my way to work. The couch was a pullout, but those mattresses were never comfortable. No need for Marley to wake up crippled in the morning. I glanced at the king-sized bed with its pillow-top mattress and abundance of pillows. Wouldn’t the polite thing to do be to offer her my bed? One look toward the walk-in closet turned spy-gear-storeroom put an end to that line of thinking. Even if I locked the door, I’d never get any sleep with her alone in a room with my weapons.

I dug a white T-shirt out of the dresser drawer. My pants would be too long on her, and I never wore shorts. I rooted around in hopes of finding a pair of old sweats, but if I still owned any, they had to be in my rented storage unit. I said a silent prayer that the shirt would be long enough to cover her fine ass.

I returned to the living room to see Marley still rooted to her spot, biting on the edge of her thumbnail. I tossed the shirt to her. “Here you go. It should be long enough. Bathroom is through there if you want to shower.”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” She slipped the jacket off, draped it over a stool at the breakfast bar. My eyes fixed on her round ass covered in white satin and framed by a lacy garter belt. Fuuuuuck....

My brain barely registered when Marley closed the bathroom door behind her. The sound of the shower running broke some sort of spell, reminding me that I was just standing there staring at the door like an idiot. I shook my head as if erasing an image from an Etch-a-Sketch and went to retrieve a couple of the extra pillows and the comforter off my bed to make her a little nest on the couch.

When that was done, I carried my jacket into the bedroom and unloaded it, storing the items away in my closet. As I did, my eye drifted to a small box where I kept surveillance equipment. An idea popped into my head, and before I knew it, I was setting up a bug in my own living room. Just on the off chance Marley decided to murder me in my sleep, I wanted some advance warning. With the tiny microphone tucked under the end table, I set the ear bud receiver on my night stand, ready for me to pop into my ear when I turned in. Briefly, I considered setting up a small video feed, but that would cross the line from cautious into stalkersville.

I was getting a beer from the fridge when Marley exited the steamy bathroom dressed in my T-shirt. It was too big on her, and the v-neck exposed one of her bra straps, but at least the hem felt down to mid-thigh. Marley’s face was scrubbed free of makeup and her wet curls made damp spots on the thin cotton material. The white lingerie with its lace and garters had been sexy, but this...this clean, comfortable look sent heat rushing to my cock. Wouldn’t it be nice to curl up to her looking like that every night? Christ! Where in the hell did that come from? Must be sleep deprivation.

I looked away. “Do you want a beer?”

“No, thanks. I don’t drink beer much. I’ll take a glass of water though.”

A clean-living stripper. Go figure. While I fetched her water, she perched on a stool.

“How long have you lived here?” she asked.

I shrugged, not wanting to admit the truth. “Not long.”

“Why not a real apartment?”

“It’s temporary. And I like the maid service.” That was a lie. I hated maids in my place when I was not here, so I worked it out with management to only have them come on once a week when I was home so they could change the linens and scrub the bathroom. The rest of the cleaning, I took care of myself.

Marley spotted the bright green flyer lying on the bar top. She turned it with her finger to read it better. “You don’t look like the rave type. You going to the private party upstairs?”

I almost choked on my beer. “Private party? What do you know about that?”

She shrugged one shoulder, a disinterested expression on her face. “Marco was contacted about hiring strippers to entertain some VIP guests.”

This was too fucking perfect. “Are you gonna do it?”

“Hell no! Marco asked me, but I turned it down. I hate doing private parties. The men always expect you to put out for them. I prefer the club where there are rules and big security guards.”

In the back of my mind, I’d heard her. I probably even agreed with her. But my brain was already off running the possibilities.

“No, Marley. I need you to work this party.”

“What for?”

“It’s not an ordinary party. This is an El Caos meeting.”

“Then I’m definitely not working it! Are you nuts?”

I set my beer on the counter with shaky hands. My gut churned in a battle between rescuing Lucas from Nico and an odd desire to keep Marley safe. I crossed the kitchenette and clutched her hands between my palms.

“You don’t understand. After Gomez died, my case hit a stone wall. This party is the break I need to finish this thing.”

She yanked her hands out from mine. “Are you forgetting these El Caos psychos are looking for me? I have half a mind to flee the state in the morning.”

“You can’t do that! I’ll keep you safe. I promise. Didn’t I do that tonight?”

“Should’ve just called 911,” she grumbled.

“But you didn’t. You called me. That means on some level you must trust me.”

She snorted. “More like I was desperate.”

“This case...it’s personal. I need your help, Marley. And...I think maybe we met each other for a reason.”

“Oh, don’t give me that Touched By An Angel crap. I’m an atheist. I’d bet my mama’s velvet Elvis painting collection that you are, too.”

“Marley, I promise you’ll be safe. I’ll bring in a makeup expert. She can fix it up so your own mother won’t recognize you. And I’ll have you wired so I can monitor everything going on. The first sign of any trouble, and I’ll be there to get you out.”

“How can I wear a wire? I wouldn’t have hardly any clothes on.”

“That was just a figure of speech. Bugs don’t have wires anymore.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not doing it.”

I studied her with narrowed eyes, and trying to think of a way to convince her to help me. Finally, I grinned. “What? Don’t tell me you’re scared. Don’t you think you can handle it?”

“Ha! Daring me is not gonna get me to do what you want. That trick only works on men who are too stupid to know better.”

My grin faded into a glare. “Fine. I’ll make you a deal. You do this tiny favor for me, and I’ll get you off El Caos’s radar for good.”

She studied me with one brow cocked. “I’m not saying I’ll do it, but what exactly do you have in mind?”

I scrubbed my hand over my jaw, willing the tumblers of an idea fall into place.

“Okay. We need to get you in and out without any special notice. You go in with two bugs. They’re sticky on the one side, so all you have to do is plant them on the undersides of furniture. A table, a chair, in a potted plant... whatever’s convenient. The second one, you will plant on a guy named Nico Diaz.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?”

“You’re a stripper. Guys are dying to get close to you. Give him a lap dance or something. Then when he’s all distracted and horny, plant the bug on his clothes. I’ll show you how to do it.”

Marley scooted off the stool and moved to the couch. It put distance between us.

“Jace, there is no way on in hell I’m going to jeopardize my life doing something that dangerous so you can collect a paycheck. Sorry. Not gonna do it.”

I moved to sit on the coffee table in front of her, trapping her knees between mine and hoping the pre-fab furniture would hold my weight.

“This isn’t about money. I told you, it’s personal. There’s a kid involved. Lucas Banda. One of the local dealers for El Caos has him. I promised to get him out.” Her eyes softened at the mention of the boy, so I continued. “Lucas is thirteen. He was orphaned when he was just a boy and grew up on the streets of Monterrey. I met him about a year ago when I was working undercover in Mexico. He’s...he’s a medium too. And I made arrangements for him to go live somewhere safe. He was so excited about it. He hates dealing drugs to other kids. But I screwed it all up. My cover was blown, and I got pulled out. Now I suspect he’s here in the States with a dealer named Nico Diaz. I have to find Diaz in order to find Lucas.”

“And you want me to plant a device on Diaz so he’ll lead you to the boy,” she sighed.

I nodded and waited for her to process.

“Jesus, Jace. I don’t know...”

“What don’t you know?”

“Anything! I know nothing about you. You say you’re an investigator, but you won’t tell me who you work for. You live in this temporary hotel room with mass-market art on the walls. You could be anyone for all I know.”

I tunneled my hands in my hair and groaned. In the time I’d been with the CIA, I’d never come clean with a civilian. It wasn’t safe for them. Look at Tom Miller. He’d been working for the Agency for almost twenty years, and every morning, his wife kissed him goodbye and wished him a good day stock brokering. But damn, sometimes it got so hard not having anyone really know me. Just once, I wanted to hear someone call me by my real name.

“I’ll tell you some things about me. But I can’t tell you everything. My job...it’s dangerous. It’s probably better if we don’t talk about that. But I promise you, I’m one of the good guys.”

Marley swallowed, her eyes growing wider. “Okay. I won’t push. I’m not nosy. I just need to know I can trust you.”

“Then I’ll tell you something I don’t normally tell anybody. My name isn’t Jace Martin. Like you, I sort of use a stage name when I’m working.”

Her face paled, and she looked at the door as if weighing her chances of bolting.

“My name is JC Moreno. It’s short for Juan Carlos. I’m from a small town on the edge of Monterrey, Mexico. When I was in my early teens, I moved to Chicago.”

“JC...” she said, testing my name out on her tongue. “What about the ID you showed me?”

“Fake. Sorry.”

“You don’t sound like you’re from Mexico.”

“I worked hard over the years to ditch the accent. When I speak Spanish, I have a perfect Monterrey accent. I’m also fluent in Brazilian Portuguese.”

“So now that I know your name, I’m just supposed to trust you enough to watch out for me if I go to that party and all hell busts loose?”

“You have my word. And it won’t just be me. I’ll get some backup. Not that I expect we’ll need it, but just for an added layer of protection for you.”

I waited for her reply for what felt like hours. Any other time, I would have commended her for taking her time deciding before jumping into something dangerous and half-cocked. But now wasn’t one of those times.

“Show me what you want me to do,” she said with a tone of defeat.

“Be right back.”

I headed back to my bedroom closet to my box of surveillance equipment and rooted around for what I needed. The bug had to be small and unobtrusive, so it’d be easy to plant on clothes.

Once I gathered my supplies, I returned to the living room. Marley remained on the couch looking pale and slightly terrified. She’d drawn the comforter over her bare legs, thankfully, a move sure to improve my concentration.

I spread the items on the coffee table and knelt down to explain it all to her.

“I have two types of bugs on hand that’ll work. This one—” I held up a chip as small as a dime but about half as thin and bendable. “—only works as a microphone. It sends data through an encrypted signal to a satellite so the signal can be monitored from anywhere in the world. This works fine for bugging the room, but for Nico, the bug also has to give off a GPS signal so he can lead me to Lucas.” I held the second bug out to her. “And this one has both microphone and GPS capabilities.”

She picked up the tiny chip and squinted to look closely.

“Not gonna lie. I’m slightly freaked out that you keep shit like this in your bedroom.”

Unable to stop myself, I sent her my best sexy leer.

Marley let out a nervous laugh at my flirtation. “Don’t be ridiculous. Show me how this stuff works.”

I held up one of the small cloth sleeves. “The bug goes in here like this. There’s a tiny strip of Velcro on the end, so you just have to pinch it closed and it won’t fall out.” I passed a sleeve to her to look at as I opened a glue stick. “This glue is some made of some crazy space-aged shit that one of the chemical companies developed. It is incredibly strong and long lasting, but it also lets you peel and stick it several times.”

I coated one side of a cloth sleeve with the glue and stuck it to the table top. Then I peeled it off and stuck it to the material of my jeans. “See?” I peeled it off my leg and handed it to her.

She touched her finger to the glue and pulled it off several times. Then she rubbed her fingers together and held the fabric up to her nose to sniff.

“So I’m thinking one of the microphones can be planted in the room. That will be the easy part. It can go just about anywhere as long as it’s out of the way.”

I placed a bug in the sticky sleeve. I held my hand up so she could see the way I held the bug with an edge tucked between my fingers. Then I feigned leaning down to adjust my shoe and wrapped my fingers around the bottom edge of the sofa. When I displayed my hand again, the bug was gone.

Marley’s mouth was open, an expression bordering between awe and fear. “Tell me you didn’t bug my apartment.”

“No, I didn’t. Promise. Despite what this must look like, I’m really not in the habit of planting surveillance without a court order.”

“You don’t have a court order for this Nico guy, do you?”

I twisted my neck until it cracked, a bad habit to relieve tension. “No, I don’t have a court order for this, but I’m not planning to make an arrest either. My only goal here is to find Lucas and get him to safety.”

“So if you capture evidence of illegal activity, you aren’t gonna act on it?”

I pressed my lips together in a hard line. No, I couldn’t act on it, and while that would royally suck, I couldn’t dwell on it. “Lucas is my top priority. There are other members of law enforcement tracking these guys. Trust me. I need to let them do their job and do my best to not interfere. If I end up capturing anything serious, I’ll turn it over to the proper authorities, and let them do with it what they can.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “So I think I can handle planting a bug on a piece of furniture. I’ll practice some, but it shouldn’t be too tough. But how would I plant one on Nico?”

I crossed to the bedroom and returned with my now empty flak jacket. “Under the hem of Nico’s coat would be perfect. People don’t wash their coats as much as the rest of their clothes, so the bug can potentially continue giving off signals for several weeks if the battery holds out. Nights should remain cool enough for a jacket for at least another month. And Nico isn’t the type to regularly wear more than one or two jackets. He isn’t exactly a fashion whore.”

“What if he isn’t wearing a jacket?”

“Then under his pant leg or beneath the bottom edge of his shirt would be the next best places. You can’t stick it under his sleeve. The skin on the wrist is sensitive, and people tend to fiddle with their sleeves a lot. Same goes for under his collar. Something rubbing on the neck would be obvious.”

Marley twisted her lips to the side in thought. She didn’t look entirely convinced she could pull this off.

I took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s practice.”

A lap dance was the easiest way for her to get close to Nico. I swallowed the lump in my throat formed by the image of Marley seducing the bastard. Even if the seduction was staged and fake, the idea made me sick. I looked around the room and spotted the armless chair sitting in front of the small desk. I dragged the chair to the middle of the room and sat down.

“Okay, give me a lap dance.”

She folded her arms across her chest and slowly raised one skeptical eyebrow. “You got fifty dollars?”

“Fine!” I stood with my hands in mock surrender. “You have a seat. I’ll demonstrate.”

Marley burst out laughing. “You? You’re going to give me a lap dance?”

“Sure. Why not? Can’t be that hard.”

She sunk down on the chair. “Oh, this I’m dying to see!”

“You mock now...”

I turned on the lamp beside the couch and switched off the overhead lights.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she drawled.

“Creating atmosphere. My first lap dance is going to be magical.”

Ignoring Marley’s snort, I went to the docking station for my MP3 player and set about finding some mood music. I ended up choosing a Maroon 5 song with a slow beat, because for some reason, chicks always dropped their panties at the sound of Adam Levine’s voice.

Marley gave a slow nod, a playful smirk on her face. The sight of her sitting on the chair expectantly, wearing nothing but my T-shirt, sent tingles of heat rushing through me. I turned away to shuck my boots and empty my pockets of keys and wallet. I’d done plenty of awkward things in my life. This couldn’t be any worse than the time Neil had me dress in drag to pose as his girlfriend in Buenos Aries. And I knew I could dance. Hell, I wouldn’t be a real Latino if I couldn’t rock out a passable salsa. I’d just have to break out some of those moves now. I shed my socks and stuck them in the tops of my boots. Then, with a deep breath, I turned toward Marley.

Chapter 7

Marley

The soulful voice of Adam Levine washed over me, soothing my tension. I’d given dozens of lap dances in my time. I’d even had other girls grind up on me a bunch of times for the lesbian fetishists. But I’d never had a guy do it to me.

In general, I thought lap dances were about as interesting as trimming my finger-nails. Rubbing on a stranger with his clothes on was more awkward and weird than sexy. But Jace—JC—wasn’t really a stranger. And if I was honest with myself, he was somewhat attractive. Okay, fine, more like smokin’ hot. Standing in front of me wearing a black T-shirt and well-worn jeans was nice, but when he took his socks off, revealing his bare feet, my pulse took off like a mustang stampede. Who would’ve thought I had a thing for men’s feet?

“Ready?” he asked, his voice slightly unsteady.

“You ever done this kind of thing before?”

He shook his head no. “And I’d appreciate it if we never mentioned this again. I don’t think the hotel would be happy with the herd of women lining up for their turn.”

“Pretty cocky there, buddy.”

JC grinned wickedly, then closed his eyes and started rocking his hips to the 4/4 time of the music. As he found his rhythm, his fingers absently played with the hem of his shirt, giving me a peek of nicely tanned abs. Wonder if he’s that color all over...

“All right,” he said strolling up to me while rolling his hips deliciously. “You’re not going to have a lot of clothes on, right?”

“Uh, no. Probably just what you saw me in earlier.”

He knocked my knee with his to spread my legs before straddling one of my thighs. “Then you can keep the bug tucked in the top of your stocking. Don’t put it in your panties or the cups of your bra. If he’s going to put his hands anywhere, it will be there.”

JC rolled his hips in slow, delicious circles, then lifted my hands and placed them on his sides. I tried to pull back, but he stopped me. “No. You have to touch me. You’re Nico now. Do what he’d do.”

I flattened my palms lightly on his waist, careful not to let my hands venture too far in any direction. Damn, he smelled good, like leather and cedar soap.

JC pressed a fingertip to my jaw, tilting my head up to look him in the eye. The brown was so dark, I couldn’t see his pupils. Heat rose to my cheeks, and I remembered how little clothes I wore.

Not breaking eye contact, JC crossed his arms, grasped the bottom of his shirt to draw it up over his head and dropped it to the floor. I took in his hard, lean body, and before I could stop myself, I ran my hands up over his chest. Male strippers who performed on the monthly ladies nights were bulked out with steroids, their veiny skin all waxed and oiled. Touching them was like running your hands along the plastic chest of a Ken doll. JC was nothing like that. He was more...real. His skin felt warm and soft. A sudden craving to lick the divots between his muscles struck me the gut, and I was thankful he wasn’t a mind-reader. He didn’t have much body hair aside from a light dusting across his pecs that trailed down to dip beneath his waistband. I let one fingertip graze over his pebbled nipple, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Sorry!” I yanked my hands back.

“No,” he whispered, rocking his hips closer so the strained front of his jeans brushed me with the movement. “Touch me. Make it real.”

That was the problem, I wasn’t pretending. And seeing this sexy man standing over me, modesty no longer seemed that important. I reached around and grasped his tight ass, drawing him closer. He closed his eyes and groaned. My lips were only a couple inches from his body. I wondered what he’d do if I leaned in to nuzzle. It’d been a while since I’d been with a man. I worked too much to bother with dating. What would be the harm in releasing some of my pent-up sexual tension with JC? The erection pushing on his jeans made it pretty clear he was interested. But I wasn’t so sure I trusted him yet. He was still holding on to a lot of secrets.

I cleared my throat. “Maybe you should just show me how to get the bug on Nico, so we can call it a night.”

“Uh, yeah.”

He shifted so my legs were together and he was hovering over on my lap. He flexed his powerful thighs to bounce a couple of times before moving in to rub our hips together. I couldn’t help the gasp that escaped when his bulge ground on my belly. With no conscious thought on my part, my hips rocked up into him. A rumble of a groan escaped his chest, and he bent down so his lips just barely brushed my ear. “I like it when you’re not too shy to touch me.”

“Oh, lord...” I moaned, as shivers from his breath on my neck sent a zing all the way down to my toes. My breath raced. I ran my hands up over the muscles of his back, and then on the way back down, I switched to fingernails, dragging them lightly down his skin.

Goose bumps rose on his flesh, and before I could move my hands to do it again, JC hopped off me and crossed the room to shut the music off.

“What’re you doing?” I gasped.

He kept his back to me, pretending to mess with the MP3 player. “I’m done. It’s on you. Check yourself.”

I ran my hands around my body, feeling for anything out of place. It took a full thirty seconds, but I finally located the bug stuck on the inside of the t-shirt. A good five inches up my hip from the bottom hem.

“How’d you get it all the way up there?”

He walked over to retrieve his shirt from the floor, not meeting my eyes. “Distraction. I drew your attention to your neck when I leaned down. You didn’t notice my fingers slipping under your shirt.”

“Oh, that’s devious.”

“Yep.” He scooped up the items from the coffee table. “Now I’m going to bed. Make yourself comfortable. We’ll talk more in the morning.” And with that, he escaped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

My mood faded from arousal to confusion then to a low-level frustration. That’s it? How dare the man work me up and then abandon me? I knew for a damn fact he was just as excited as I was. WTF!

I swallowed my annoyance and retrieved my phone from where I’d left it on the kitchen counter and brought it over to my make-shift bed on the couch. I really needed to respond to my mama’s doctor, but I didn’t want to actually talk to him. Maybe if I called the home now, I could leave a message on his voice mail. It was almost two in the morning, but the night nurses were used to my late night calls.

“Shady Pines Home.”

“Hi, this is Marley Sexton. I’m calling to leave a message for Dr. Brewer. Can you put me into his voice mail?”

“Dr. Brewer is actually here tonight. We had a bit of an emergency with one of the other patients, and he’s in his office doing paperwork right now. Let me transfer you.”

A Muzak version of an old Led Zeppelin song came on, and I had to stifle a groan. The last thing I wanted to do right now was talk to Dr. Brewer. He meant well and all, but the man had no concept of what it meant to be broke.

“Miss Sexton, hello. I’ve been trying to reach you all week.”

“I know, sorry. I just work such weird hours. It’s been tough to get back to you. I thought I’d leave you a message. How’s Mama doing?”

“She’s doing as well as she can. The staff here at Shady Pines is good, but they are limited.”

All I wanted to know was how she doing today. I didn’t call to be lectured. “I know, but you know I just can’t afford anything better. Medicaid only covers so much. And I’m still keeping up on all the bills at her house so she’ll have something to come home to one day.”

“I’m not criticizing you, Marley. You’ve done a remarkable job. But the fact is, without a more in-depth physical therapy program specifically designed for stroke patients, your mother may not get much better than she is already.”

I swiped an angry tear from my eye. “So you’re saying that if I don’t find some way to come up with five grand a month, I might as well save myself some trouble and let the park owner sell her trailer for the lot rent owed?”

“I know it seems like a lot of money—”

“It is a lot of money to me!”

“—but there are programs—”

“I’ve already talked to the social worker. And the Medicaid people. Hell, I even went to her church! I’ve maxed out all of my resources here, doc. Isn’t there some kind of experimental program I can get her in or something? Aren’t medical schools always looking for people to work with?”

“I’ve already been in contact with UT and Baylor medical schools. Nothing. Sorry.”

“I fucking hate being poor.” My tears were flowing in earnest now. Dr. Brewer had the tact to stay silent and let me have a moment for my pity party. Mad at myself for breaking down I sniffed, wiped my tears away and said, “Sorry, doc. I’m just tired. It’s been a long week. I’ll call the social worker tomorrow and see if there’s something we can come up with.”

“Marley—”

“Good night, Doctor.”

I hung up before I could make a bigger fool of myself. I had to be strong, dammit. Crying never did anybody any good. I reached up to shut off the lamp and sunk down under the covers. I fell asleep thinking about how much Mama’s Grand Ole Opry collector plates might fetch at the pawn shop.

Chapter 8

JC

Fuck. I needed coffee, but Betty and several others, including a hugely pregnant woman, were parked in front of the break room coffee pot, talking about back labor. I didn’t know what back labor was, but I wasn’t in any mood to have it explained to me. So I just stomped off to my cube muttering.

I’d barely slept the night before. I hadn’t meant for that lap dance to get me so worked up. Like an idiot, I’d assumed if I was giving it, I’d be in control. But when Marley grabbed my ass and pulled me to her...it was like she’d flipped a table on me that I hadn’t even known was there. Nothing is sexier than a woman taking what she wants. It’d been a long time since I’d been with a woman who dominated in the bedroom. Hell, it’d been a while for me, period. Then when Marley scratched her nails down my back, I thought I’d cream in my jeans like a teenager.

So yeah, trying to sleep with a raging boner wasn’t fun, but then I popped that surveillance speaker in my ear and overheard Marley’s late-night phone call, finally answering my question of why her finances were such a disaster. A sick mother in a home somewhere and trying to pay the bills on two places? That was a lot for any twenty-two year old. But long after Marley’s sniffles turned into purr-like snores, I stared at the ceiling, chewing over her mess.

My parents immigrated to the States when I was in college and now had a comfortable life in San Antonio. We were close enough. I called every Sunday and stopped down to see them when I could. I tried to imagine what I’d do if my mom was sick and the treatment she needed wasn’t covered by insurance. The answer? I’d do just about anything. So could I judge Marley for taking her clothes off and nudging men out of their cash? No. I couldn’t. And that made all my do-gooder instincts kick in. I’d burst in the doors of work this morning on a mission to help Marley.

When I reached my desk, there were three passive/aggressive post-its stuck to my monitor. I crumpled them up without reading and tossed them into the wastebasket.

“You look like shit, Moreno.”

I glanced up to see Tom leaning on the flimsy cubicle wall, coffee cup in hand. The boss from Office Space came immediately to mind, but I shoved it down. That movie hit a little too close to home right now for me to find it funny.

“Thanks. I love you, too. You wouldn’t want to run into the break room and get me a cup of that, would you?”

“And break up the hen party in there?” he chuckled. “I’m not getting in the middle of that. Hey, I hear you went golfing with Frazier yesterday.”

I pressed the button to boot up my computer. “How’d you hear that?”

“We’re spies, remember?”

“Well, it was four hours of my life I’ll never get back. Hey, when you were researching Marley Sexton for me, what did you learn about the mother?”

“Not much. Her name’s Rita Sexton. She lives in McCamey, Texas. She wasn’t young when she had Marley. She’s in her early sixties now. I think I remember seeing she retired from WalMart. Why? Need me to dig further?”

People retire from WalMart? Seemed like one of those kind of places that kids worked in as a first job. Or when I did see someone older working, I assumed they’d already retired from their real career and just worked in the retail store to get out of the house a few hours a week.

“I hear she’s been in a nursing home for a while, Shady Pines. Think you can hack into her medical records and give me an update on her condition?”

Tom nodded gravely. “Yeah, I can do it. You know, without a court order, you can’t use it as evidence. And if this is personal, and Marley finds out you invaded her mother’s privacy like that, she won’t be happy.”

More like she’d kick my balls up into my throat. But if I was going to help her, I needed more information, and Marley didn’t strike me as the confiding type. I rubbed the back of my neck. “Yeah, get me what you can. I’ll deal with Marley.”

“All right. I’ll email you what I find out.”

When Tom walked away, I reviewed the work in my planner. Frazier had sent me more financial records to review, so I set to tackling them first. If I got them out of the way in the morning, I’d have all afternoon to work on setting things up for Marley bugging Nico. When we’d parted ways at the hotel, she’d said she would call her boss and agree to work the party. She didn’t think it’d be too difficult to get permission. She’d nudge him if she had to.

The phone on my desk rang. I groaned seeing it was Frazier’s extension. I answered pretending I didn’t recognize the number. “Records, this is JC. May I help you?” We all answered the phone as if it were a records department, on the off chance a wayward caller made it through the switchboard screening.

“Moreno, my office,” Frazier barked out before hanging up. A-hole.

Why the hell couldn’t he just say what he needed to say on the phone? I guessed Frazier’s constant calling people in was his way of proving he could lead us around like puppets on strings. I debated making him wait, but then, like a good little minion, I locked my computer and ambled to the office. Maybe if I played nice, he’d give in and let me go back out to the field.

“Yes, sir?” I said, poking my head in Frazier’s door.

“Have a seat.”

I did as directed, hoping it wouldn’t take long.

“Deputy Director Chesley was impressed with you yesterday. I know you weren’t thrilled with the game, but you soldiered through it well.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“So Chesley asked me to invite you to a dinner party tonight. It’s a family event, so you’ll need to bring a date.”

“Family event” was code for any social gathering that included unsuspecting spouses. The agents would pretend to be colleagues in some generic profession for the purposes of keeping up appearances. I guessed significant others liked getting to know the co-workers, and they tend to get suspicious if the day job was too secretive. No actual business was ever discussed at these events, and given I had no spouse to appease, these parties were a colossal waste of my time. So while my gut twisted at the thought of making small talk all evening with people who thought I was some sort of pencil pusher, maybe if I played along, I’d get sprung from this joint sooner.

I plastered on my most pleasant smile and nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate the invitation. But I don’t know about the date. I’m not really seeing anyone right now.”

“Come on now, Moreno. I’m sure you’ll be able to come up with someone appropriate. I’ll have my girl get you the details.”

Did he seriously just call his assistant his girl? This wasn’t an episode of Mad Men. How the hell this douchebag worked his way into middle management at one of the most powerful organizations on earth, I’d never understand.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll see you and your wife tonight.” I started to stand, then decided now might be the time to capitalize on this recent attention from the Deputy Director. “Uh, before I get back to reviewing those reports, I was wondering if you had a chance to review my request to return to field work.”

Frazier rubbed the back of his neck as if my question just caused it to cramp up. “Uh, not yet. I’ll get to it soon.”

An acidic taste filled the back of my mouth, and I had to blink to keep my vision from going red. He’d given me the same answer the last three times I asked. I wanted to yell and hurl Frazier’s signed Yu Darvish baseball at his head. But I couldn’t do that. Like it or not, this fuckhead had my career by the proverbial balls. If he didn’t file my transfer paperwork, I was stuck. What other choice did I have? People just didn’t quit the CIA. It was like trying to quit the mafia, or El Caos. That was not how it worked. You might get old and useless and gradually put out to pasture, but no way did they let an officer with my skills and knowledge of the organization walk out the door. So rather than telling Frazier to shove his job up his ass sideways, I mumbled an excuse and left the room.

Instead of returning to my desk, I headed to the men’s room. I took a leak and stopped to splash water on my face. Miller was right, I did look like shit. Like a man who was wasting his youth and talent away. But what other choice did I have? Of course, I’d heard of agents going rogue. They were no better than hired mercenaries who sold their services to foreign governments and criminals. Those guys had to spend the rest of their (usually short) lives looking over their shoulder for the CIA to catch them. I’d worked too hard to become a United States citizen to throw it away out of boredom.

I needed Frazier to file that transfer paperwork for me, but how could I get him to get off his ass and do it?

Marley.

I sucked in a deep breath and let it out with a laugh. Marley could nudge Frazier. She’d help me, right? I did drop what I’d been doing last night to go rescue her. Okay, so all I was doing was watching a Spurs game at the sports pub down the street from her club, but still. I could get her to do it. All I had to do was get her and Frazier in a room together. And wouldn’t you know? I suddenly knew who ask to be my plus-one for the shindig tonight.

I dried my hands and face on a handful of paper towels and jogged back to my desk. As I picked up my cell phone to call Marley, I saw several missed calls and voice messages from her number. I hit the button to ring her back.

“JC? Thank god! I don’t know what to do.”

“What’s going on? I didn’t listen to the messages.”

Marley sniffled. “El Caos trashed my apartment!”

Chapter 9

Marley

I’d known something was wrong when I pulled up out front. After leaving JC’s place, I’d had a cab run me back to the club so I could get my car. While there, I collected the cash from my locker and left a note for Marco telling him I’d work the rave party. He’d let me. I was already scheduled off the next two nights, so he wouldn’t have to flip-flop anyone around. When I’d gotten to my house, I’d barely taken the key out of my ignition when the old man who lived in one of the lower units of the building came out yelling in Spanish at me. My Spanish was rusty at best, and with his words running faster than a scared jackrabbit, I didn’t understand one thing he was trying to tell me. When he pointed up to my place I got a sick feeling in my gut. I ran up the steps two at a time but skidded to a stop in front of the broken door.

Memories of every cop show I’d ever watched filled my head. I knew if you had a break-in you weren’t supposed to enter the home. I could hear Mama’s voice in my head, telling me to go back downstairs and call the police. I almost did it too, but with the cops being in El Caos’s pocket, 911 didn’t seem like the best option. I looked around for something to use as a weapon. Nothing, not even a fire extinguisher in the rusty In Case of Emergency box hanging on the wall. On the floor, I spotted a thick shard of wood from my broken door. It was about ten inches long and pointy enough to take out an eye, so I picked it up held it at the ready. Then, with a deep breath, I hiked up the waist of JC’s borrowed jeans and pushed open the door.

“Holy cow, Marley! Who’d you piss off?”

I glanced up from where I knelt studying a pile of junk on the floor to see my neighbor, April, standing in the open doorway. Didn’t seem much sense to close the door, considering it had been kicked in so hard the wood looked like the byproduct of a redneck toothpick spitting contest. I knew who I’d pissed off, but the less I told April, the better.

April picked her way through the room, seeing it for the rubbish strewn heap it was.

“I’m sure it looks worse than it is,” I mumbled, not sure of any such thing.

“You shouldn’t be here! What if the person who did this is still lurking around?” April’s big eyes darted about.

I shoved at a broken lamp with the toe of my shoe. “Nowhere for anyone to hide in here besides the bathroom, and I already checked it.”

April stepped in gingerly, trying to avoid the shards of broken dishes. “I heard something going on up here last night, then the stereo came on real loud. I was just going to ask you to turn it down when everything went quiet again.”

I sighed. “They must have turned music on to cover up what they were doing here.” I picked up a quilt that had been on my bed. My grandmother who’d died before I was born had made it. It was torn now. It might be fixable, but hell, now that Mama was out of commission, who did I know who could sew? And how would I ever be able to pay to replace this stuff? I swiped angrily at my stupid leaking eyes. “Fuck, April! This is my life! It might just be Goodwill furniture and dime store keepsakes, but it’s all I got.”

April wrapped her arms around me, and I allowed myself a moment to accept the comfort she offered before pulling back and willing my inner steel to fill my bones. When I first saw the state of my apartment, I’d had the urge to drop everything and run back to Mama’s trailer in McCamey. I wanted to wake up in my childhood bedroom, with its posters of my tween idols on the walls, and start my adult life over from scratch. But there was less money to be made in McCamey than I could shake out of my panties in Austin, so I didn’t have much choice. No, I needed to move forward, and the only way to do that was to get El Caos off my back. As much as I hated to admit it, I needed JC’s help to do it. I still didn’t know for sure what he was about, but I reckoned he was some sort of law enforcement. My guess was FBI or one of those other super secret squirrel groups. That made him one of the good guys. At least I hoped so.

“Marley, are you in some sort of trouble?” April asked. “Is some guy from the club stalking you or something?”

“Yeah, something like that,” I lied. It wouldn’t do any good to let her imagination think of worse scenarios.

“Did you call the cops?”

I opened my mouth to answer but was interrupted by JC rushing through the door, wearing a business suit and carrying a big black gun. April squeaked her surprise and ducked behind me.

“Don’t worry, April. This is um... Detective Moreno. I called him about the break in.”

JC’s eyes scanned the room, cataloguing every detail. Then he methodically searched the few meager hiding spots to make sure no bad guys were lying in wait to kill me.

“I already checked. Whoever did this is long gone.”

He holstered his weapon. “You shouldn’t be in here, Marley! What if someone was waiting for you in here?”

“But they’re not, so chill out.”

April stepped out from behind me, holding her hand out to JC. “Hi, I’m April. From downstairs. Do you need to take my statement? Cuz if so, it’ll have to be quick. I need leave for work soon.”

JC shook her hand and shot me a questioning look. I shrugged. To April he asked, “So did you see anything, ma’am?”

“I didn’t see anything, but at about three in the morning I heard music come on up here, real loud. I just figured Marley brought home a man from the club. You know, like she was using the music to cover up her sex noises?”

“Does Ms. Sexton bring a lot of men home from the club?”

He asked the question of April, but looked at me with an amused expression. Screw him. I could bring home men anytime I wanted.

April answered his question, probably thinking her information was vital to the investigation. “Oh, sometimes. I mean, it’s been at least a few months now. Marley’s in a bit of a dry spell—”

“Thanks, April,” I interrupted. “You should probably be getting on to work now. Wouldn’t want you to be late.”

“Oh, okay. Detective, if you need anything, my place is just the next floor down.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

When April was gone, JC turned to me, the seriousness of the situation echoing in his voice. “Don’t say anything else. I need to check the room.”

He whipped out a device from his inner coat pocket and strode around sweeping it over my broken furniture. Even with all the talk about surveillance devices last night, the thought one could be planted on me hadn’t even occurred to me. A swell of dread filled me as I thought about all the things I had to learn if I was going to have half a chance of getting out of this mess unscathed.

“Clear. You can’t stay here, Marley,” JC said, returning the device to his pocket. “Once you’re on El Caos’s radar, you’re not likely to get off of it. And you sure as shit better hope they never find out about your nudging.”

I grimaced at the thought. “Yeah, I don’t really advertise that information. The only people who know are you and my mama, and she ain’t talking.”

“Well, you can stay with me for a while. It’s probably the safest place for you right now. Go on and pack a bag. I’ll get someone over here to board up your door.”

He strode off toward the window with his cell phone pressed to his ear. I didn’t like being ordered around, but JC was right. With a sigh, I crossed to the kitchen to get a couple of paper grocery sacks from beneath the sink. I didn’t really have luggage, so they’d have to do. Bags in hand, I picked through the pile of clothing lying next to my toppled dresser for clean socks and underwear. Most of the clothes were okay, just rumpled.

“I have someone on the way to secure your door. I also have someone contacting your landlord.”

“What?” I stood up and glared. “Why would you call my landlord? Are you trying to get me evicted?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. My associate is going to blame the break in on the inadequate locks on your door, which is his fault, not yours. You won’t even lose your deposit.”

He didn’t mention that I’d likely never be able to live here again, and I was grateful. The place was small and dingy, but it was my home.

“You gonna tell me who this associate is who you have doing all this for me?”

“Nope. Is that everything? We better go.”

“Hold your damn horses. I’m working on it.” I went to the small closet and grabbed a few shirts at random.

“Oh, pack a dress. A conservative one.”

“Why?”

“I’m taking you on a date tonight. Don’t get too excited. It’s a boring work function.”

I glared at him. “Gee, you’re so romantic. This how you treat all women? No wonder you’re single.”

“I’m helping you, so you need to help me.”

“I’m not even gonna ask,” I muttered, while grabbing the only conservative dress I owned from the back of my closet. It was a teal blue cocktail dress that I’d worn for my high school formal. Mama had bought it for me used from a thrift shop and then spent a week at her sewing machine working it into a style from this decade. With all my dancing, I was in better shape than I’d been in high school, so I reckoned it’d fit well enough.

“If I’m going to go to a work function with you, does this mean you’re finally going to tell me what you do?” I shoved the bag with the dress in it at him to carry, and then hoisted the two shopping bags up on my hips, nodding a let’s go gesture with my head.

“Sure. I’m a financial analyst for an investment brokerage.”

I rolled my eyes. “Riiight. All financial analysts carry guns? I thought the only danger spreadsheets posed are from paper cuts.”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

I followed JC downstairs and deposited my things in the backseat of my car.

His face was all twisted up with indecision. He held the keycard to his room in hand. I’d need it in order to take my stuff over there since he had to get on back to analyzing financials or whatever bullshit he claimed. But I could see he didn’t want to let me into his place without him.

“Look,” I said, trying to put him at ease. “I got stuff to do today, too. I don’t have time to dig around in your drawers or anything, so you can relax.”

He looked at me as if coming to an important decision. “Come have lunch with me first. I need to get back to the office, but there are some things I need to talk to you about...you know, about my job.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Your financial job...?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a diner about three blocks that way on the left. It’s not too busy. Will that do?”

“I’ll follow you.”

The diner was pretty well deserted when we got there. It was one of those places that made the majority of their sales in the early hours after bar time. A place people went to because it was the only thing open, not because it had the best food or ambiance.

We took a table in the far corner. I was hungry, so I asked for a large order of migas and toast. JC requested a pot of coffee to be left on the table for him, and he drank the first cup with the same gusto as a starving man at a pig roast.

“Quit stalling,” I said. “I want to hear about this job of yours.”

He face got all twisty again. “Well...uh...I don’t know how to say this. I’ve never talked about it before. And until two days ago you were a stranger...”

“I trusted you with my biggest secret. Do you think I want people to know about my nudging? I’m not stupid. I know you’re some sort of cop. FBI?”

He shook his head no. “Not FBI, but close.” He lowered his voice to just this side of a whisper. “CIA.”

Oh, crap. All I knew about the CIA was from TV, and none of it made me comfortable. FBI was bad-ass. The CIA was just plain spooky. “Shit, this is one of those I-could-tell-you-but-then-I’d-have-to-kill-you things, isn’t it? No way is this gonna end well for me.” I laughed humorlessly. “I shoulda known from all that spy shit you have hiding in your pockets. You investigating El Caos?”

He nodded gravely.

“And you’re telling me this now because...?”

“I need your help.”

He proceeded to tell me a long story about psychic agents, working undercover with the gang, getting assigned to a desk job and then needing me to nudge his boss to get him a different assignment.

“So you told me this secret—a secret that places me in a hell of a lot of danger—because you’re bored at work? What the fuck is wrong with you? I watch TV. I know what happens to people who know too much. You’re either gonna get me killed or sent to witness protection!”

“With El Caos on your tail, you’ll likely end up in some sort of protection anyway, Marley. Doesn’t it make you feel a little better knowing you have the full power of the US government on your side?”

“No! What has the government ever done for me? They don’t give a shit about anyone as long as we pay our taxes on time.”

“I care about you! Well, you know...like as a friend, I mean. Not that you’re not a great girl...”

I waved off his rambling. “I get it. But how is it supposed to make me feel better knowing that my protector has an even bigger target on his back than I do?”

His jaw tightened. “You don’t worry about that. I’ll protect you.”

The waitress approached and set a heaping plate in front of me. I wasn’t hungry anymore, but I wasn’t raised to waste food, either. I picked up my fork and began to eat with a mechanical precision, not tasting anything.

“Look,” JC said, rubbing his temple. “I was thinking about it this morning. I have access to resources that can fix this for you. Not just this thing with the cartel, but everything. I know your money situation is tight. Maybe I can help you get a job with the Agency. They’re always interested in psy agents, and I know you’re tough enough to handle it. The benefits are amazing. They can even help with your mother—”

I slammed my fork down. “What do you know of my mama? You might be some sort of spy, but you have no right to go poking through my life.”

“I’m sorry. I know it was a dickhead move, but in the beginning, I thought you were working for the cartel. I had to check you out.”

“And now? Does this little heart-to-heart mean you’ve crossed me off your suspect list?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Stop spying on me.” The thought of Mama being able to get the care she needed was tempting...really tempting. And ironic that the government might fix everything for Mama if I went to work for them, but they didn’t give two shits for the thousands of people dying due to lack of proper health insurance. But I knew better than to trust in offers that sounded too good to be true. “And no, I don’t want your job. I have one already, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t it be better to have a job where you could keep your clothes on?”

The glare I leveled on him would’ve made a lesser man piss himself. But not the smug JC Moreno.

“I’ll have you know that I like my job. As a feminist, I see stripping as an act of female empowerment. It’s all about taking control of my own sexuality.”

“Do you carry that soap box with you everywhere? I’m not saying I look down on strippers. I know it’s a hard job. I’m just saying you have other options. You know, careers that will last after you get wrinkles. Jobs with more benefits than just free glitter lotion.”

I shoveled some food in my mouth to avoid having to admit he was right. I wouldn’t be twenty-two forever, and I had a future to consider.

JC tossed a twenty on the table along with his keycard. “Look, I have to get back to work. So will you help me out tonight?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, I’ll try, but can’t guarantee it will work. A person has to be pretty susceptible for me to nudge them. If your boss doesn’t want to transfer you, and he’s stubborn about it, my charms aren’t gonna mean shit.”

He patted my arm. “I appreciate anything you can do. Be ready by seven?”

I nodded.

“Okay, if you need anything, just call my cell.”

I lingered over my plate of cold eggs for a long time, thinking about JC and El Caos and my life. As much as I wanted to crawl into a hole and pull the dirt over me, I needed to put on my big-girl panties and figure out my next steps. While JC’s couch was plenty comfortable, it wasn’t home. And I didn’t see myself ever feeling at secure in my little apartment ever again. A shudder rolled through me at the thought of what would’ve happened if I’d been home when those goons showed up last night.

Maybe it was time I bought a gun. It wasn’t such a radical idea, considering just about everyone in Texas carried. I didn’t do helpless well, and getting a gun would go a long way toward making me feel safe. Before I could talk myself out of it, I paid the waitress and headed for my car.

One of the regulars at the club owned a pawn shop on the north side, so I headed there. The store was sandwiched in a strip mall between a taco bar and a dry cleaner, in a neighborhood that was sketchy at best. A cage of steel bars covered the doors and windows. When I pulled the door open, an almost delicate tinkle of bells alerted whoever was inside of my arrival. I passed the racks of DVDs and appliances and headed back to a glass counter displaying a variety of firearms.

“Misty! So nice of you to come visit me for once.”

I looked up from the case to see Danny Trout, a short man with a kind smile. As a customer, he tipped well and didn’t take too many liberties. He was one of the good ones.

“Hey, Danny. Nice shop you got here.”

“Ah, it’s a dump, but it pays the bills. What can I do you for?”

“Looking for a gun.”

He nodded. “For protection? A pretty girl like you can’t be too careful.”

“Yeah, just something small. It gets awfully dark, walking to my car at night.”

“Got just the thing for you.” He walked in the back room and returned a minute later with a small box. He opened it and showed me a plain black gun. “This here is a Glock 42, 380 auto. Women like it because it fits well in a smaller hand and it’s light-weight. Here, try it.”

He was right. The gun felt good in my hand.

“How much experience do you have shooting?” he asked.

“When I was a teenager, one of my boyfriends was competitive shooter. He took me out to the range a few times, so I’m not completely inexperienced, but I should probably take a class or something.”

“You have to do ten hours of training to get a concealed-carry permit. I don’t teach them anymore, but I can recommend a place for you.”

I filled out the paperwork for the purchase, and Danny gave me a crash course in how to load the magazine and shoot it. The gun and the ammunition ran just shy of $500. I hated spending that much money when it could go toward the co-pay for Mama’s prescriptions, but I didn’t see I had much choice. If I was dead, there wasn’t anybody else who’d volunteer to pay her bills. I paid half in cash from last night’s tips and put the rest on my credit card.

I said goodbye to Danny and left the shop with the gun case and a note scribbled with information on a training school. In my car, I loaded the weapon and shoved it in my purse. Screw the permit. I’d worry about that when I didn’t have gangsters on my heels.

Chapter 10

JC

After the shitty day I had, attending a dinner party was the last thing I wanted to do. I’d spent the entire afternoon reviewing the now-deceased Felipe Gomez’s business accounts for suspicious activity. His balance sheet had so many holes, it looked like it’d been used for target practice. The more accounts I reviewed, the more I became convinced our pal Gomez was not only laundering money for the cartel, but also squirreling away a sizeable chunk for himself. Cheating the cartel took more guts than I’d given him credit for. Stupid, but gutsy. In recent months, though, it appeared he’d gotten greedier...made some sloppy mistakes. Marley offing him as she did was a mercy compared to what would’ve happened when El Caos caught up to him.

At least now I’d guessed the codes the cartel suspected Marley had were bank account numbers and pass codes leading to their pilfered money. The only reason Gomez would’ve had that information on him was if he’d been getting ready to cash in his chips and peace out. It didn’t make me feel any better about Marley’s situation, but at least I’d narrowed down what we were dealing with.

Before going up to the room, I stopped by the hotel desk to get my mail and asked for another keycard. I let it drop that my girlfriend would be staying with me for a while, so they wouldn’t give Marley any hassle.

When I entered the suite, Marley was standing in the middle of the room, pointing the remote at the TV and flipping through channels. She was dressed in a knee-length number the same color as her eyes. She’d wound her hair into a complicated nest of curls at the back of her head that managed to be both elegant and sexy at the same time. A weight that I hadn’t realized I was carrying lifted from my shoulders. I guessed a part of me worried my co-workers would be able to tell she was a stripper by looking at her. Shallow, I knew. But fuck, if Marley didn’t look like a million bucks.

“Quit standing there with your mouth hanging open,” she ordered. “Haven’t you ever seen a woman in a dress?”

My mouth snapped closed. “Sorry. It’s just...you look amazing.”

“What did you expect? Spandex and clear plastic heels?”

“Can’t you take a compliment without getting defensive?”

“Sorry. It’s just been one of those days.” She switched off the TV and tossed the remote onto the couch. Her face relaxed into a smile. “Thank you for the compliment. I hope this is good enough for your party. I don’t want to embarrass you.”

I yanked my tie off. “No chance of that. People are going to take one look at you and wonder how I ended up with such a beautiful date.”

A trace of pink rose on her cheeks, and suddenly making Marley blush became my new goal in life.

“How was your day?” she asked, changing the subject.

Damn, it had been a long time since someone asked me about my day. And by someone who knew the truth about my job, no less. Before I could talk myself out of it, I seized the opportunity and started talking. Next thing I knew, Marley was sitting on the edge of the bathtub listening while I shaved away my five o-clock shadow at the sink. She laughed at my stories of cubicle life and asked questions like she was genuinely interested. I didn’t know if she really was, or if pretending to be fascinated by men’s conversation was a part of her professional repertoire, but I wanted to believe, at least for a while, that her interest was real. I needed a friend, and I was beginning to think Marley might be it. Of course, I’d never had a friend who had me walking around with a permanent semi. That might get annoying.

I stifled a groan. Ever since that lap dance, my cock had been on high alert, like it took me humping Marley’s leg like a dog for me to notice she was a hot woman. Christ, the way her skin had smelled when I’d bent to nuzzle her neck. Peaches on a hot summer day. All I’d wanted to do was carry her off to my bed like a Neanderthal. And now, I couldn’t think of much else.

After I finished cleaning up, we headed downtown to the restaurant attached to the hotel where Deputy Director Chesley was staying. In the car, I reinforced the whole investment company cover story so Marley knew to play along. I wasn’t positive what the Agency would do if they found out I told her, but I suspected it would involve me shoveling snow in Siberia for the rest of my career.

The hostess at the front desk escorted Marley and me back to a private room, well away from the main restaurant. I didn’t know many of the people milling around, at least not on a personal level. Trent Neil stood on the far side of the room, his arm lightly draped around a generic looking model-type. I’d be surprised if he knew her last name. When he spotted me, he raised his glass and smirked. I flipped him off.

“May I get ya’ll something to drink?” asked a waitress.

“I’ll just have a Coke.” Marley said.

“Same here.” Alcohol and drugs can weaken psychic abilities, so I assumed Marley was keeping herself clean for a reason. While I doubted I’d be running into any spirits tonight, I figured I’d follow her lead.

“Moreno!” called Chesley’s booming voice. I turned to see the man approaching with an elegant older woman on his arm. He pumped my hand vigorously. “Glad you could make it. And who’s this lovely lady?”

“Marley Sexton. It’s nice to meet you.” She shook hands all around.

“What a beautiful dress,” Lindy Chesley commented.

“Thank you, ma’am. My mama made it.”

This started the women off talking about clothes. Chesley gave me a look like we were two dudes sharing an inside joke.

“I appreciated you being such a good sport on the course. I know golfing really isn’t your thing, but Neil was right about you, you’re a trooper.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“No need to call me sir. We’re here to have a nice time and let off some steam. Just call me Wayne.”

Before I could formulate a reply, Frazier strode up, edged me out of the way and greeted Chesley like a long lost college buddy. The stink of my boss’s desperation made my nose twitch.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Chesley,” I said, taking the liberty to run my hand down Marley’s back. “Would you mind if I stole Marley away a moment?”

The woman waved us off with a knowing grin.

I led Marley to a quiet corner so I could give her the lay of the land. “The balding, constipated looking guy? That’s my boss, Gary Frazier.”

She glanced over my shoulder and nodded. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do, but my nudging isn’t perfect. The message has to be really short. All you want is for him to file your paperwork so you can go back out to the field, right?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, so I think the best thing to do is to get into a conversation with him about work. Think you can ask him again about reassigning you? Nudging works pretty well on procrastinators. If he’s already thinking about it, I just have to give him a little goose.”

“No talking about work in front of civilians. I’ll need to find a way to get him alone.”

The servers began bringing out dinner, so we went to find seats. I hoped for a place near Frazier so we could get the nudging over with, but he and his chinless wife glued themselves to the Chesleys along with the rest of the brown-nose crew.

“Come on, Moreno.” Neil said, grasping my shoulder. “I saved you seats at my table so I can flirt with your date.” He winked at Marley and bent to brush a kiss across her knuckles. A pretty blush colored her cheeks. I grit my teeth to keep from stomping on Neil’s foot.

“Marley, this is Trent Neil. Don’t trust him.”

“Ah, don’t listen to him, Marley. I’m the best friend he has.”

Shit, he was probably right. As my handler, and one of the few people who I had contact with during my years undercover, Neil knew more about me than even my mother did. He drove me nuts most of the time, but there wasn’t anyone else I’d rather have at my six in a fire fight.

I followed them to the table where Neil introduced us to his date, Valentina. The woman looked supremely bored. She didn’t speak much and ate even less.

“So, Marley,” Neil asked as he cut his steak. “What do you do?”

“I’m a dancer.”

Valentina gave Marley one of those once-over looks women do when they are sizing up their competition. “Ballet?”

“No, something more...exotic.”

Valentina looked horrified, and I choked on my soda.

“Oh, I’m going to like you.” Neil gave Marley an admiring look. “You’re exactly what this stick in the mud needs.”

Marley grinned, ridiculously proud of herself.

After pushing around the appropriate amount of food on her plate, Valentina excused herself to go have a cigarette.

Once the three of us were alone, and I was reasonably certain no one was eavesdropping, I leaned toward Neil. “We need to talk.”

The man’s smile never faltered, but I could sense the gears of his mind changing over to business. “This is a family event. We’re not supposed to be discussing work.”

“This isn’t work. The party you told me about is coming up quick. You in?”

Neil eyed Marley. “Is she going to this party?”

Marley nodded. “I sure am.”

“You know you’re my favorite wingman,” I added.

Neil sighed. “I’ll call you for directions later.”

Even though Neil was about as psychic as a rock, conversations with him always had that mind-reader feel. He was a world class expert in communicating vast ideas with as few words as possible. I’d heard rumors about his off-the-charts IQ, and I was inclined to believe them.

When dinner was over, Valentina returned. Neil made an excuse about her having an early appointment and left with a promise to call me in the morning. Gradually, people stood and began reaching for their coats.

“Hey, your boss just headed to the men’s room. You corner him and get him talking.”

“Where are you going to be?”

“Just go!” She pinched my ass, starling me into taking a step.

The restrooms were located at the end of a long, empty hall.

“I’m not following him in there like some perv.”

“Just stand here and pretend you’re talking on your phone. Then when he comes back out, hang up.” Marley tried a door marked Employees Only. It opened to a small broom closet jam packed with cleaning supplies. Marley slipped off her strappy heels, and stepped up into an empty mop bucket. “Shut the door. I’ll hear you fine.”

I closed the door and took out my phone. There was a text message from my little sister. I’d gotten her a fancy phone last month for her thirteenth birthday, and she’d been texting me several times a day ever since. Thank god for unlimited texting, or my parents would’ve strung me up. I tapped out a cheesy knock-knock joke to her. Just as I hit send, Frazier stepped out of the men’s room, adjusting the belt on his pants.

“Good evening, sir.”

Frazier’s brows lifted like I’d startled him out of his thoughts. “Oh, yeah. Have a nice night. See you in the morning.”

He made like he was going to step past me, so I reached out to shake his hand. I sure hoped it was damp from poor hand driers and not because he’d forgotten to wash.

“Thank you for inviting me tonight.” It really wasn’t his idea to include me on the guest list, but I needed to keep him talking.

“Uh, yeah. Glad you could make it.”

“Did you get a chance to file my transfer paperwork this afternoon?”

Frazier took a deep breath and let out a sigh. I was pissing him off, but hopefully with Marley’s nudge it wouldn’t matter.

“No, Moreno.”

“Oh. So do you think you’ll have a chance to look at it soon? I’ve been working in the office for months now, and I know my skills are needed out on the streets.”

“I meant, no. I’m not approving your transfer back to field work.”

All the blood in my body turned to sludge. No? Why the fuck not?

“Look, Moreno. You’re a good agent, but there’s no way you can go undercover with El Caos again. You’re persona non grata south of the border. So I think your knowledge is best put to use in the office here.”

“Then what about transferring me to a different field team? Send me to Brazil or something?”

“I’m going to level with you here,” he said, staring at me with intent. “I see you going far in this organization, but when I envision your future, I see you here. Now, I know reviewing the bank accounts of money launderers isn’t the most exciting thing, but heck, you play your cards right, and you could have my job someday.”

“But I’m a psy agent!” I hissed, trying to keep my volume down. “That’s why the Agency recruited me. The only dead people I see lately are the zombies who push the mail carts around twice a day.”

“I’m not trying to upset you. I’m just thinking about the overall health of the department.”

I must have looked confused, because he continued.

“Look around the office sometime. Half of the people you see will be retiring in the next five years. What am I going to do when my experienced analysts leave? The time to train for the future is now. You’re bored? I get it. It’s about time I gave you more responsibility. How about I set you up on a job shadow next week with Louis? He can show you the ropes in Web Surveillance.”

A woman I didn’t know turned down the hall headed for the ladies’ room, effectively ending our conversation.

Frazier used the diversion to make his escape. “We can talk specifics tomorrow.” He patted my shoulder like I was a disappointed child and headed back toward the party.

I stared after him with my mouth hanging open. Visions of gray cubicle walls and the scent of pencil shavings swirled through my brain, making me light-headed. A soft creak sounded behind me, and Marley climbed out of the closet.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I groaned.

Marley stomped into her shoes. “How dare that rat bastard talk to you like that! I have half a mind to tell him what I really think of his greasy comb-over.”

I touched her wrist. “So the nudging...?”

“I can’t nudge someone who has his mind dead set against something.”

My chest constricted. “So that’s it.”

“Are you kidding? You’re not gonna give up just like that, are you?”

I slumped against the wall and rubbed the back of my tense neck. “I don’t know, Marley. What else can I do? His decision sounded pretty final to me. And it’s not like I’m in a position to just quit. But hell...the thought of going back in there tomorrow knowing that’s what I can expect to face for the next thirty years makes me want to puke.”

Marley’s eyes grew bright as twin flames. “No useless bureaucrat is going to treat one of my friends like shit and get away with it.”

She grasped my hand and pulled me back to the main room. But instead of approaching Frazier, she led me in the direction of Wayne Chesley.

“No!” I dug my heels in. “You’re going to get me fired.”

She rolled her eyes like she was dealing with a petulant child. “I am not gonna get you fired. Trust me.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Stop looking like you just got kicked in the gut and follow my lead.”

Chesley and his wife stood off to the side saying goodnight to a group of people. As soon as they stepped away, a grinning Marley sidled up.

“Thank you so much for hosting us all tonight. Dinner was wonderful, and I’m so happy to get to finally meet JC’s co-workers.”

“So glad you could make it, Marley,” answered Lindy. “I’ll be sure to check out that boutique you suggested before our flight leaves tomorrow.”

“Oh, I know you’ll love it! And, Mr. Chesley, thank you so much for being good to my honey here.” Marley held my hand and leaned into me. “He just loves working for your company, and I want nothing more than to see him happy.”

“Well, we’re lucky to have him.”

She gazed up at me with rounded doe eyes. “Aw, ain’t he just the sweetest thing?” Turning back to Chesley she continued. “JC’s always telling me how much he loved it when he used to be able to get out of the office to meet with clients in the field. He talks about it like it was the best job in the world. Not that he doesn’t enjoy office work, but you know JC, he gets restless cooped up inside all day. I understand this is just a temporary thing, right? I mean, you do plan to send him back out to the field soon?”

For a moment, Chesley’s eyes glazed, like a man who’d had too much to drink, but then in a snap it was gone. “Of course. We can always use good men working with clients in the field.”

“So you’ll help him get re-assigned?”

“Absolutely,” Chesley beckoned to someone across the room. I looked over my shoulder to see Frazier approaching. “Frazier, JC’s temporary assignment in your office is just about over, isn’t it? I was thinking it’s time to get him back out into the field where he belongs. He always did his best work when he could meet clients on their own turf.”

Frazier glared at me accusingly and sputtered, “Y-yes, sir. I-I was just speaking with Moreno earlier today about filing his transfer.”

“Good. See that you do it tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Wayne,” I said, shaking the man’s hand and studiously ignoring Frazier. “I appreciate this opportunity to get back to the job I love.”

“No problem, JC. And if you and Marley ever get up to Virginia, let me know. We’d love to have you both out on the boat.”

We said our goodnights, and I hustled Marley out while we were ahead.

When we got to the hallway, I couldn’t contain my gratitude any longer. I spun Marley around and pressed a kiss to her mouth. Laughing, she parted her lips and pulled me closer so my hardening cock grazed her belly. Well, I didn’t need an engraved invitation. I took her mouth deeply, licking in to tangle with her tongue. She tasted so damn good. Her summer peach smell filled my brain, making me strain in my shorts. I wanted to kiss every inch of her. My lips trailed down her jaw to nibble on her neck.

“JC.” She sort of giggled and whispered at the same time. “Your co-workers can see us!”

“I don’t care,” I muttered. “What you did in there was a fucking thing of beauty.”

“I’m serious, back off.” She shoved at my chest, and I reluctantly gave her some space. “I don’t waste my time with boys who do nothing but tease.”

Now that made me laugh. “Tease? Me? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, you know...like last night. Don’t tell me you weren’t as hot and bothered after that lap dance as I was...the evidence was poking me in the gut. But then you got all cold feet and ran to hide in your bedroom. I like a man who knows how to finish what he starts, and if that isn’t you...” She shrugged.

This woman was going to be the death of me. I tugged her further down the hall so I could say what I wanted without having to worry about nosy eavesdroppers.

“Oh, I know what I want, missy. I was just trying to be a gentleman.”

“Then hold the door open for me. Don’t get me all horned up and then run off.”

“Did you just say ‘all horned up’?” I laughed.

She smacked me on the arm. “You know what I mean.” Then a sort of seriousness washed over her face like a cloud. “JC, I don’t need no silly ring or promises. I’m not that girl. But don’t play games with me. I don’t have the time or the energy for things like that.”

I’d liked Marley before, but that little speech caused my blood to rush through my chest in a way I wasn’t familiar with. I reached up to frame her face with my palms. “I won’t hurt you, Marley. And I’m not into playing games either. But in the short time I’ve known you, I’ve felt more like myself than since before I went undercover. I don’t know what this is, but it’s worth exploring.”

I tilted her face up and covered her mouth with mine. I was going for tender and sweet, but after a minute Marley had other ideas. She twined her body around mine, igniting something in me that went beyond the physical.

Reluctantly, I drew back. “Maybe we should take this someplace a little more private. My place?”

Her eyes narrowed wickedly. “Too far. And I don’t want you growing some misguided conscience on me like you did last night. Come on.”

Marley led me down the hall to the ladies’ room. Bathrooms are not sexy in the least, but I’d take her bent over a counter if it meant I could get inside her quicker. She checked the stalls to make sure we were alone, and then flipped the lock on the door.

“You sure about this?” Please god, let her be sure....

Marley gave me a shove so I was pinned against the wall by the hand dryer. She reached down and rubbed my erection through my suit. “Oh, I’m sure. And it feels like you are too.”

“You’re so fucking hot...” I rocked my hips up to her hand, and leaned in take her mouth again. “Beautiful and smart and sexy.”

She hiked her leg up over mine and ground herself on me. “Less talk, more action.”

It was too much. I would’ve loved to take my time and be gentle, but the urgency pumping in my veins was too much. I reached down to lift her hips and carried her over to perch on the counter.

“My purse.” She pointed to where she’d dropped the bag on the floor. “Condom.”

Good thing she was prepared, because I sure as hell hadn’t been expecting to get laid at a stuffy work function. I handed her the purse, and she shoved a plastic packet at me. We tugged to loosen each other’s clothes, and my jacket and tie landed on the floor in a pile with her shoes. I unzipped her dress to bare her breasts. Her freckled ivory skin glowed in the fluorescent lights as I ducked to pop a rosy nipple in my mouth.

Marley’s hands deftly unbuttoned my fly and took out my straining erection. She ran her thumb over the moisture pooling at the tip and then brought it to her mouth where she licked it clean.

My mouth went dry. “That is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her lips curled wickedly. “Think that’s nice? Wait ’til I get a chance to suck it.”

“You’re killing me.”

Marley ripped open the condom with her teeth and rolled it over me with practiced ease.

“JC?”

“Huh?”

“Fuck me.”

She didn’t need to ask twice. I reached under her skirt and ripped the flimsy panties from her body. I’d buy her a new pair later. Sparks danced behind my closed eyes as I worked into her tight heat. Marley lifted her hips to meet my strokes, moaning softly with each forward thrust. When I was fully seated, I braced my hand on the mirror and fucked into her as hard the angle would allow.

Marley leaned forward, sucking on my neck. She pushed my briefs down over my ass, her fingernails lightly scraping over the skin of my cheeks and raising goose bumps all the way down to my balls.

“You like that?” she whispered.

“Oh, hell, yeah.”

“How about this?” Her palm slapped my ass with a playful sting.

I met her eyes, and I drove into her harder.

She gasped and narrowed her eyes in challenge. “That all you got?”

I increased my force, grinding against her clit. She bit her bottom lip to stifle her groans. I bet if we weren’t in a public place, she’d get good and loud. Imagining her sprawled on a bed and letting loose, I pumped harder, struggling to maintain my relentless rhythm. Her inner walls squeezed around me with the first pulses of her orgasm.

“Oh, fuck, JC. So fucking good...”

When her body finished quaking, she traced a finger down the crack of my ass. Jesus, this girl was dirty! When her finger started rubbing the pucker of my hole, my balls drew up tight and I came with blinding pulses until I collapsed against her in blissful exhaustion.

Marley ran her palms up under the back of my shirt, touching my sensitized skin. “That was a good start. Now let’s go back to your place and do it again.”

Chapter 11

Marley

I woke the next morning in a tangle of sheets, my body deliciously sore. Next to me, JC lay sprawled on his stomach, clutching his cell phone in one hand. I vaguely remembered him calling in to his office around dawn to tell them he wouldn’t be at work. We’d had a very late night, and besides, I was sure he was at the top of Frazier’s shit list today.

I rolled over and cuddled up against his side. I just couldn’t stop touching his skin. It was soft, but when I looked closely, I could see there were faint scars over his entire back that reminded me of a secret treasure map. He’d told me the night before that when he worked undercover, he’d had gang tattoos all over his body so he could fit in with the crowd. First thing he did when he got out was arrange to have them lasered off. I know those treatments must have been painful, but I was glad he’d done it. I hated the idea of him wearing El Caos’s marks.

“Morning...”JC grumbled into his pillow.

“It’s almost noon.”

“It is?” He turned onto his back and pulled me in close to his side. “I don’t ever want us to leave this bed, okay?”

“Don’t you think we’d start to stink after a while?”

“Oh, no. We’d take showers. Lots of showers. Together.”

“Mmm...sounds perfect. We should definitely put that idea our list of things to do after we rescue your friend Lucas.”

JC ran his hand over the scruff on his jaw. “Shit, you’re right.” He looked down at me and smiled. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“So...you’re still okay with this?” He gestured between us. “I mean, you don’t regret it, do you?”

I shook my head no. Honestly, JC was the most interesting man I’d met in a long time. I hadn’t had an actual relationship since high school, and most of the men I saw now were one or two night stands. While they were all nice in their own ways, none were what I’d considered long-term material. I got bored easily. But JC was anything but boring. Hell, cleaning out his coat pockets each night could be an adventure in itself. I wasn’t thinking of asking him for a commitment or anything, but for the first time in a long time, I’d found someone with potential for more.

Not that I was going to explain any of this to him. So I asked, “Do you regret it?”

He laughed and rolled on top of me, pinning my arms to the mattress beside my head. “No fucking way. You are the best decision I’ve made in a long time. ”

His gaze roved over me as if committing every bump and curve to memory. Then he ran a fingertip down the side of my face and traced my jaw. The touch was almost too tender, and I needed to lighten things up.

“What do you say we go grab some breakfast or something? When we’re done, you can take me to the shooting range and help me break in my new gun.”

JC reared back in surprise. “You bought a gun?”

“Of course I bought a gun. I have crazy drug-dealing gangsters after me.” I slipped out from under him and started for the bathroom.

“Is it legal?”

I glared at him. “No, I asked the pimp on the corner if he had any rocket launchers he’d be willing to part with.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He sat up and draped the sheet over his lap. His modesty compared to my complete lack almost made me like him more. “Where did you buy it? Do you have a permit?”

“I bought it from a licensed dealer in an actual store. I just did it yesterday, so I haven’t had a chance to take the training course for the concealed-carry permit yet. Why? Are you going to arrest me?”

“No...I just don’t like the idea of you having a dangerous weapon that you don’t know how to use.”

“I’ve shot guns before, just not this one. Thought you’d be happy that I want to test it out before the party tonight. I have no intention of going into that place without some way to take care of myself.”

“Yeah, you’re right. You just caught me off-guard.”

“Okay. I’m going to shower now. Then we can head out.”

It took us a little longer to get ready than I’d planned. Mostly because JC insisted on joining me in the shower. I don’t care what romantic showers look like in the movies; in real life, they’re awkward and sort of ridiculous. There’s never enough room, the person not standing under the spout has to freeze her ass off while the other rinses, and forget about shower sex...that shit is just dangerous. I had no intention of getting a head injury because one of our feet slipped out from under us and sent us both ass over tea kettle.

We hit a drive thru for a couple of burgers that we ate on the way to a shooting range. JC usually did his target practice in a range at the CIA bat cave, but he was familiar enough with the public ranges to take me to one he liked. We spent an hour target shooting. That little plastic Glock didn’t seem heavy until I had to stand there holding it straight while bracing against the kickback. Every few minutes I had to pause to shake my arm out. JC’s paper bull’s-eyes were so clean, the shots lining up more or less on the center dot. My paper looked more like a group of angry kittens took their claws to it, but I hit the body outline more often than not. I considered it a win.

When we left the range, JC drove us to a parking lot behind what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. In the center of the lot was a giant, black SUV. His friend, Trent Neil, stood leaning against the door wearing a cocky grin.

“Playing hooky from work today, Moreno?” Neil called out as we stepped from the car. “I heard about you going over Frazier’s head last night. Probably best to stay away and give him time to cool off.”

“Yeah, I figured he won’t be nominating me for Employee of the Week. I don’t care.”

“Didn’t expect to see your friend today.” The look Neil gave me wasn’t unfriendly, but his tone implied JC better have a damn good reason for bringing me along.

JC threaded his fingers in mine. “It’s okay. She knows I work for the Agency. We can trust her.”

A slight thinning of Neil’s lips was the only indication that he wasn’t exactly pleased. He must’ve trusted in JC judgment though, because he continued speaking without sending me to wait in the car.

“Well, you’ll be happy to know Frazier filed your paperwork. I received notice that I get the honor of being your handler again. And as your handler, I need you to fill me in on both how you want this seriously off-the-books plan to go tonight, but also why you broke cover with Miss Marley here.”

JC slipped into that all-business, few-words-as-possible speech that he and Neil tended to use with each other. I could follow it, but barely. Was it a super-spy thing, or just a man thing? I wasn’t sure. Though I appreciated that while JC was explaining my part, he never let on about my nudging. Neil seemed like a decent enough guy, but I didn’t want to confide all my deep dark secrets to him.

“So I just sit in the van and monitor the audio from the bugs that Marley will be planting,” Neil summarized. “And what will you be doing?”

“I’ll be her backup in case something happens.”

“Better have a good disguise. If anyone recognizes you, you’re dead.”

“Don’t worry. Tabby is coming over to my place before the meet to do up disguises for both of us.”

I’d forgotten that El Caos was after JC, too. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea for him to do this. “Wouldn’t it be better if Neil was my backup and you waited in the van? El Caos doesn’t know him, right?”

JC’s jaw clenched. “No way. You’re not going anywhere near Nico without me.”

Neil grinned and raised his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “Relax, buddy. I can hang out in the van. I don’t have anything better to do tonight.”

“What about Valentina?” JC smirked.

“Valentina who?”

“Yeah, thought so. Meet at my place around ten.”

Once the plans were made, we headed our separate ways. JC and I spent the rest of the afternoon in his suite, practicing the various ways I could plant the bug on Nico’s clothes. Just as I was getting good at it, Tabby, the make-up artist JC used for undercover work, showed up. I thought he’d refuse when she shoved a box of hair bleach at him and told him to make himself unrecognizable, but he hadn’t. I guessed for him concealing his were old hat. For a second, I thought she’d make me color my hair, too, but thankfully, she opted for a wig. I didn’t want to take the chance of running into those El Caos thugs who’d tossed my place and be recognized. Tabby tucked my red hair up beneath the blonde pigtail wig, and caked on my makeup to hide my freckles. By the time I had to meet the other dancers down at the club, I felt pretty confident I could pull this thing off.

It was almost eleven when Destiny, Unique and I arrived at a large warehouse out near the airport. My co-workers didn’t say much about my new look. Strippers are always trying out new things in order to find that magic look that will reel in a big fish. The rapid beat of the techo-trance music electrified the air inside. Kids in outlandish costumes carrying glow-sticks writhed in a dense mass in the center of the room.

“Jesus, these kids are young.” I said, eyeing a girl who looked like she should still be playing with Disney Princess dolls.

“Raves don’t serve alcohol, so there’s no age restriction,” Unique commented.

“Still, don’t they have parents? No way would my mama let me go to a place like this.”

“And look how good you turned out.”

Before I could get angry over her comment, Destiny tightened the belt on her short trench coat and pointed to a long set of metal stairs. We followed her lead since Marco had given her the directions. She leaned in to say something to a giant bouncer at the bottom of the steps, and he unhooked a chain to let us pass.

As we ascended the steps in our mile-high heels, my gaze roved over the crowd hoping to catch a glimpse of JC. He was somewhere out there, guarding me, listening to me through the tiny receiver hidden in the garnet studs I wore in my ears. JC and Neil could talk back to me through them also, but they wouldn’t unless it was important. They didn’t want to distract me on my first mission. I almost giggled when they called it that. Me on a CIA mission? If I wasn’t so nervous, it would be funny.

We were met by two more guards at the top of the steps who waved a metal detecting wand over us. My stomach lurched when it scanned my purse, but the wand didn’t beep. The gun was in there, and JC knew we would be checked over before they let us in, so he added some sort of liner to the inside of my small bag to disguise it. Unique wasn’t so fortunate. She was allergic to most metals, so all of her many piercings were made of surgical steel, which sent the wand into a frenzy.

Once we were cleared, the guards led us down a hall and into a large room set up like a lounge with comfy couches and chairs. The room was surprisingly quiet, considering the party downstairs, and I looked to see the walls were lined with an egg-crate sound-proofing material. Six Hispanic men sat on the couches with a stack of papers between them on a low ottoman. At our entrance, the papers were swept out of sight, business concluded for the night.

“You boys ready to party?” Destiny asked in an overly sultry voice.

They all grinned and leered as she took off her jacket revealing a red sequined dress. I scanned the faces for Nico. The photo JC showed me earlier was of a hard-looking man with deep pockmarks. Whoever these guys were, they weren’t Nico.

I slipped my coat off and draped it on a bar stool along the wall. I was dressed in an ice blue dress that I’d borrowed from Unique. Giving the men a sweet smile, I carried my purse over to a bar on the side of the room where I took out a small MP3 docking station and speakers. As I set up our music, and the other girls started flirting with the guys, I planted the room bug under the lip of the bar.

Very softly, I whispered, “Six men. Two additional guards. No Nico.”

For a brief second, I worried there was no one at the other end of the line. What if something happened to JC and Neil on the way here? Just as my pulse began to pick up, Neil’s tinny voice said in my left ear, “Don’t worry. He’ll be there. We spotted him going in a while ago. I’m also getting signal from your bug. Nice work.”

I let out a breath in relief. I could do this. Easy. I turned toward the couches and set out doing what I do best. Destiny was already stripped down to her thong. She really could use some lessons in subtlety. Since my shtick was the wholesome girl, I could take my time.

A man approached me and pressed a drink into my hand. I took a tiny sip to be polite, tasting whiskey and Coke. I licked my lips as he watched. “Thank you, sugar. I’m Misty.”

He introduced himself, but I was too busy looking at the giant, hairy mole on his lip to catch it. I was sure Neil heard it though. Since Nico wasn’t there yet, I figured I’d get the guy talking and see if I could scare up anything the CIA could use.

“Nice to meet you. So is this a business meeting or something?” I twisted a lock of my fake hair around my finger and his eyes watched attentively. Guess he liked pigtails.

“Yeah. Business.”

“What kind of business are you in? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

He grinned, causing his mole to stretch. “Shipping.”

I nodded and pretended to take another drink. Yeah, shipping, drug dealing...I got it.

“Why don’t we go sit and get to know each other?” he suggested.

I gave him a look like that was the very thing I was dying to do and followed him to a couch.

In my ear, Neil said, “Nice work, Marley. See if you can keep him talking.”

And I did, though I didn’t know how useful it was. Turned out the guy had a wife and three kids who he adored. So while Destiny and Unique took care of the others, I spent most of my time cuddled up on the couch with Mole Man. Unique looked annoyed, but since my guy seemed to be the head of this group, it made sense he got a girl all to himself.

After about twenty minutes, another guard stepped in and approached us. Leaning down to Mole Man, he said, “Nico’s done. Wants you to send in a girl.”

“I’ll go,” I said a little too eagerly.

Mole Man and the guard looked at me as if surprised I could hear.

“Yes.” Mole Man nodded. “I suppose you best go earn your money. Take her to Nico.”

I picked up my purse and followed the guard back to the hall toward a door at the end.

“Good work, Marley,” JC said. “Don’t be scared. I’m close.”

His assuring voice filled me with badly-needed conviction. I imagined he could see me walking, even though the hallway was empty and had no place for him to hide. It made me feel less alone.

When the guard reached the door, he shoved me through and shut the door behind me. I looked forward, and I saw Nico, all right. I saw all of Nico.

The pockmarked man was larger in person, well over six feet and ripped with muscle...all of which I could see since he was bare-ass naked. Oh, holy hell! How was I supposed to plant a bug on him when he wasn’t wearing any clothes? And why was he like that, anyway? I was a stripper, not a whore. A lump formed in my throat. Didn’t matter whether I was a whore before walking into the room. The sparkle in Nico’s eyes showed he didn’t care.

“Uh, hey, I don’t offer those kind of services.”

Nico laughed and grasped my bicep hard, yanking me toward a leather sofa. In my ear, both JC and Neil were asking what the hell was going on.

“A stripper is just a whore who likes to play hard-to-get.” Nico pushed me down to the couch and stepped forward so his ugly, bent dick was eye-level, grotesquely rising to the occasion.

“Seriously. All I do is strip and do lap dances.”

Nico grasped the back of my head. I nudged as hard as I could to get him to stop, but it was no use. Unless he had some inclination to let me go, the nudge was useless. I swung out to hit him in the side. The gun in my purse didn’t carry enough weight to make much of an impact as I’d hoped. He ripped the bag from my hand and sent it skidding across the floor.

He must have reckoned forcing me to blow him would result in his castration, so he backhanded me, sending me sprawling on the couch. He landed on top of me, knocking my wig askew.

“Two minutes, Marley. Hang on.” JC called.

Nico ripped my dress off...easy to do since it was just held together by strips of Velcro on the sides. All I had for protection was my nudging. I needed to be smart about this. I needed to push him in a direction that he already wanted to go. The idea popped into my head, and before I could consider how disgusting it was, I nudged one, single word.

Come.

He immediately started dry humping my leg and yelling out his sudden orgasm.

Chapter 12

JC

I ran across the tar roof with the sound of Nico grunting in my ear. White hot rage burned in my belly. I couldn’t think about what must be happening to Marley. That would just delay me getting to her. I bottled up all my emotions and locked them in the back of my mind. I imagined ice water pumping through my veins, and I clipped a carabiner to my harness as I ran. When I reached the edge of the roof, I locked the belay device to a railing and didn’t stop to think before leaping over the side. Ten feet down I found the window. Through years of dirty residue, I could just see Nico on top of Marley. I pounded the glass with my fist, but it was too thick to bust through. Inside Marley crawled out from under Nico, leaving the man squirming on the couch. I drew out a tiny torch cutter from my utility vest and cut a large circle. We were on the back side of the building with no one below, so I let the glass fall to the ground beneath me. Then I kicked off the wall and swung into the room feet first.

Marley was standing up now, using her wig to wipe her leg. When she saw me, she rushed over to me. A naked Nico lie face down on the sofa, writhing and groaning in pain.

“What did you do? Stab him?” I asked her quietly, unhooking the carabiner.

“I nudged him to come and he did. Still is, I reckon.”

Neil laughed in my ear. I winced. As cool as a never-ending orgasm sounded, that shit had to hurt. I turned to examine Marley. “You okay?”

“Yeah, no lasting damage. Didn’t complete my job, though. He was naked as a jay bird when I came in.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m just glad you’re okay.” I wanted to carry her off to safety and hold her tight all night. Unfortunately, that would have to wait. I settled for a quick kiss. “How long is this going to last?” I gestured to Nico grinding on the couch cushion.

She shrugged. “Don’t know.”

I walked across the room and rolled Nico to his side so he could see me. My hair was bleached blond, and I wore glasses that looked black from the outside, but let me see crystal clear, even in the dark. He wouldn’t recognize me, but even so, I spoke to him in a flawless British accent.

“Mr. Diaz. You seem to be in some kind of distress.”

“What did that cunt do to me? And who the fuck are you?”

“Now, now, Mr. Diaz. No need to be impolite. After all, if you help me, and I will help you.”

“W-what do you want?” He was squeezing the base of his dick like he might be able to trip the off-switch. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up ripping his pecker off.

“Rumor has it that not all of your entourage is of legal age.”

“So fucking what! Make this stop!”

“I will. As soon as you tell me where I might find Lucas Banda.”

He squinted his eyes at me, trying to see through my disguise. “Who wants to know?”

I stood and turned to Marley who now held her gun by her side. “I don’t think he knows where the boy is. Let’s go.”

“Wait! You can’t leave me like this. I’m dying here!”

“Where is Lucas?”

“Downstairs...in the club. Peddling X.”

My chest squeezed. Lucas was here? So close?

“I’ll look for him, Moreno,” Neil said. “We need to find him before Nico can mobilize his troops to stop you.”

I tossed Marley’s dress to her. “Put it on. We have to find him.”

“Hey! You said you’d help me,” Nico yelled.

I thought about letting him pulse until his testicles shot out of his dick, but as it was, he wouldn’t be walking straight for a week.

“Can you stop it?” I asked Marley.

“Probably...”

Reluctantly she stepped closer. Nico’s eyes glazed for a second and then his whole body relaxed like a jelly fish. He cupped himself tenderly and let a tear roll from his eye.

I took out a small aerosol canister from my vest and sprayed his face with it, knocking him out instantly. With him out, I could drop the stupid accent. “There’s a guard stationed down the hall. Muss your hair up like you’ve been well-fucked. Walk out calmly and head straight to the east end of the parking lot. You’ll see a white cargo van. Door’s open. Just hang tight, and we’ll be out as soon as we find Lucas.”

“You’re not going back out the window, are you?”

The look of concern on her face touched me. “I have to.” I kissed her lightly. “I can’t walk out of here with you.” Just then excited Spanish voices sounded from outside. “Shit! They found the window.”

Just then, the door burst open, and I tucked her behind me. Two guards rushed in, guns drawn. They took in the unconscious Nico and then looked to us.

“It’s the girl with the codes!”

Damn, just what we didn’t need. Before they could make a move, I executed a stepping side kick, knocking the gun out of the closer one’s hand. I followed up with an elbow to his face, breaking his nose. It was that lazy-eyed Roberto, the one Marley had seen in the alley.

With him down, I turned to the shorter guy. He was chasing Marley, but every time he lunged, he would overcompensate and stumble past her. It took me a second to realize she was nudging him into missing her. So fucking smart. If the situation wasn’t so serious, I might have let her play with him a little more. Instead, I swept his feet out from under him, making him face-plant on the hard floor. The blood gushing from his mouth told me he’d knocked out at least one tooth. I stepped on his neck and bent to take his gun. I brought out a plastic flex cuff and bound his hands behind his head, reading him his rights as I worked.

“JC!”

I looked up in time to see Marley point her gun behind me and shoot. I spun to see Roberto, now sporting a bullet hole in his cheek. His gun dropped to his side, and he collapsed.

“Jesus...” I crawled over to check his pulse. It was slowly grinding to a halt. The bullet had entered just beneath the right eye. I turned his head to see an exit wound a good two inches behind the left ear. Not a perfect shot, but effective.

“I-is he d-dead...?” Marley stuttered.

I stood and crossed to her side, allowing her to collapse into me. “Yes, he’s dead.”

Her body shook. The first time you took a life was rough, no matter how deserved.

I tipped her chin up to look at me and saw a quiet strength settle over her.

She cleared her throat. “Well, I’m glad. He was going to kill you. No way was I going to sit back and let it happen.”

“How did you get to be so strong?” I asked, half in awe, and half because I was truly curious. No hysterics would be coming from my woman.

She swiped a stray tear from her eye. “I have a good mama.”

Neil spoke up in our ear pieces. “Local cops are on the way. Moreno and I will need to stick around and give statements. I suggest Marley get out of here.”

“Find Lucas yet?”

“No, but kids are scattering. Someone close enough must have heard your shot, because rumors are flying through the crowd. There’s only one exit that isn’t locked, and I’m watching it. This place is a fucking fire hazard.”

“We’ll be right down.” I bent to the thug bound on the floor. “Sit tight. Cops will be here shortly to take you to jail.”

I walked over to Nico and slipped a flex cuff on him also. When I turned back around, I spotted the tell-tale signs of a departing spirit rising from the corpse on the floor. It looked like steam coalescing into a human-like shape. He sat up confused.

I bent to spray the dude on the floor in the face and send him to la-la land. Didn’t need him witnessing me questioning his dead friend.

“I’m dead?” Roberto asked. He must’ve heard my thought.

“Yeah, you’re dead.”

Marley’s eyes grew wide. “He’s talking to you?”

I nodded and placed a finger to my lips to silence her.

Roberto appeared to struggle to his feet, but since he had no body, the effort was literally only in his mind. “I can’t be dead. I feel fine.”

“You don’t feel fine. You feel nothing. Trust me, you’re dead.”

He seemed to consider that. “I’m...dead.”

I didn’t have time to wait for him to wrap his head around the idea. I needed to help Neil find Lucas. Fortunately for me, I wasn’t above putting a little fear into a dead guy to get the intel I needed.

“Look, if you don’t do exactly what I say, in about sixty seconds, one big black demon for every sin you’ve ever committed will come crawling out of the woodwork to drag you down to hell.”

Roberto’s spectral eyes grew round with fear. As I guessed, he must’ve had a lot of bad deeds to atone for. “Shit, what do I do?”

“I’ll help you, but you have to cooperate with me. See this woman here? Do you know who she is?”

The silvery figure squinted at Marley. “Yeah, sure. She’s that Misty Showers cunt who stole Gomez’s bank account numbers and passwords.”

“She’s not a cunt, and she didn’t take anything from Gomez. She’s innocent.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. You trashed her apartment for no reason.”

“Uh, sorry, I guess. But she ran from us.”

“A woman running from two lowlifes with guns is not guilty. It means she’s smart.”

“Oh...yeah.” Roberto obviously wasn’t the sharpest guy in Nico’s operation.

“So tell me, who else knows about her?”

“Just me and Jorge.”

“Jorge the guy down there?” I pointed to the sleeping man at my feet.

The spirit nodded. “Yeah.”

“Did you give her name or description to any other men in El Caos?”

“No. I told Nico there was a girl at the strip club who might have the numbers, but he just told me to take her out and be done with it.”

I grit my teeth, thinking again of what would’ve happened had Marley been home when they’d shown up that night. “One last thing...cops are on the way. Where can I find Lucas Banda?”

“The kid? If the cops are coming, he’d go wait in the basement for Nico. It’s hidden. Cops won’t find it.”

“How do I get down there?”

“There’s a panel behind in the wall downstairs. Next to the restrooms on the north side. Look for the Stevie Ray Vaughn concert poster on the wall. The latch is below it.”

“Thanks. Marley, let’s go.”

“You’re not going out the window?” she asked.

I shook my head. “No need now. They know I’m here, and the cops are on the way.”

“Hey, wait!” Roberto called. “What do I do now?”

I glanced over my shoulder. “Go toward the light.”

Marley grasped my hand, and we headed out. I walked in front of her with my gun at the ready. “Keep your gun in your purse, but have your hand close to draw if you need it,” I instructed. “When we get to the bottom of the steps, go to the van. Lock the doors and get in the back. Don’t open for anyone but me or Neil.”

“The cartel guys are high-tailing it out of here, Moreno,” Neil said. “Don’t see the kid.”

“Forget the door. Meet me by the north side bathrooms.”

“Got it.”

As we opened the door at the top of the steps, and a wall of vibrating techno swept over us. A guard stood there, looking more surprised than menacing. Before he could swing his gun in our direction, I punched him twice in the kidney doubling him over. “Go, Marley!”

She didn’t hesitate. “See you in the van. Good luck!”

Once she was on her way down, I knocked his head hard with the butt of my gun, dropping him into an unconscious heap, and then I took the stairs at a run. Only the most trippy of the club kids remained in between me and the restrooms, and I dodged them easily. Any semi-sober raver would be in the mob trying to get out the door.

Neil stood leaning against the wall by the men’s room with the calm expression you’d expect on someone waiting for a bus. The wall was plastered with concert posters of all kinds, layers upon layers of curling paper and crusty tape that looked like an artistic homage to the eclectic Austin music scene.

“Look for the Stevie Ray Vaughn poster.”

We each took a side and scanned the walls.

“Found it,” Neil called out.

I rushed to him and ran my fingers along the wall until I felt a latch. I pulled and the panel slid open, revealing a tight spiral staircase. We descended into darkness. Wherever we were, it was hot and stunk like B.O. and rot. I reached for the torch on my belt and flipped it on, letting the light roam over the room. I found Lucas, eyes straining against the brightness of the light. But he wasn’t alone. Not even close. Looking back at us from the dark were the terrified faces of at least a dozen other children.

Chapter 13

Marley

The locks on the van doors popped, sending my heart into a gallop.

“It’s just me, Marley,” called JC as he opened the back door.

I dropped the gun I’d been holding like a lifeline for the last half hour and tumbled into his waiting arms. He squeezed me so tight I almost asked him to ease up. But when I felt his body tremble and his face press into my hair, I knew he needed me too much to let go just yet.

We stood like that for several minutes. When he finally drew back to look at me, the unshed tears in his eyes glistened in the parking lot flood-lights.

“Did you find Lucas?” I asked, stroking the back of his neck softly.

“Yeah. It wasn’t pretty, but he’ll be okay.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not now. I have to finish some things up here. I’m going to have an officer take you home. I’ll be a few hours, so don’t wait up. You need some sleep. We can talk in the morning.”

I didn’t want to leave him, but he was right. There was no reason for me to hang out here. He was safe, and Lucas was safe. That was all that mattered.

I rode home in the front seat of a squad car. It was the first time I’d ever been in one, and I was amazed by all the cool computers inside. If I wasn’t so exhausted, I might have asked the cop to show me what some of them did.

When I got back to JC’s place, I took a hot shower and crawled into his bed. I was desperate for sleep, but when I closed my eyes, all I saw was Roberto’s face. A shiver ran down my spine, and I clutched JC’s pillow to my chest. I meant what I said. I didn’t regret shooting him. If it came down to me choosing between JC or him, JC would win every time. But that didn’t mean the sight of Roberto’s face exploding when I pulled the trigger wouldn’t haunt me for a good long time.

I must have dozed off, because I woke to the light of dawn and the sound of soft voices coming from the living room. I yanked on some clothes and went to investigate.

JC and Neil sat on opposite ends of the couch, nursing giant cups of drive-thru coffee.

I sat down between them and stole a sip from JC’s cup. “Ya’ll should be in bed.”

“True that.” JC rubbed his eyes.

“How’s Lucas?”

The guys shared a weary glance. “He’ll be okay. He’s in the hospital for observation. He’s a little undernourished, and beat up, but nothing serious.”

“He was beat?”

JC’s jaw tightened. “That’s how Nico got him to deal drugs. Teens will buy from other teens, so Nico made a mint off sending Lucas into places where kids hung out...malls, parks, playgrounds.”

“That’s sick.”

“That’s not the worst part,” Neil said ominously.

JC shot him a glare. “When we found Lucas, he wasn’t alone. There were a dozen other kids with him just as young. Street kids, I guess. Nico picked them up in Mexico and promised them a happy life in the States if they’d deal for him. That was the purpose of the meeting last night. Each of those men was going to be taking a couple of kids home to foster. Nico enrolled them in schools all across the city with the hopes of starting a little army of dealers.”

My stomach soured at the thought of a person peddling drugs to grade-schoolers. “There isn’t a circle in hell deep enough for that man.”

“Well, thanks in no small part to you, Nico is going away for a long time. And Social Services is working with Immigration to find the kids’ families, if they have any left.”

“What about Lucas?”

“I’ve got Lucas covered. I’m filing to become his guardian, but obviously, my life isn’t set up for raising a kid. I got him a place in a boarding school in Chicago for psychic kids. The woman who runs it is a friend. The kid’s has had a crazy rough life. It’ll be nice for him to have a safe, stable place to finish growing up.”

“I’d like to meet him later, if you think that would be okay.”

“Of course.”

Neil checked his watch. “Well, it’s been a long night, and I still have to debrief Marley.”

“Me? What do you mean by debrief?”

He reluctantly straightened up and set his coffee on the end table. “I just have to ask you a few questions about what went down last night. Get your side. I’ll need to write up a report today. I don’t plan on including you in it, but I still need your statement.”

I swallowed down a lump in my throat. “Am I in trouble for shooting that guy?”

Neil shook his head, and JC threaded his fingers in mine.

“Nothing to worry about,” JC answered, dropping a kiss on my knuckles.

“As far as any official records will show, Officer Moreno was the shooter, and it was self-defense in the line of duty.”

I let out a breath that I wasn’t conscious of holding. A man was dead, and that sucked, but there was no way I’d stand back and let JC get in trouble for something I’d done. “Okay, ask away.”

“All right. Why don’t you start with when you arrived at the rave and tell me everything?”

“Don’t you need to get something to take notes with?”

Neil grinned and tapped his temple.

“Remember when I told you about his super-freaky IQ?” JC asked. “Well, it comes with a photographic memory.”

Neil shrugged. “Something like that. Go ahead whenever you’re ready, Marley.”

So I started at the beginning and told him the story as I remembered it. But when I got to the part where I’d nudged Nico into the Mother of all Orgasms, I hesitated.

Neil sighed. “Marley, I’ve worked with psy agents long enough to know when someone is more than they appear. Moreno wouldn’t tell me exactly what you did, but I heard enough through the audio feed last night to draw some conclusions. You want to fill me in on the details?”

JC nodded and said, “Go ahead.”

If he trusted Neil, I supposed I could, too. I took JC’s cup from his hands and guzzled down the last dregs. “Okay, so I do this thing called nudging...” And I explained everything.

“I have to say, I’m impressed,” Neil said after I was done with my story. “Not just with your nudging, but in how you handled yourself last night. I’ve seen experienced field agents who weren’t able to think on their feet as well as you did, and you haven’t even been trained.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” JC said squeezing my hand. “You were amazing.”

A blush spread on my cheeks. “Thanks.”

“Which brings me to the next item on the agenda...” Neil stood and crossed the chair where his jacket hung. He fished out a regular unmarked envelope and handed it to me.

I opened it and gasped. Inside was a small stack of hundred dollar bills. “How much is here?”

“Three grand.”

“Why are you giving me money?”

“You put your life on the line last night. The Agency owes you for your work. I could’ve gotten you more if you were on the payroll, but this is the most discretionary cash I could get.”

I considered briefly refusing it, but heck, I wasn’t a fool. I’d need first and last month’s rent for a new apartment. Not to mention all the broken things I had to replace.

“Thank you. You have no idea how much I needed this.”

Neil nodded thoughtfully, as if making his mind up about something. “You know, there’s more where that came from.”

“Neil, not now,” JC groaned.

I looked from one guy to the other. “What?”

“I think you should come to work for me,” Neil announced. “With a little training, you’d make an excellent psy agent.”

I glared at JC. “Did you put him up to this?”

“No. He came up with it all on his own. But he’s right, you know. I think we make a good team.”

I allowed myself a moment to envision it. A CIA agent and a stripper off fighting crime together? It sounded like the makings of a bad TV show. That said, it was kinda nice to do something good for the world last night. And it sure as hell was more respectable than giving lap dances.

“I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Here’s my number,” Neil said, handing me a card from his wallet. “I’m sure Moreno can answer all your questions, but if you need anything, just let me know.”

Neil excused himself to go home to bed. As soon as he was out the door, I pulled JC to his feet and into the bedroom.

“Come on, clothes off.” I tugged his shirt over his head. “Do you want a shower first or sleep?”

“Sleep,” he mumbled while holding my shoulder for balance as he shed his boots.

When he was stripped down to his briefs, I lifted the sheets, and we both slipped inside. I wasn’t very tired, but I couldn’t resist some snuggle time. I curled up along JC’s side with my head on his chest. He leaned down and placed a kiss on the top of my head, then settled back on the pillow. And then in the moment before he fell off to sleep, he said something that shocked me to my core.

“Love you.”

Chapter 14

JC

I’d never had a girlfriend before. Never wanted one. Any relationships formed undercover could only be based on lies. The women I’d been with in the past were typically the kind who didn’t bother asking if I’d ever call them again. And honestly, I’d been cool with that. Now though, I wanted something more than a hook-up. And I wanted that something more with Marley.

But did I have to go and drop the fucking L bomb on her?

I woke up sometime in the early afternoon alone. I vaguely remembered Marley leaving the bed a few hours earlier. As much as I wished to wake up with her in my arms, I welcomed a few minutes to think.

I’d never told anyone I wasn’t related to that I loved them. And if I hadn’t been so exhausted I never would’ve said it to Marley. Not that I didn’t mean it. It was just that I’d said it completely without thinking, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Now I was waiting for the regret to settle in, but so far, nada.

So I really did love Marley? Last night when I’d thought that bastard Nico was assaulting her, I went ballistic. He’d been lucky she was so good at taking care of herself, because if there’d been one scratch on her, I would’ve killed him. And I really did want her to quit her shitty job and join the Agency with me. Now that I was cleared for field duty, I’d be gone a lot. But if she were on my team, we’d be together all the time. She really was a natural.

I crawled out of bed and headed for the shower. I groaned at the sight of my newly bleached hair in the mirror. I looked like a gay surfer. Once it grew out a little, I’d shave it off. I hated the bald look, but I’d done it before, and my hair grew fast.

When I was washed and dressed, I went in search of Marley. I found her sitting cross-legged on the couch scowling at the classified ads and chewing on the end of a pen.

“Hey, whatcha doing?”

She raised her face so I could give her a kiss. “Looking for a new apartment. I can’t believe how much they’re asking for some of these shit holes.”

I poured myself a cup of lukewarm coffee and downed it in a few gulps. “You can always stay here.”

She gave me a dubious look. “I appreciate the offer, but this place is too small for two people.”

I opened my mouth to suggest we get a bigger place together, but then snapped it shut. What was I doing? First the L word, and now I was looking to move in with her? I needed to slow the fuck down, or I’d scare the woman off for good.

Marley’s phone rang. She checked the caller ID before answering.

“Hello? Yes, this is her...No!”

She leaped to her feet, her hand pressed over her open mouth. I dropped the Cheerios box I held and rushed to her side.

“Yes. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she said, hanging up the phone. She looked up at me with her eyes shining with new tears.

“It’s my mama. She had another stroke.”

Chapter 15

Marley

“Get dressed,” JC ordered. “I’ll take you.”

I didn’t argue, just ran off to the bedroom to gather my things. Since I wasn’t sure how long I’d be gone, I dumped one of my paper bags on the bed and re-packed it with a change of clothes and a few things for overnight. I tossed in a change of clothes for JC, too. Thank god, he offered to drive. No way could I handle the five hours to McCamey behind the wheel. My hands were shaking like a crack addict in need of a fix.

JC was just hanging up his phone when I came out of the bedroom carrying the grocery sack. He had his boots on and keys already in hand. I shoved the sack at him and slipped into a pair of flats.

“Did they say anything about her condition?” he asked as we hurried to the car.

“No. I guess when the nurse brought lunch in, she found Mama slumped over the side of the bed and unconscious. Mama’s at the hospital for tests now.”

JC pressed a kiss to my hand and tucked me into the passenger seat. He peeled out of the parking lot, but instead of turning left toward US 290, he turned right.

“Where are you going? We need to go west.”

“It’ll take too long to drive. I called the Agency and arranged for a plane. I should have you to McCamey in less than two hours.”

My racing heart stuttered. “If you weren’t driving, JC Moreno, I’d kiss your face off.”

His mouth turned up in a sad smile. “Rain check?”

I squeezed his hand, grateful for his support. At some point I was going to have to have a talk with him about where this thing with us was headed, but for now, it was enough that he was here.

We pulled into the parking lot of a small private airport. JC led me straight through the small terminal and out the back door onto the strip where two men were running through a pre-flight checklist on a small twin-engine plane. The pilot greeted JC by name. “Go on inside, Moreno. We will be ready for takeoff in ten minutes.”

JC led me up the steps into the plane. He settled me in a seat beside the window and then went to fetch me a can of 7-Up, which I sipped slowly to calm my roiling stomach. Everything was going so fast, by the time I thought to get nervous about the flight, we were already in the air.

“I’ve never flown before,” I admitted, looking out the window at the dry golden land below.

“Ever?” JC wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Flying is fun. Sometime I’ll take you on a real trip. Where should we go?”

I knew he was trying to distract me from thoughts of Mama. I guessed daydreaming was better than imagining all the horrible possibilities awaiting me in McCamey. “How about Barbados? I always liked the sound of that place.”

“Mmm...white sand beaches and palm trees.”

“Have you been there?”

“Just the airport.”

“I want to go some place you’ve never been.”

He thought a minute. “I’ve never been to Alaska.”

“No?”

“No. I really haven’t been further north than Wisconsin. I think I’d like to see the glaciers.”

JC spent the rest of the trip telling me about all the places he’d been. I appreciated the attempt at distraction, but it really didn’t take my mind off Mama. For the millionth time, I kicked myself for not staying in McCamey. I knew I’d never be able to take care of her on my own. That was never a question. Even though Shady Pines was state-run and didn’t offer a lot of bells and whistles, the staff was nice and well-trained. So while I hated the idea of her in a nursing home, I knew it was for the best. Still, I felt bad about not staying closer so I could visit more often.

When we landed at the tiny Upton County Airport, we rented a car and headed straight to the hospital. The receptionist directed us to the third floor. In the World’s Slowest Elevator, I noticed JC looking a bit pale.

“Hey, are you all right?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s just hospitals are not the best place for mediums.”

I hadn’t even thought of that. “So, like, are you seeing ghosts?”

He sighed and clutched my hand. “Since spirits tend to linger in the places they die, yes, there are a few around. I just have to pretend like I don’t see or hear them. If I acknowledge them in any way, they’ll swarm.”

I cringed and started to tell him he could go wait outside, but the doors opened, and thoughts of Mama flooded back in.

“I’m here for Rita Sexton,” I told the nurse manning the desk. “I’m her daughter, Marley.”

She gestured to the small waiting room across the hall. “Go on and have a seat. I’ll send the doctor out to talk to you.”

I didn’t want to hang out in generically decorated waiting room. I wanted to see my Mama. She needed to know I was there for her. That she wasn’t alone.

JC led me to the couch where I reluctantly sat.

“Want me to get you some coffee or something?”

I shook my head no. The thought of ingesting anything made my stomach twist.

We didn’t have to wait long. Dr. Brewer entered the room and shut the door behind him. I’d met him a couple of times before, but I’d never seen his mouth set so grim.

“What is it? How is she?”

Dr. Brewer pulled a chair over to sit in front of me. “I’m sorry, Marley. Your mother passed about twenty minutes ago.”

I think he kept speaking, but I was no longer listening. My vision grew dark and narrowed. JC’s arms crushed me to his chest. It wasn’t until I noticed the dampness of his shirt that I realized I was crying. Mama couldn’t be gone. She was all I had left.

As if sensing my thoughts, JC pressed his lips to my hair and whispered, “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I need to see her.” I looked at Dr. Brewer. “Can I see her?”

He nodded. “I’ll take you to her.”

We followed him down a hall, though I didn’t know how I was able to walk, given how disconnected I felt from my feet. The doctor stopped in front of a closed door.

“She’s inside. Take all the time you need and let the nurse know when you’re done.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” JC replied before turning to me. “You ready?”

I nodded, but said, “No.”

He gave me a sad smile and opened the door.

I had to fight every bone in my body to make myself step forward. Bright late-afternoon sun shone through the window, making the white room almost uncomfortably bright. My mama lay on the bed with a sheet tucked around her shoulders like a child taking a nap. Only her head was exposed. With all of the muscles in her faced uniformly relaxed, the left-side slump that had been present since the first stroke was gone. For the first time in a long time, she looked like the mama I grew up with.

JC wheeled a chair over, and I took it gratefully. I peeled back the sheet and grasped Mama’s cool hand. Bile rose in my throat, and I had to swallow several times to keep it down. The tears still flowing steadily down my face dripped onto the white sheet, turning it light gray.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t make it in time, Mama. I got here as fast as I could. I didn’t want you to d-die alone.” My voice stumbled over the word, knowing that by speaking it, I was making it more real. “I just can’t seem to stop disappointing you Mama. Whether it was my grades, or choice of profession or not having the money to get you the physical therapy you needed...no matter how much I tried, I never got it right. I’m so sorry, Mama. You deserved so much more.”

JC’s warm hand rested on my back. “Stop it, Marley. You can’t beat yourself up over this.”

I wiped my face on the sleeve of my shirt. “But it’s true. She worked so hard to make a good life for me. We never had much by way of material things, but I knew every day when she went to that job she hated, she was doing it because she loved me. And what did I ever give her in return? You think I don’t know that she was disappointed in me for turning out the way I did? When she found out I was stripping, she just about popped an artery.”

“Trust me, Marley, she wasn’t disappointed in you. She loved you as fiercely as any mother could. She’s the one who feels bad because she knows if it wasn’t for her, you would’ve left that job a long time ago and gotten on with your life.”

The blood drained out of my head, and I met JC’s eyes. He struggled to keep them blank, but I recognized the indecision beneath the mask.

“JC, how do you know how my Mama felt?”

He huffed out a breath and squirmed in his seat. “Because she’s still here.”

Chapter 16

JC

No, no, no! I’m so fucking stupid! That was not what Marley needed at the absolute worst moment of her life. One look at her rapidly bleaching face, and I knew I’d made a mistake.

“Not a mistake,” the silvered spirit of Rita Sexton said from where she hovered at the foot of the bed. “A gift.”

“Y-you can see her?” Marley asked in the tiny voice of a heartbroken child.

I nodded once, but said no more out of fear I’d make things worse.

“What...what is she saying? How does she look?”

I glanced at Rita. She had the looks of a beautiful woman who’d led a rough life and didn’t have the cash to take care of herself. Even so, her eyes held a familiar relief that I often saw in those who no longer had to suffer through a long illness. “She looks...good. I mean, like she’s at peace.”

“Tell Marley I love her, and I never ever was disappointed in her. Does she think I don’t know how much she busted her behind these last few years to take care of me? I couldn’t speak, but that didn’t make me deaf to what was going on.”

I relayed Rita’s message, taking more care than I normally did not to paraphrase. If this was the last time Marley would talk to her mother, I wanted it to be perfect.

In her shock, Marley’s tears stopped, though her eyes still held the red shine of someone who might break down at any moment. “Where is she?”

I pointed. “Right there. Standing about a foot from the end of the bed.” Actually, Rita was floating, but it felt wrong to mention it.

Marley stared in the general direction of Rita’s sternum and said as earnestly as she could, “Mama, I love you so much. I feel like I need to say something profound here, but I got nothing.”

Rita’s misty form moved to Marley’s side and reached to brush a stray lock of hair behind her daughter’s ear. The move appeared to be habit, but this time her fingers slipped ineffectually through the curl.

“Oh, honey, you don’t need to say nothing. I already know how much you love me.” She turned to me. “How much time do I have?”

I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. I answered telepathically so I wouldn’t confuse Marley. Don’t know. It’s different with everyone. Anywhere from a minute to an hour. It’s already been about half an hour. Could be any time.

“Okay, then I need you to tell her something for me.”

I nodded, and then I relayed Rita’s words exactly as she spoke them. As I did, Marley let her eyes drift closed, and I wondered if she was picturing her mother as I spoke.

“Marley, I know you love me. And I know everything you’ve done and sacrificed for me. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it all. You’re going to be sad for a while, but you have to promise me you won’t wallow too long. I know how you are. You take too much responsibility for other people on your shoulders. That has to stop. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. It’s time you live it. Create a future for yourself. Make good decisions. You’re too smart and talented to rely on your looks. Besides, looks don’t last, and you deserve a lasting kind of happy.”

The edges of Marley’s mother began to fuzz and blur. She didn’t have long.

“Mama, I want you to be proud of me.”

“I’m already proud. It’s time you learned to be proud of yourself.” Rita turned to focus on a spot near the TV. She nodded once to no one I could see, and then said, “I have to go now, honey, but I swear I will always be with you in whatever way I can.”

A tear slipped from beneath Marley’s lashes. “Love you, Mama.”

“I love you, too. And be nice to this guy. He cares about you.”

The words were out of my mouth before I realized Rita was referring to me. Before I could wish her farewell, her spirit shivered and swirled away.

We were silent. I’d never lost anyone I loved, so I wasn’t sure what to say. After waffling a moment, I gave in and pulled Marley into my arms where she had herself a good long cry.

Chapter 17

Marley

Six months later

I stepped out of the glass-domed atrium into the sticky Virginia air. The suit jacket I wore was hotter than a three-dollar pistol, but it was necessary to cover my shoulder holster. Unable to help myself, I withdrew my newly issued badge from the inside pocket and examined my stern, unsmiling picture. After an intense training period, I was finally an officer of the Central Intelligence Agency.

Well, technically I still had a ways to go before I’d be field certified. Most officers in the clandestine services division came into the program with fancy college degrees and spoke multiple languages. They’d do a year of training at Langley before being set loose into the world. I didn’t come into the agency with any of that prior knowledge. Deputy Director Chesley had to pull strings to get me accepted into the program. Good thing psy agents were so hard to come by. My ability to nudge was the only thing that got me in the door.

The other trainees weren’t very happy about a seemingly underqualified woman gaining the admittance they had to prepare so much for, but they warmed up a little once they saw how hard I was willing to work to catch up.

Now at the six month mark, I was posting bail and leaving the formal classroom training early. The facility at Langley wasn’t fully equipped to teach a psy agent like me everything I’d need to know for the type of field work I’d be doing. For that, I’d need to apprentice with the team led by Trent Neil. It would take me twice as long as my fellow students to attain my field certification, but since I was being assigned to the same team as JC, I wouldn’t complain.

Speaking of JC...

There he was, strolling up the long front walk looking all mysterious in his dark suit and mirrored sunglasses. I had to force myself keep it professional and not to leap into his arms. Hook-ups between agents happened, but like any workplace, it wasn’t cool to make out in front of your co-workers. JC apparently didn’t have the same restraint. As soon as he reached me, he swept me into his arms and kissed me deeply.

“Holy Christ, it’s good to see you,” he whispered when our lips finally parted. “You’re never leaving my side for so long ever again, I swear.”

I leaned back to study his face. We’d talked just about every day by phone and sometimes we’d have video calls over the computer, but this was the first we’d actually seen each other in the flesh since just after Mama’s funeral when I’d accepted the CIA job. “Missed you, too. I can’t wait to get back home.”

He reached up and tugged one of my curls. “Don’t get too comfortable. Neil has wicked plans for your training. He can be a sadistic bastard when he wants to drive home a lesson.”

“I’m not worried.”

JC held me out at arm’s length and let his gaze rove over me. “Jesus, Marley, you look great. Only you could make a gray suit look sexy.”

I straightened my jacket. I had a closet full of dress clothes now. “Yep, traded in the spandex and sequined thongs.”

He gave me a wolfish grin. “Not all of them, I hope.”

I smacked him on the arm. “Enough of that. Let’s get out of here.”

In the rental car, JC clutched my hand while he drove in the direction of my apartment. It was a tiny efficiency in a drab building owned by the Agency, located a couple of miles from headquarters. It was even smaller than my old place in Austin had been, but comfortable enough.

“How much time do we have?” I asked, resting my hand on the back of JC’s neck and brushing my fingers through the hair at his nape. Now that he was here, I couldn’t stop touching him.

“Not long enough,” he sighed. “We have to catch the red-eye tonight. Neil wants us in Austin in time for the morning staff briefing.”

The idea of meeting the rest of the psy agent team had me on edge. These were going to be the people I’d not only work with but also trust to have my back in crazy dangerous situations. What if they copped attitude over my lack of qualifications? Or worse yet, what if they learned about my stripping career and got all high-and-mighty on me? It was funny, but back at The Henhouse, I never worried about what people thought of me. Now that I was going to be working in a place that required I be taken seriously, I was suddenly shy about my past. Honestly, I needed to get over it, because I was starting to piss myself off.

“Tell me about the training,” JC said, turning into the parking lot of my building. “Can you kill a man with your bare hands?”

“You wanna spar with me and see?”

“That could be fun.”

I rolled my eyes and climbed out of the car. Once he joined me to go inside, I answered his question. “The physical training wasn’t that bad. I mean, yes, practicing krav maga for four hours a day followed by two hours of weapons training where I was expected to shoot in a straight line sucked, but it was easier for me than some of the college boys. At least working the pole kept me in shape.”

“Most people say the physical training is the worst part.”

I jabbed the button on the elevator to take us up to the sixth floor. “No. The worst part was the language classes. I’m technically fluent in Spanish now, but it sounds ridiculous with my Texas accent. My instructor said it’ll get better with practice, but I don’t know I believe him.”

“It will. I lost my Spanish accent by watching re-runs of cop shows and imitating the characters.”

“If you’re suggesting I start watching Telemundo, forget it. And now they want me to learn another language already. They gave me a list to choose from. I’ve never even heard of Urdu, Circassian and Yazidi before. I think I’ll pick Russian. At least I know where Russia is on a map.”

JC grinned. “I’ll learn Russian with you. We can go through one of those Rosetta Stone programs. Then we can practice on each other.”

When we entered my place, I barely had time to kick off my shoes before JC’s restraint snapped, and I found myself flat on my back on the bed with him on top of me. His warm lips trailed from my mouth to my collar and back again while I melted under his touch.

“I missed this,” he murmured into my hair.

I did, too. When I’d left for my training, we agreed to put our relationship on hold, but since neither of us was interested in pursuing anything with anyone else, it really just became a long distance thing. Not something I would’ve ever recommended.

We yanked and pulled at each other’s clothes in an awkward pursuit of bare skin. When JC finally entered me, he moved slow and deep, meeting my gaze the whole time. He’d never told me he loved me after that one exhausted slip, but he didn’t need to say it with words. I saw the love in his eyes, felt the reverence in his kiss, and that was enough.

Later we lay in a tangle of limbs, the sheet twisted all around us, talking softly and trying to ignore the clock telling us it was almost time to leave for the airport.

“I wish we could take that vacation to Alaska,” JC mused. “Doesn’t an isolated cabin in Denali sound good right now?”

“You could go. I’m the one who can’t take any time off while I’m in training.”

“That would defeat the purpose. What good is an isolated cabin without you to keep me warm?”

“Jeez, you’re getting sappy on me.”

He opened his mouth to say something when the shrill noise of his phone rang out. He muttered something under his breath as he reached over the side of the bed to retrieve it from his pants pocket.

“Yeah?” He mouthed the name “Neil” to me.

I got up and made my way to the bathroom, intending to take a quick shower. The thump of JC’s fist striking the mattress stopped me.

“What do you mean he escaped? Where the hell is he? Are you kidding me? How did it take five hours for anyone to notice he wasn’t in his cell? Fine, we’re on our way.” JC hung up the phone and dropped it on the bed with a groan.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Nico Diaz. Someone busted him out of prison.”

My mouth fell open. “And he had a five-hour head start?”

JC nodded and rubbed his jaw. “El Caos had someone on the inside. A guard. I’m sure he’s drinking a margarita in Puerto Vallarta by now.”

After his arrest, I’d had a chance to review Nico’s file at the Agency. If I’d have known six months ago what a freakin’ scary dude he was, no way in holy hell would I have agreed to try planting a bug on him. The guy was a true psychopath. Abusing and manipulating desperate kids was honestly one his tamer crimes.

“So does this mean you’re going after him?” I knew JC could take care of himself, but the thought of him going up against Nico make me uncomfortable.

“Not now. We don’t have any leads on his whereabouts yet. Besides, Neil is still hesitant to send me south of the border with that price still on my head.” JC pulled me to him so he could wrap his arms around my waist. “But, Marley, I promise you. I will see that man contained. That’s the only way Lucas will be able to feel safe.”

Lucas. Over the past several months, he and I had come to know each other pretty well through video calls and marathon text messaging. He was a great kid, and he was really flourishing at the boarding school in Chicago. I couldn’t wait for some free time when I could get up there for an in-person visit. JC recently filled paperwork to officially adopt him, and I couldn’t be happier for them both.

“Well, I want to see that bastard Nico caught, too. I’ll help in any way I can.”

“Even if we have to do some hunting off the record?”

I leaned forward and bit his earlobe. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from my determined man.”

Just a Little Nudge Play List

Music is powerful inspiration for writers. The following are the songs that provided fuel for my imagination during the writing of Just a Little Nudge.

Ain’t Goin’ Down (’Til the Sun Comes Up) - Garth Brooks

Counting Stars - OneRepublic

Lying is the Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off - Panic! At the Disco

Tangled - Maroon 5

Stripped - Shiny Toy Guns

Naughty Girls Need Love Too - Samantha Fox

Bad Influence - Pink

I Want You So Bad I Can’t Breathe - Ok Go

I Like My Women a Little on the Trashy Side - Sawyer Brown

Secret - Maroon 5

You and Me - You+Me

Thrift Shop - Macklemore and Ryan

More by Jesi Lea Ryan...

The Arcadia Series

The End of the Line: Arcadia - Book 0.5

Arcadia’s Gift - Book 1

Arcadia’s Curse: Arcadia - Book 2

Arcadia’s Choice: Arcadia - Book 3

About the Author

Jesi Lea Ryan grew up in the Mississippi River town of Dubuque, IA. She holds bachelor degrees in creative writing and literature and a masters degree in business. She considers herself a well-rounded nerd who can spend hours on the internet researching things like British history, anthropology of ancient people, geography of random parts of the world, bad tattoos and the paranormal. She currently lives in Madison, WI with her husband and two exceptionally naughty kitties.

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Website: http://www.jesilea.com/

JUMP TO...

NEW REVELATIONS by HEATHER TOPHAM WOOD

ARMAND by APRIL AASHEIM

TUESDAY’S CHILD by DALE MAYER

JUST A LITTLE NUDGE by JESI LEA RYAN

HAUNTED ON BOURBON STREET by DEANNA CHASE

SPIRITS AMONG US by MORGAN HANNAH MACDONAND

LONDON by JC ANDRIJESKI

AMONG THE LIVING by JORDAN CASTILLO PRICE

VAMPIRE VACATION by C.J. ELLISSON

TOUCHED by HAZEL HUNTER

HAUNTED ON BOURBON STREET

A Jade Calhoun Novel

BY DEANNA CHASE

Bayou Moon Publishing

Jade loves her new apartment—until a ghost joins her in the shower.

When empath Jade Calhoun moves into an apartment above a strip bar on Bourbon Street, she expects life to get interesting. What she doesn't count on is making friends with an exotic dancer, attracting a powerful spirit, and developing feelings for Kane, her sexy landlord.

Being an empath has never been easy on Jade's relationships. It's no wonder she keeps her gift a secret. But when the ghost moves from spooking Jade to terrorizing Pyper, the dancer, it's up to Jade to use her unique ability to save her. Except she'll need Kane's help—and he's betrayed her with a secret of his own—to do it. Can she find a way to trust him and herself before Pyper is lost?

Heat Level: 4

Chapter 1

There was no way I was sharing my new two-hundred-square foot apartment with a ghost. To be honest, I didn’t know if the speculation was true, but I’d gotten the place at a steal because my landlord couldn’t keep it rented. Considering the abundance of documented ghost lore in the French Quarter, I wasn’t taking any chances.

On moving day I walked the two blocks to The Herbal Connection. The front window housed an elaborate book display of the title, Vampires of New Orleans. To the right were neat rows of Suck It wine with blood-tinged fangs on the labels. I grimaced. All signs led to the likelihood of just another tourist shop. Still, it was possible they had basic supplies I could work with.

As soon as I walked in I knew I’d found the perfect shop. The sandalwood scent dissipated and a gentle, salt-filled sea breeze tickled my senses. My favorite place on earth was the beach. Whoever ran the place was doing an excellent job. It took a highly skilled practitioner to cast an illusion tailored to each individual patron.

“Can I help you?” A southern drawl floated from the back of the shop. As she stepped from behind a display, my eyes settled on a more expensive, classier version of my Aunt Gwen. The two could almost be twins, except the shop lady had salon-dyed auburn hair and wore white linen slacks, topped off with a coral blouse, while Gwen had natural gray curls and always wore her standard red T-shirt and coveralls. Of course, Gwen rode her tractor daily, and I had no trouble picturing this woman sipping mint juleps on a veranda.

I smiled. “Hello. Yes, I need a sage and cedar smudge stick if you have it.”

“Of course we do, dear.” She crossed the room and held out her hand. “I’m Bea, owner of the shop.”

My clammy hand met her cool grip. “Jade. Nice to meet you.”

“Cleansing negative energy?”

I nodded.

She grinned. “You must be new in town.”

Looking down at my faded jeans and simple cotton T-shirt, I wondered if I had a fresh-from-Idaho vibe radiating off me. It was possible. I’d only been in New Orleans for a month. “Is it that obvious?”

She laughed. “No. I would have remembered if you’d been here before.”

Why? Did she have a photographic memory? While I’d been told my willowy frame and long strawberry-blond hair combined with my pale Irish skin was striking, I hardly stood out in the sea of characters who wound their way through the French Quarter on a daily basis.

She rushed to explain. “Most people who come in here don’t know what they’re looking at. I know almost everyone in New Orleans who has knowledge of the craft.”

Oh. Doing a simple cleanse was miles from using craft. I didn’t particularly like being mistaken for one who manipulated spells.

She hummed softly as she packaged my items, and when I handed her my credit card she peered at me. The beach breeze vanished, replaced by the sandalwood scent. A warm sensation wrapped around me in a slow circle. It took me a moment to realize it was coming from Bea. She was reading me with a witch’s spell. Instantly I dropped my barriers and sent out my senses. If she could read me, I could do the same to her. Only, I wasn’t a witch. Empaths don’t need spells to read other people.

Excitement mixed with a heavy dose of curiosity radiated from her in light, feathery waves. I realized her energy was a lot like mine. Most people’s emotions are a little thick and sometimes hard to wade through. Hers felt light, inviting and familiar. What exactly could this woman do, and what had she learned about me? I’d assumed she was just a witch practitioner; now I knew she was also some sort of intuitive.

I stepped back, blinked, and the sea-salted air returned.

“There’s something special about you,” she said.

More like a curse. I pasted on a smile and pretended nothing had happened. “That’s what my mother always used to say.”

Her eyes sparkled, and she leaned in closer. “Very interesting, indeed.” She placed her hand over mine, and a spark sent a jolt to my shoulder.

Jumping back, I pulled my hand out of her grasp.

Her smile turned to a grin, and she clapped her hands together in delight. “Oh, my dear! You simply must come by my house for tea some afternoon. We have much to talk about. Here’s my card.” She slipped it in the bag.

I grabbed the handle and turned to go. “Um, okay. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Jade. I look forward to hearing from you soon.”

I waved as I pushed the door open to the street, knowing I wouldn’t call her. My last memory of my mother blowing me a kiss as she headed off to her coven meeting flashed in my mind. Tears burned the back of my eyes. I blinked them back. Bad things always seemed to happen when witches and intuitive got together. No. It didn’t matter how curious I was about Bea, I knew it was best to keep to myself.

Buildings, especially old buildings, often retain an imprint of emotions from previous residents. When I’d first visited my new place I’d sensed a profound sadness. It was easy to understand why new tenants hadn’t felt comfortable there. People didn’t need to be empaths for negativity to unknowingly work its way into their being.

Fortunately, after a thorough smudging, when I opened myself up the place felt brand new. No sadness, and no evidence of a ghost. If there was one, it was gone now. Satisfied, I spent the next few hours hauling my stuff up the three very steep flights of stairs, and by the time the delivery men arrived with my new mattress, I’d sweated enough to soak right through my shirt. I’d sent them off with their tip and was headed toward the shower when a knock sounded at my door.

I cast a longing glance at my bathroom before I answered. Mortification rooted me to my wide pinewood floors, and my face burned as I stared at the man who never failed to make my stomach quiver.

“Hey,” Kane said.

“Uh, hey.”

He held up a box wrapped in elegant gold paper. “I come bearing gifts.”

Did my landlord bring presents to all his new tenants?

“Pyper asked me to bring it up.”

Of course. Pyper was my boss and Kane’s business partner. Kane owned the building and, with Pyper’s help, managed the attached strip club. Pyper also ran the coffee shop next door, where I worked part time. I wasn’t certain, but I thought maybe they had something going on the side. “Thanks. That was sweet of her.” I opened the door wider. “Come on in. It’s moving day, so the place is a little messy.”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t want to bother you.” His gaze traveled the length of my body. I couldn’t help myself. I knew I shouldn’t do it. Reading someone’s emotions was such an invasion of privacy, and I knew at that moment I resembled a character from a Tim Burton movie, but I let down my barriers and probed anyway.

To my surprise, mild appreciation mixed with humor filled my senses, until his gaze landed on my face. His energy changed to something close to pity. I flinched and raised my shields. Pity? The man felt pity for the way I looked. What else could I expect from a guy who owned a strip bar? Stupid, shallow, piece of…Whatever. It wasn’t like I would actually ever date him anyway. The strip club thing aside, he was taken. I think.

I tried to hide my scowl and reached for the gift. “Okay, then. Thanks for stopping by.”

“No problem.” He turned to go, then looked back. “Hey, do you want to come down to the club later? It’s ladies’ night.”

The invitation caught me off guard. I blinked. “Ladies’ night?”

“Yeah, free admission and free drinks all night.”

Right, because my idea of the perfect evening included watching naughty librarians and pussycats strip down to their dental floss, while drinking myself into oblivion. “No, thanks. It’s been a long day.”

He glanced past me into the apartment and nodded. “Right. Just thought I’d ask.”

I waited until he’d disappeared down the stairs then slammed the door. Son of a bitch. The closest thing to a date invitation I’d had in months had been to a strip club. What was wrong with me?

I flopped on my new mattress because I didn’t have any other furniture yet and plucked the envelope off the present. I let it slide through my fingers for a few moments before turning it over. It read: Jade, Welcome home. My foul mood vanished. A smiled tugged at my lips. I didn’t have many friends. Okay, I had one friend and right then, things were…awkward. It happens when your best friend starts dating your ex.

Being an empath has made it difficult to maintain personal relationships. When I’d been younger and hadn’t understood I was different, I’d alienated a lot of people with my ability. Let’s just say my perceptions weren’t appreciated. So Pyper’s attempt to reach out to me meant more than she could possibly know. Especially since I’d learned to keep my gift to myself. In the last ten years I’d only told one other person—my ex—about my ability.

Giddy with anticipation, I grabbed the box and carefully peeled away the tape, preserving the paper. For what, I didn’t know. I never save wrapping paper. In fact, people who did usually annoyed me. Not that I don’t want to save trees, I’m just usually too impatient to see what’s inside. Red tissue paper lined the inside of the white gift box. I fished through, finding a personal coffee maker, a mug with The Grind scrawled across it, and a round jar of something called Honey Dust.

I read the label: An edible body powder.

Laughing, I put the jar down and ripped the card open. Heat radiated through my body as I read the words. Welcome to the building. Sincerely, Pyper and Kane.

Had the Honey Dust been Pyper’s idea or Kane’s? If it was Kane’s, somehow I thought I should be offended, but the image of him running his lips over my dusted skin sent ripples of anticipation through my body. I waved a hand in front of my face, fanning myself. Calm down, girl. Kane is Pyper’s man. Surely she had included it as a joke.

I set the mug and the coffee maker on the counter and carried the Honey Dust to the bathroom. The lure of my claw-foot tub was too much. As I waited for it to fill, I ran back to the kitchen to grab a bottle of merlot. My bags sat opened with stuff bulging out of them. Without any furniture, I had nowhere to store any of it, but I couldn’t have cared less. I had my own place, all to myself, and nothing else mattered. Except the bath waiting for me.

Content after slipping into the tub, I lifted the wine bottle to my lips. So what if I didn’t have any glasses yet? I wasn’t above drinking straight from the bottle.

An ominous rumble boomed outside, indicating an afternoon storm. Sighing, I set the wine on the floor, leaned back and closed my eyes, reveling in the rhythmic rain as it drummed on the roof.

When my toes started to prune I reluctantly pulled the plug and ran the shower to soap up and wash my hair. While drying off, I saw the round jar sitting on a shelf just to the left of the tub. The Honey Dust. My lips quirked into a small smile.

Feeling a little naughty, I opened the container. A sweet honeysuckle fragrance filled the bathroom. Before I could do anything else, the dust rose from the jar all on its own and swirled in a circle around me, caressing me with tiny invisible kisses.

I froze and then called out, “Hey, stop it right now!”

The whirlwind stopped at my command, and I almost choked on the thick dust of powder lingering in the air. Feeling utterly violated, I catapulted out of the tub, crying out when my ankle smashed against the side of the tub. With limbs flailing, I somehow managed to grasp the edge of the sink and save myself from cracking my skull on the toilet. How embarrassing would that be to be found dead, naked in your bathroom, in a pile of Honey Dust?

Breathing hard, I ran to the other room and pulled on the first clothes I found, grabbed my purse and slammed the door behind me. My bare feet moved faster than I thought possible down the stairs. As I jumped the last three steps into the hallway I angled right toward the exit, colliding with something—or someone—solid enough to knock me on my ass.

“Holy shit, Jade. Where’s the fire?” Pyper grunted, trying to get her feet back under her.

“Oh God! I’m so sorry.” I covered my face in horror.

“It’s all right. I’ll live.” Her voice floated down from above me. “Here, let me help you up.” When I didn’t respond, her tone went soft. “Are you okay?”

I peeked out from behind my fingers and squeaked, “I have a ghost.”

Her posture relaxed as she leaned against the wall. “Oh, okay,” she said, dismissing me.

“No really, I think the apartment has a ghost.”

“Why? ‘Cause Kane said so, and now every little thing is freaking you out?” She rolled her deep blue eyes.

“No. Because just now, as I was putting on a sampling of the Honey Dust you gave me, it kicked it up and made it whirl around me like a mini tornado. I didn’t even have the window open. You can’t tell me there isn’t something weird about that.” I pleaded, staring into her widening eyes.

Great. I’d known her less than two weeks, and already I’d become the resident freak.

“Really? That’s interesting,” she said more to herself than to me. Standing up, she angled toward the stairwell. “Come on.” She put her foot on the first step.

“Where?” I didn’t move. She wasn’t seriously going up there, was she?

“Upstairs. I have to see this,” she said, her eyes now gleeful.

“No! I am not going back up there.”

“Come on, Jade, who will believe you if you don’t have a witness? Kane doesn’t count, since no one believes him either.”

“You go if you want. I’m going to stay right here.” I pressed against the wall.

“Oh no, you aren’t.” She grabbed my hands and tugged me up.

Planting my feet, I set my shoulders and didn’t budge as she tried to pull me along. “No.”

Looking me full in the face, she burst out laughing. The laughing continued until tears streamed down her face.

“What in the world makes you think this is so hilarious?” I demanded.

Gasping to catch her breath, she wheezed out, “The Honey Dust. You have a perv ghost.” Laughter overtook her again, causing her face to turn beet-red. It clashed with the blue highlights in her thick black hair.

I sighed, resigning myself. Her hysteria somehow calmed me enough to reconsider. “You are going to pee yourself laughing at my situation. Let’s go.” Moving past her, I headed back to my apartment.

My bravado quickly waned as we hit the second floor landing. Had it not been for Pyper’s firm hand on my wrist, I’m certain I would have turned and fled. When we reached my door I raised my eyebrow as Pyper took a key out and unlocked it. It was natural for her to have a key. I just wouldn’t have thought she kept one on her person. However, I said nothing and let her tug me into the room.

She walked to the bathroom and held the door wide open.

I crept up behind her and peeked over her shoulder. The harmless-looking Honey Dust jar sat capped in the middle of my bathroom.

I gasped.

“What?” Pyper turned to look at me.

“I, ah, well, I didn’t stop to put the cap on the jar. I just dropped it…” My voice trailed off as I backed away from the room. Legs turning to jelly, I sank down onto my mattress. Pyper disappeared into the bathroom. Visions of me in a straitjacket, surrounded by white rubber walls, filled my mind.

A few minutes went by before she popped up beside the doorjamb.

“Come in here,” she called as her head jerked back inside.

I sat motionless, my mind fixated on the rubber walls.

“Get in here,” she demanded.

My mind blank, I followed her voice and stopped in the door frame. Pyper was squatting, pressed up against the wall, studying the jar in the middle of the floor.

“What?” I asked.

“This is so interesting,” she replied, not looking up.

I waited for her to continue.

“The jar is in the middle of a layer of the Honey Dust. Do you see it?” She used her finger to make a circle in the air above the jar.

I glanced down. “Yeah. So?”

“There’s something missing.” Her eyes twinkled.

Looking back at the jar and the floor caked in dust, I saw nothing else out of place—or missing, for that matter. Puzzled, I stared at her.

“Footprints!” she exclaimed. “Where are your footprints? It looks like the whole jar was dumped in here. No way could you have dumped the whole jar out, replaced the top, and set it here without leaving footprints.”

I inspected the scene. The jar sat in the middle of my bathroom with a thick layer of Honey Dust covering the floor from the tub to the door. She was right. I couldn’t have placed the jar where it was without disturbing the smooth layer.

Pyper turned and walked into the main room. “Whoever you are, reveal yourself!”

My eyes flew open in shock. “What the hell?” I hissed. “You’re not supposed to invite ghosts to reveal themselves.”

“How else do you think I’m going to see it?”

“Shhhh.” I was terrified of what her invitation might bring.

An unfamiliar energy, mixed with bitterness and satisfaction, invaded my senses. I turned to Pyper, my voice barely a whisper. “Someone is here.”

“Huh?” She took a step toward me and then jumped, wrapping her arms around her chest. “What the hell was that?” She twisted her head, searching the room.

Ice numbed my hands and moved up my arms, making me shiver. I pointed to a shadow, black as coal, moving across the far wall. We stood, paralyzed, while the image grew larger and moved toward us. Pyper’s sudden fear inched its way into my awareness. Instinct took over, and I forced as much calm as I could in her direction.

Her panic started to ease, but just barely. I renewed my efforts, forcing my will toward her. Pain pierced my heart and shot through my veins. Gasping, I clutched my chest, staring in horror at the black shadow as something grabbed my essence and yanked.

“No!” I shouted in defiance and snatched my energy back.

The shadow hovered in front of us for a moment, unmoving, then shattered into a million pieces like confetti. I stood staring, transfixed by the cascade as it faded into nothing until Pyper tugged on my hand. I glanced at her, and we both ran for the stairs.

Chapter 2

“What was that?” Pyper huffed as we burst through the back door of The Grind, the coffee shop where we both worked. Luckily it was next door to my apartment building, because I had forgotten shoes again.

“No idea.”

She motioned for me to follow, leading me to her office.

I collapsed in the closest chair, grateful to have my shaking legs out from underneath me. What the hell had just happened? I’d sent calming energy to Pyper and ended up feeling like my essence had been sucked out. Only, it hadn’t had Pyper’s emotional signature. Something much more powerful had taken it.

“One thing’s clear. Your ghost is definitely a pervert,” Pyper said.

“Huh?”

“He felt me up. Didn’t you see me jump? He grabbed my boob.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “We need to call Kane. He’s the only person I know who will believe us.”

“No!” Walking around barefoot on Bourbon Street through sticky, alcohol-soaked garbage and drinking-induced bodily fluids during Mardi Gras held more appeal than telling him about my Honey Dust experience.

“Why not?”

“I don’t—” My phone buzzed. My hands trembled as I fished it out of my pocket. This was bad. The trembling only started when my energy was compromised. The screen flashed Kat’s name. I took a deep breath and hoped I sounded normal. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I’m outside the café. I was going to get you a chai latte, but it’s closed. Come get me so I can see your new digs,” she said.

I grimaced. “My apartment isn’t really available right now.”

Pyper sent me a questioning glance. “Are you okay? You don’t look too hot.”

Covering the phone, I whispered, “I’m fine.”

Kat raised her voice. “Hello…who are you talking to, and if your apartment isn’t available, where are you and where’s all your stuff? I’ve been home. Your room is cleared out. What’s going on?”

“I’m all moved in, it’s just…let me come get you, and I’ll tell you about it.” After Kat’s affirming response, I snapped the phone closed. “I need to go,” I told Pyper.

“Go where?” She stood up. “You can’t leave now. You look like you’re going to pass out.” She gently pushed me back into the chair.

“My friend is here. I can’t just leave her standing outside.” The motion of standing and sitting back down turned my stomach. Please don’t let me ralph right here.

“I’ll go get her.” She left before I could protest. How would Pyper find her? They hadn’t met, and Pyper didn’t even know Kat’s name.

A familiar energy drew my attention to the door as Kane walked in. He rummaged through the desk and pulled out a bag of mint chocolate cookies. “Pyper said you needed sugar and to make sure you stay put.”

I took a cookie, bit into it and shrugged in agreement. Where else would I go? Surely not to my new apartment. Panic bubbled in my chest. I couldn’t stay there. I’d never get any rest. Would Kane let me out of my lease? The queasiness returned as I thought of staying in Kat’s spare room for another night. Maybe I’d get lucky, and Dan would be out with the guys.

Kane offered me a soda from a small refrigerator.

“Thanks.” Clutching the can with one hand, I tried to open it with the other. Unfortunately my fingers shook too badly. I couldn’t even grab the tab to pop it.

“I got it.” Kane took the can. When he set it back on the desk it had a straw poking out the top. “Drink.”

“Thanks.” I took a long sip.

Kane grabbed a chair and sat next to me. His gaze shifted to my still-trembling hand. Balling it up in defiance, I pressed it into my thigh. I wasn’t this weak, damn it.

He reached over and covered my hand with his, sending a thick layer of protection through my weakened defenses. At first it felt like a cloak, shrouding me, but then it turned into more of an energy meld.

Whoa. That never happens. I could consciously take in others’ emotions if I wanted to, but it takes effort. Was he aware of the effect he had? Could he control it, or was it just happening? Warmth spread from his touch through my limbs, steadying my twitching muscles.

Heat prickled my neck under his watchful gaze. I tried to pull from his grasp, but his fingers tightened on mine. “Thanks, but I’m okay now,” I murmured.

He raised one eyebrow. “You look like you’re going to fall over any minute. I’m hanging on just in case.”

“I’m not going to pass out,” I said in a steady voice, drawing my hand from his. As our hands parted, the shivers started. Wrapping my arms around my middle, I glided my hands up and down my bare arms, trying to generate heat.

“Here.” Kane stood, grabbed a sweatshirt from behind the desk and handed it to me. “Use this.”

“Thanks.” I pulled it over my head and was rewarded with a trace of his fresh, rain-scented cologne.

“We’re here,” Pyper called from the doorway.

“Jade!” Kat ran to my side. “Are you okay? Pyper told me what happened.” She took my hand in both of hers. “Use me,” she whispered.

“Only if you calm down.”

Her panic swirled around me like a windstorm before she managed to rein her emotions back in. I squeezed her hand to let her know I appreciated the offer, but didn’t tap her energy. Irrationally, I didn’t want to taint what I’d just experienced with Kane.

Kat had been around the last time I’d been stupid enough to compromise my energy. When we were roommates, our neighbor had witnessed a shooting and had been so distraught she’d stopped talking. I’d thought if I could ease her burden by siphoning her distress, she might be able to help the police investigation. It had worked. Too well.

While she helped the police nail down a suspect I spent a week in bed, recovering. For the first few days the only way I could get up was if Kat was touching me, lending me her strength. It had been her idea for me to try and take it. She’d said, “If you can take the bad stuff, why can’t you take the good?” Since I didn’t think I could get worse, I’d tried it and used her emotional strength to heal. Still, I’d had to take it from her. It didn’t just happen like it did with Kane.

“You need to lie down,” Kat said.

“I’m all right.” I looked her in the eye. “Besides, I’m not too keen on going up to my apartment right now.”

“Then you’ll come home with me.” Kat stood, tugging on my arm.

I pulled back and shook my head. “No. Thank you, but in my condition I don’t think I can stomach Dan.” Her boyfriend—my ex—and the reason I’d found my own apartment.

It was quite the shock to move to New Orleans and find that not only had Dan moved here as well, but he was also dating my best friend. I’d been more hurt by the fact that Kat had been afraid to tell me than I was that the two were dating. Dan and I had made such a mess of our relationship; there really was no hope of reconciliation on either of our parts. As for the two of them dating? I understood. The three of us had been inseparable in high school. It wasn’t unreasonable to think they might make a connection. Of course, since Kat had left Boise right after our college graduation, I hadn’t expected it to happen from two thousand miles away.

Kat sighed. “Jade—”

I cut her off. “No, Kat. I told you before I get sick to my stomach when he’s around.”

She studied me for a long moment. I knew she was thinking it was all in my head. I’d thought so too, at first, but lately it was getting worse. Either way, I didn’t want to be in the same room with him. She pulled out her phone. “Okay, let me see what I can do.” After walking to the far side of the office, she dialed.

My heart swelled. Finally, she’d heard me about Dan.

Kat snapped her phone shut. “Okay, he’s on his way.”

“What? Dan’s coming here?” I stood up, ready to bolt from the room.

“No. Why would I call him? You know this is so not his thing. I called my friend, Ian. He hunts ghosts.”

I hadn’t known what I was expecting, but the person who showed up definitely wasn’t it. A man in his early thirties, looking as if he’d stepped out of a skateboarding magazine, strode up to me.

“Hi, Jade.” He waved.

“Ian? I didn’t realize it was you who was coming.”

His lips quirked into a lopsided, sexy little smile and pale blue eyes searched my face as he reached for my hand. I’d met Ian once before, shortly after I’d gotten to New Orleans. He’d been at one of Kat’s dinner gatherings. Grimacing in embarrassment, I realized I’d monopolized most of our hour-long chat. I hadn’t even remembered his name.

“Nice to see you again.” He paused and tilted his head toward a marquee on my building. It read, Hundreds of beautiful women and three ugly ones. “You live above a strip bar?”

I glanced at Kane’s club, Wicked, and shrugged. “The price was right.”

“Interesting marketing tactic.” He laughed.

Kat appeared beside me and handed over a pair of flip-flops she’d purchased from the corner store. “I’m off to get some food. Want anything?”

After Ian and I placed our orders, I gestured for him to follow me. My plastic shoes clattered on the brick pathway as we entered my wisteria-perfumed courtyard. Humidity hung in the air, finally warding off my chills. I shed the sweatshirt as I sat at a wrought-iron table. “Thank you for coming so quickly. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”

He shook his head. “Nope, perfect timing. You saved me from some rather dull reports, actually.”

“Reports? Ghost hunting reports?” Visions of a school lab, with Willow and Buffy fighting demons, filled my head.

“Oh, no. Research reports. I’m an assistant to a meteorologist at the University. I type up his reports and help out when needed.”

Nothing about his appearance—tousled sandy blond hair, wire-rimmed glasses and torn-up Converse—said professional. But his easy smile and the warm inner glow radiating from him put me at ease. “So, ghost hunting is a hobby of yours?”

“Sort of. More like an obsession. Tell me, what can I do for you?”

What did I want him to do for me? Validation? Expulsion of my ghost? “Well, I don’t know. What do you normally do?”

“There isn’t a lot of ‘normal’ about it.” His smile widened. “However, why don’t you tell me what prompted Kat to call me, and we can go from there?”

I took a calming breath and told him about the Honey Dust and the black shadow.

“Honey Dust?” His eyebrows rose with the question.

“It’s an edible skin powder.” I averted my eyes. When I dared a glance he was writing in a note pad, his lips turned up in a sly smile. I bent my head, hoping my face wasn’t as flushed as it felt.

He put down his pen and took a long swig from a can of Coke. “Ah, that is exactly what I needed,” he said with a sigh. “Long night last night, you know.”

“Oh?”

He started writing again. “Yeah, the video tape jammed, and we had to stop in the middle to fix it. Then, of course, we had to start all over. But the mood was shot, so we didn’t really get much action.”

I stared at him, my brow pinched in confusion.

He chuckled, then sobered as I frowned. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just I get that look a lot. I meant I was out late on an investigation. The best time for measuring paranormal activity is at night between nine p.m. and six a.m. We had some equipment issues.”

“Obviously, I know nothing about what you do.”

“No problem. I always forget not everyone lives, eats and sleeps ghosts twenty-four-seven. Let’s get to it, shall we?”

I nodded, urging him on.

“I’ll need to inspect your apartment, but I’d like to bring my team, John and Riley. We each use different equipment to measure activity, so it’s better if I can get both of them here.”

I nodded again, and he took out his phone and dialed. Five minutes later, the other two men were on their way.

“Okay, where will you be while we do our thing?” Ian asked.

“Why?”

“After we take some baseline measurements, I’d like to get you back up there to see if there’s any activity related to you. Sometimes spirits are attracted by certain energies.”

Of course they were. I wondered how I’d gone this long without one attaching itself to me. “I guess I’ll be here.”

“Perfect. As soon as my guys get here I’ll get right to work. Are you staying at Kat’s tonight?”

Was I? “I guess so. Staying at my place doesn’t seem like a great idea.” I bit my lip to keep from scowling.

Ian shrugged. “I haven’t ever seen a ghost do more than just spook someone, so you could probably stay at your place. We’ll be here late, though. Collecting data can take a while to get conclusive results.”

“Only spooking, huh? That’s good to hear.” Too bad I wasn’t like most people. With my energy I’d end up possessed.

After Kat returned, the three of us ate our po’boy sandwiches and chatted about nothing ghost-related. I’d almost forgotten why Ian was there until his phone buzzed and he had to go meet his fellow ghost hunters.

I handed him my apartment key. “Just come get me when you’re ready.”

“Will do.” Ian took a few strides before I stopped him.

“Wait, don’t you have a fee or something for this?”

“Um, yeah. I do, but let’s see where this goes first. Consider this a free consultation. If we need to proceed, then we can discuss it.”

“That’s awfully nice of you.” I smiled.

“Ah-ha! There it is. I wondered if I’d get a genuine smile out of you. Looks good.” He winked. “Consider it the friend rate. Later, Kat.”

She waved. We watched as he left the courtyard, his phone pressed to his ear. The side door to the building banged shut.

“He’s hot! Is that the ghost hunter?” Pyper asked as she joined us.

I nodded. “He is pretty yummy, isn’t he? In a schoolboy kind of way.”

“Schoolboy.” She snorted. “Thinking of sneaking off behind the bleachers?”

I laughed. “That’s a thought.” Then I finally noticed her electric-blue hot pants and deep-cut halter top. “What are you wearing?”

Her features transformed into a sexy pout. “What? You don’t like my stripper outfit?”

Kat started coughing mid-sip, and Pyper laughed.

“You strip at the club, too?” I asked.

“Actually, I used to, and now only when necessary. We’re short-handed tonight. ”

After the initial shock of Pyper’s announcement wore off, the three of us stayed in the courtyard chatting for the next few hours until Ian called me for my part in the investigation. Kat had convinced me to stay at her place. I wasn’t happy about it, but my choices were limited. And if I didn’t get to sleep soon I really would pass out.

Dragging my feet up the third flight of stairs, I tried to be reasonable. Three other people were in my tiny, almost empty apartment. What’s the worst that could happen?

I knocked on the closed door, unsure if I should just walk in. In seconds, Ian appeared.

“Ready, Jade? All we’re going to do is take some measurements. But first I need you to say a protection spell.”

“A spell?” I frowned. I didn’t practice, and for good reason.

“More like a prayer. It’s just standard procedure.”

“All right.” A prayer spell wasn’t going to kill me. They were harmless.

Ian smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry. Just repeat after me.”

I nodded.

“Gods of the afterlife, we are here as mere observers. We ask for your guidance to walk with you in our quest for knowledge. We seek to do no harm and ask for protection from those whom would seek to harm us.”

I repeated Ian’s words and then asked, “Ready?”

“Yep. Okay, so I want you to walk slowly around the room while we take measurements. Don’t speak unless I ask you to.”

I circled my apartment, while Ian followed holding some kind of electronic meter. The two other guys were busy manning their own equipment. One held a palm-sized video recorder and the other juggled three different cameras.

I had no idea how accurate any of their readings would be. Ghost hunting wasn’t in my knowledge base. But I did have a weapon they didn’t know about. Deciding it was best to be in the know, I let my guards down and took in the lingering emotions. Ian’s excitement tingled up my spine.

“You really enjoy this, don’t you?” I asked.

“Everyone has a passion. Now, don’t talk. We’re taking measurements.”

I mouthed ‘sorry’ and zeroed in on the camera guy’s boredom and the videographer’s impatience. Seems Ian’s helpers didn’t share his passion. Blocking the three of them, I concentrated on any other emotional imprint. Nothing. I kept my senses open. When we neared the bathroom, trepidation slowed my steps. Ian nudged me. I had no choice but to suck it up.

The Honey Dust still covered the floor, and the sweet honeysuckle scent brought the afternoon’s events right back. I almost felt the mini tornado swirling around me. But as I stood there taking it in, nothing penetrated my emotional energy. It just felt peaceful.

Ian steered me to the center of the living area and asked me to say something.

“Hello?” I called.

Silence.

“Are you here?”

After a moment, Ian nodded. I tried again. “If you’re here, give us a sign.”

We tried a few more rounds of calling the ghost out, but nothing happened. With my part finished, I asked Ian to leave the key with Pyper, and left to find Kat.

I found a note on the empty table in the courtyard. Kat was waiting for me in the club. What? That’s the last place I’d expect her to be.

As I rounded the corner I spotted a bride-to-be dressed in a short, black sequined dress and a white veil, surrounded by a group of women decked out with condoms and penis pops. The group moved as one to the front of the entrance. Is it normal for a woman to have her bachelorette party in a strip club? Huh.

I moved to join the back of the line, trying to avoid a crowd of men moving toward the party girls.

Someone grabbed my arm, startling me.

“Hey!” I cried out.

“You don’t need to wait in line,” Kane said. Was it weird my insides turned gooey every time I heard him talk? “Your friend’s inside at the bar.”

“Thanks.” I smiled up at him. As I walked through the door I turned back to wave and caught him watching me. My insides were warm and mushy…until emotional energy slammed into my gut, knocking the wind out of me.

I would have fallen if the wall hadn’t been directly behind me.

Gasping for air, I envisioned a glass silo then mentally put myself in it. The pain in my gut lessened enough for me to breathe, but didn’t fully vanish.

The biggest problem with being an empath is I couldn’t effectively block out others’ emotions in a highly charged atmosphere. And this place was charged. Usually an individual person’s energy has a distinct imprint. I could feel his or her energy and knew the specific owner, much in the same way I could pinpoint the sound of a voice to a particular person. But in situations like this, it was a shouting match of emotional energy. Only, I felt the pain in my stomach, not my ears.

With so much energy surrounding me I couldn’t focus. If I didn’t merge my senses with someone else, I’d collapse…soon. With emotional chaos making my head spin, I reached out blindly. Unfortunately, I chose the wrong person.

My stomach rolled as rage crawled up my spine, wrapping around my neck as if to strangle me. Gagging, I pulled my energy back and placed my mental image safely back into my glass silo. Jesus! Nothing short of evil resided in that body. On the outside he looked completely normal: an average, balding, thin man sitting in the corner, rolling an unlit cigarette between his fingers. I made a mental note to somehow warn Pyper and the staff to stay away from that one. Sometimes my gift comes in handy, and other times it’s downright unnerving. In this case, it was definitely both.

My eyes watered. I didn’t notice Kat until her hand touched mine. “It’s okay, zone in on me,” she said.

The pain subsided, and I gave her a weak smile. “Thank you, again.” Having someone to focus on usually worked better than my cylinder, but it had to be a person with nontoxic energy or else it was useless.

“No, it’s my fault you’re in here. I got a hankering for a margarita.”

No wonder she seemed relaxed. “How many have you had?”

“Two or three…or maybe this is the fourth one. I can’t remember. Pyper wouldn’t let me pay for them.” She giggled.

I laughed. “Okay. Let’s go sit.”

When we got to the bar, Kat handed me her drink and left
to use the restroom. Sitting, I tapped my mental cylinder again.

This time, it held. Thank God.

“What can I get you?” The bartender’s radiant heart-shaped face turned toward me, breaking into a smile that extended to her eyes. Her spiky red hair glowed under the bar lights.

“Bottled water, if you have it.”

“Three dollars.” She set a bottle, dripping with melted ice, on the counter.

Yikes. “Thanks. Can you tell me where I can find Pyper?” I wanted to tell her to look out for Ian so she could get my key.

She nodded to the stage. “Right up there, but she goes by Candy when she’s working. Don’t tell the masses though.” She winked. “You’re not here for an audition, are you? Those are usually during the day when the club isn’t open.”

I choked, spitting the water out. “Oh, no. I just needed to talk to her for a moment.” A vision of myself on stage made me shudder.

“Too bad. I’d have liked to see that.” She grinned and turned her attention to a waiting customer.

I watched in fascination as Pyper rode the pole to the beat of “Cowboy” by Kid Rock. Multi-talented didn’t begin to describe her as she climbed the two-story-high pole, using just her arm strength. Once she was two-thirds to the top she wrapped her legs tightly around the pole, released her hands while arching her back and spun around for a good thirty seconds. Damn. That was impressive.

The men hooting in the front row were clearly not put off by the implications of a woman who could hold herself up with her thighs. A fact demonstrated when they whipped their dollar bills out and waited for her to give them a moment of personalized attention.

Mesmerized by Pyper’s performance, I didn’t notice the man sit down next to me until he spoke.

A whiskey stench assaulted my senses as a male voice whispered low and hot into my ear. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, bringing Kat here?”

It’s a good thing my protection cylinder held, because I knew if it hadn’t, my po’boy dinner would have ended up on the club floor.

“Dan,” I replied. “Who invited you?”

Chapter 3

I quickly scanned the club for Kat, but she still hadn’t come back from the restroom.

“Kat called me, drunk off her ass.” Dan moved to stand in front of me. His hostility filtered through my defenses, making my skin crawl. Where had that come from? We certainly weren’t friends anymore, but we had formed sort of an unspoken understanding to ignore each other. He leaned in. “Stay away from her.”

My temper flared. I planted my palm on his chest, pushing him back as I stood. “Or what, Dan? Are you going to keep her under lock and key?”

“Don’t ever touch me again,” he seethed.

Like I wanted to? My hand ached with a slow burn from the contact we’d just had. My physical reactions to him were getting worse. “Then leave me alone. Kat doesn’t need to be rescued. She’s a big girl.”

His eyes narrowed as he pushed me, knocking me down onto the stool. “You expect me to believe she came into a place like this on her own? Have you decided to become a stripper now? I’m not surprised. Or maybe you just switched teams since you can’t seem to hold onto a man.”

Stunned, I stared up at him from the stool. In a million years I’d never guess he would assault someone, and especially not me. No matter how angry we were with each other. Not after what the three of us had been through the summer before our sophomore year in high school. It was clear he’d been drinking, but I’d never known him to be an angry drunk. Worry for him eroded some of my anger. What the hell was going on?

“Excuse me.” The bartender leaned across the bar, tapping Dan on the shoulder. “Maybe you should take a step back.”

Dan cut his eyes to her. “Mind your own business.”

“This is my business. Now step back, or I’ll have you thrown out.” She signaled to someone across the room, but I couldn’t see who with Dan blocking me.

“You can’t throw me out. I haven’t done anything.” Dan dismissed her and turned to a man sitting to my left. “Stupid dykes.”

All my concern for Dan’s mental state fled as I registered his vile words. It was like he’d been possessed.

“I heard that.” A vicious scowl spread over the bartender’s face. “This is your last warning. Leave the lady alone, or you won’t like what happens next.”

Dan laughed and placed a possessive hand on my arm. “Me and the lady go way back,” he slurred. “I’m not bothering you, am I, Jade? I mean, it’s not like you don’t know how I feel about you.”

His touch sent a ripple of disgust through me. Twisting my arm, I did my best to dislodge it from his grasp. “Let go, Dan. I mean it.”

“I think you better do as she says.” Kane appeared at Dan’s side.

“Who the hell are you?” Dan turned, his body poised for a fight.

“The manager. I suggest you remove yourself from my club.” Kane appeared relaxed, but his voice was laced with a dangerous edge.

“Oh. Good.” Dan let out a menacing laugh. “Just the one I was lookin’ for. If you’re thinking of hiring this bitch,” Dan pointed at me, “you should know she’s a mind-reading freak.”

In a blink of an eye, Kane twisted Dan’s arm behind his back and shoved him toward the exit.

“Let go, you bastard,” Dan howled, kicking out as he struggled. “I’m doing you a favor.”

The music drowned out Kane’s reply, but icy fury radiated off him. Dan appeared livid, but his energy betrayed intense satisfaction. What had he thought he’d accomplished? Had he shown up specifically to hurt me? I watched as Kane literally threw Dan out the door and then followed him.

“Jade?” Kat put her hand on my arm. “What’s going on?”

“How long have you been standing there?”

“I just got back. Was that Kane throwing Dan out of the club?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait. What was Dan doing here? Did you two fight? I thought you were ignoring each other.” Her eyes stayed glued to the door, and disappointment rippled from her.

I heaved a heavy sigh. “Look Kat, Dan physically attacked me and when the bartender asked him to step back, he lost it. This is on him, not me.” Delayed adrenaline coursed through my veins, making me shake.

She twisted so fast she stumbled, but caught herself on the neighboring stool. Her bloodshot, slightly glazed eyes struggled to focus on mine, making me wonder just how much she’d had to drink. “Dan would never do that. Have you forgotten what happened in that foster home years ago? He saved us. Both of us.”

A frustrated growl slipped from my lips. “No. Of course not. How could I?”

That was the summer I’d lost my mom, and I’d been put into the system before Aunt Gwen had come to take care of me. On the Fourth of July the pair of them had come to pick me up from the foster home on the way to the fair. Only we’d never made it out of the house. A cold shiver snaked down my body as I remembered.

Dan had risked his life to save the two of us from unspeakable things, enduring far more than a fifteen-year-old boy ever should have. By some miracle Kat and I had made it out with minor injuries. Dan hadn’t been as lucky. He’d put himself between our attacker and us over and over again and would have surely died protecting us if the police hadn’t shown up when they had.

From that day on, the three of us had formed an unbreakable bond of friendship. Until Dan and I had screwed it up with our relationship.

“I better go make sure he’s okay. See you back at my place,” Kat said.

“Don’t count on it,” I said to her back as she wobbled through the crowd, but I doubted she heard me over the music. Gritting my teeth, I turned back to the bartender. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” Her brow dimpled as she frowned.

“Because it’s my fault Dan was here.” My hands started trembling. I balled them into fists, furious at my reaction.

“Did you invite him here or something?”

“What? No.”

“Then how is it your fault? It’s obvious you don’t harbor any love for the dude.” She shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not the first time some random drunk started trouble.”

“He’s not so random,” I said quietly.

“Really, don’t worry about it. Kane will take care of it. I’m Charlie, by the way.”

I shook her hand. “Jade, and thanks for the help.”

She cocked her head in interest. “So, is it true?”

“What?”

“What he said. Can you really read minds?”

“No.” Technically I couldn’t read minds, so it wasn’t a lie.

“That’s too bad. I’d love to have a gift like that.” Charlie turned to wipe down the bar and then asked, “Wouldn’t you?”

“No. I wouldn’t,” I answered truthfully. My shoulders relaxed as I smiled at her.

It wasn’t long before Kane strolled back in, his expression cool as if nothing had happened. He walked straight toward me. Just as he reached the bar I said, “I am so sorry. I don’t know what his problem is.”

“You don’t? I do.”

“You do?” My hands started to shake again.

“Being an asshole is his problem. Don’t worry, the other bouncers have been instructed that he’s not allowed in here again. Ever.”

“Ever?”

“Is that a problem?”

The tension in my jaw eased as I let out a long, slow breath.“No. Thank you, Kane. I’m sorry he caused such a scene.”

He nodded, staring at me with intense curiosity radiating off him. I willed myself to keep eye contact and waited. He clearly had questions, but as time ticked by it became equally as clear he wasn’t going to ask. And I wasn’t offering.

“Well…thanks again, I appreciate the help. If you need anything from me, let me know.”

His gaze traveled the length of my body, then back up.

“Maybe later.” With that, he turned and walked off.

“Uh-oh! Looks like the boss has his sights set on a new girl,” Charlie sang as she did a little dance next to me.

“What?”

“I saw that look. I may not be into guys, but I know how one looks when he’s interested.”

“But what about Pyper?”

“What about her?” she asked.

“Uh…aren’t they together?”

Charlie laughed, long and hard to the point of almost crying. “Honey, if Pyper had a thing with Kane, you’d know it. Subtlety’s not her strong suit when it comes to men.” A wicked smile played at the corner of her mouth. “No. They’re just business partners. And the boss man has his eye on you.”

After the adrenaline rush wore off, pressure built behind my left eye, threatening a migraine. If I didn’t leave the club soon, someone would be carrying me out. I thanked Charlie once more and made a quick getaway. The pressure didn’t start to ease until I entered the narrow walkway to my building’s courtyard. By the time I reached the inner sanctuary, the brick walls had succeeded in blocking out the commotion of Bourbon Street. Sighing in relief, I flopped into a chair.

“Jade?” Pyper called. I followed the sound of her voice and found her leaning against the side entrance. “I thought you were going to your friend’s house.”

“Change of plans. What brings you out here?”

She walked over and sat next to me. “Just taking a break. What about you?”

“Waiting for Ian to finish so I can get to sleep.”

Pyper sat up, her eyebrows raised. “Really? You’re not afraid?”

I lifted one shoulder. “I was up there with Ian, and nothing happened—even when I tried to speak to it. I figure I better get it over with.” My halfhearted smile faltered at her skeptical look. “It’ll be fine.”

She pulled a business card out of her bag. “My cell’s on there. If anything else happens or if you just get spooked, call me, and you can come to my place. I live next door above the café.”

I furrowed my brows. “Thanks. That’s kind of you, especially since we hardly know each other.” I liked her and thought we were on our way to being friends, but trust wasn’t something that came easy for me. I’d suffered too many past betrayals. Depending on anyone was just asking for trouble. Look at Kat, for example.

I realized she hadn’t seen the exchange between me and Dan, and the whole thing was so out of character for him, but when I’d told her what happened she’d dismissed my claims without even considering them. Being drunk wasn’t a good enough excuse. She seemed to comprehend Dan being thrown out of the club just fine. That alone should have given her a clue something wasn’t right. The whole exchange left me feeling empty and alone.

“What can I say? I feel guilty we rented you a haunted apartment. I really thought Kane was full of shit. If you want out of your lease, I’ll make it happen.”

Ah. Guilt made people do a lot of things they normally wouldn’t do. Still, I appreciated both offers. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stick it out for now. Hopefully Ian can come up with a solution for a ghost-free apartment.” At this point I didn’t have many options. So unless the ghost sent knives through the air at me, I’d already decided I was staying. “But if things get worse I might take you up on it.”

“You’ve got guts. I like that in a woman.”

“Me too,” Ian said as he strolled up behind us. “Jade, here’s your key. We’ve got everything we need, but it’ll take a few days to compile the data. I’ll call you, and maybe we can get together for dinner and go over it?”

“Sure, sounds good. Thanks, Ian.” I stood and gave him a hug goodbye.

“Hmm, sounds like you’ve got yourself a date,” Pyper said after Ian left.

“What? No, it’s not a date. Is it?”

“Sure looks like it from here.” Pyper stood. “I’ve got to get back inside. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”

The moment of truth. Was I ready to go back up to my apartment? No, but sleeping in the courtyard wasn’t an option. I could always take Pyper up on her offer, but how weird would that be? I barely knew her. Maybe I’d break down and use my almost-maxed-out credit card for a hotel room.

Music from The Charlie Daniels Band started playing from my cell phone, interrupting my inner monologue. I smiled as I flipped it open. “Hey, Gwen. How’s my favorite aunt tonight?”

“Better than you, sweetie. You’ve pushed yourself too far.”

“I know it. I’m sorry. Am I keeping you up?” Gwen has psychic tendencies, and there isn’t anyone she’s more in tune with than me.

“Yes, but it’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last. I called to tell you, you’ve made the right decision, so stop stressing over it and get to it.” She paused then added, “I need to rest at some point tonight.”

“Wait, my decision? You mean the one to stay in my apartment tonight?”

“Is that what you were mulling over when I called? If so, then yes.” She chuckled. “The message came through loud and clear.”

The tension eased from my limbs. If Gwen said it was okay, then it was okay. I brought her up to speed on the day’s events, minus the run-in with Dan. I’d be willing to bet she already knew, but no need to rehash it. Gwen was even less of a fan of his than I was—if that was even possible.

“Wow,” she said. “You do have a lot going on. I’m getting a strong vibe your apartment is okay, but still be careful. If it bothers you again, tell it to leave. Be firm, but respectful. You don’t want to piss him or her off.”

“I will, and thanks. I needed to hear your voice tonight.”

“I know. Get some rest and restore that energy. Do as I say, now. I’ll know if you don’t.”

Grinning, I said my goodbyes, with promises to take care of myself. As I let myself into the building, I felt better than I had all day.

With more than a little trepidation I pushed my door open, praying Gwen was right. I trusted her completely, but even that couldn’t put all my fears to rest. After a mental sweep around the room I mustered up the strength to visit my bathroom. I couldn’t go to bed without brushing my teeth.

Honeysuckle scent still clung to the air, but the bathroom had been cleaned and the jar of Honey Dust sat innocently on my bathroom shelf. Thank you, Ian! Maybe a date with him wouldn’t be so bad. After completing my bedtime ritual I made a beeline for my new bed. Grateful the day had finally come to an end, I set my cell phone alarm to wake me for work the next day and passed out.

A cool breeze caressed my shoulder, prompting me to pull back the thin sheet. I welcomed the reprieve from the warm, humid night. I didn’t need to feel the mattress shift to know I wasn’t alone. His playful energy engulfed me, and a slow smile spread on my lips when his warm breath tickled my ear. Purring as he caressed my neck, I tried to roll toward him but his arm clasped around my middle, trapping me.

Wiggling, I tried to escape from his firm grasp but stilled when he trailed his fingers from my belly upward between my breasts.

How had I ever gone so long without this?

I held myself still, reveling in the building tension as he explored. But when he brushed his thumb over my nipple, I trembled, and a small moan escaped from my lips. His desire shot through my veins, overriding any self-control. I reached out, aching with need, desperate to feel his body pressed tight against mine. My arms circled, pulling him close. As I pressed my lips to his, he vanished. An agonizing pain shot through my heart.

My eyes snapped open. I clutched my chest and sat up, my body still trembling from the invisible touch. I focused on the eerie yellow moon shining through the window. Who exactly had I been dreaming about? No face or build came to mind. My only recollection was the imprint of his touch and lingering, wicked desire. With a sigh I lay back down on the pillows.

What was that about? Okay, hanging out in the strip club had side effects. Or was that a benefit? My thoughts drifted to Kane, and the desire returned full force. Damn it! That man was just too sexy for his own good.

Chapter 4

The rest of the week fell into a comfortable routine. I worked the café in the mornings and spent the afternoons at the glass studio—the real reason I’d moved to New Orleans. The hot glass school had offered me a job teaching beadmaking. I’d been making and selling glass beads online ever since college and had built a pretty solid business over the last seven years. But the income wasn’t really enough to afford to live here, hence the part-time café gig.

Kat, who already lived here, had referred me and did more than a fair amount of coaxing to get me to move. Too bad she’d neglected to mention Dan had relocated from Idaho or that they’d started dating. Otherwise I’d still be living in Boise.

By Friday I’d decided I’d earned an afternoon off. I’d just poured a large glass of wine when a knock sounded at my door. I opened it to find Pyper, with new streaks of neon pink running through her black hair. “Wow! Where’d you find time to do that? Your hair looks awesome!”

She raised her hand to a freshly dyed lock. “Right after I left the café. It came out great, right?”

I nodded as she made a beeline for my counter. “Thank God,” she said dramatically. “You have wine.”

I laughed. “Rough day?”

“You have no idea.” She filled her glass to the rim and drank half of it before taking a breath. “Better already.”

“I’d offer you a seat, but…” I waved a hand around the empty room. “I haven’t had time to look for furniture yet. I’m planning a date with Craigslist tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry, I can’t stay. One of the girls just called and quit. Something about taking a job in Miami. Now we’re really in a bind. We have three VIP parties tonight.” Desperation seeped from her. “Please, Jade? Would you help us out tonight?”

“At the club?” I asked, surprised.

She nodded.

“I don’t—”

“Please?” Pyper pleaded.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in stripping.”

“What? Oh, no. Charlie needs help tending bar, and I’m filling in for one of the waitresses. You do such an excellent job at the coffee shop. I know you’d be perfect.”

I frowned, biting my lip. “I’m really not interested in working at the strip club.” Even though I could use the extra cash, it would be rough trying to block all the energy flying around that place. And on a Friday night. I cringed.

“Oh. Well, I guess…” Pyper drank the rest of her wine and studied the room. Her lips turned up in a slow grin. “I’ll tell you what. You help me out tonight, just tending bar, and I’ll hook you up with some furniture and movers.”

“Huh? How?”

“We have a whole storage room full of old furniture downstairs. I’m sure there’s plenty there to fill this place. You said you were looking for used stuff anyway.” She shrugged. “Plus, I can get a couple of the guys to haul it up here.”

Free furniture and movers? Maybe I could suffer the energy land mine for one night. “How long do you need me?”

“Yes!” Triumph streamed off her. She knew she had me. “Three, maybe four hours.”

“All right, but I’ve never tended bar before. Don’t expect what you get at the café.”

“Don’t worry. Charlie will have plenty for you to do. Thank you very much! Come down around nine so she can catch you up to speed before it gets busy.” Pyper twirled and danced to the door. “You’re a lifesaver.”

After Pyper disappeared I searched for my phone, intending to call Ian. We’d been playing phone tag for the last two days. I still didn’t have the results from his ghost hunt. It didn’t seem to matter much, since I hadn’t seen or felt anyone since the day he’d taken the readings. I was just curious at that point. If the ghost left me alone, I was more than happy to let it be.

I dialed and waited.

He picked up on the third ring. ”Jade! Finally, we connect.”

“About time. You’re busier than me, it seems.”

He laughed. “I don’t know about that. Our schedules just seem to be clashing. However, I managed to free my calendar for tomorrow night. Are you up for dinner and maybe a little jazz music?”

“Sure, sounds great. I’m working until two, so any time after that I’m free.”

We settled on six p.m., meeting at my apartment. I looked around, wondering where Ian would sit. The bed was the only surface in the room, leaving the other option the floor. Wonderful. Instead of indulging in the nap I’d been hoping for, I grabbed my keys and went in search of Pyper.

Pyper wasn’t at the café so I rapped on the club door, hoping to be heard over the faint music pulsing inside. I waited and then knocked harder. On my third try the club door swung open mid-knock.

“Oh, hello,” I stammered, staring into Kane’s chiseled face.

“Jade.” He smiled, and his curiosity pushed at my consciousness. “You’re not here for the auditions, are you?”

I frowned, eyeing my dusty threadbare jeans. What was with these people? Did I look like a stripper? I smoothed my hair. More than a few locks had fallen out of my ponytail. I opened my mouth to protest then noticed Kane’s cocky smile and a fair amount of amusement clinging to him. “Funny. Is Pyper here?”

He chuckled and waved me in. I glanced around, taking in the blue, crushed velvet walls, chairs and love seats I hadn’t noticed before. Things looked different in the daytime. Even the ceiling was done in velvet.

He stepped beside me and guided me with his hand on the small of my back. Electric heat ran up my spine, causing me to shiver. I could almost feel his ego swell as pleasure ran through him. Damn it. He’d felt that. It was all I could do to keep walking and not run for the door. “Have a seat. I’ll grab you something to drink. Pyper might be a while,” he said.

I sat at the bar, watching Kane glide behind the counter.

“What’s your poison?” he asked.

“You don’t have Guinness, do you?”

“Guinness?” He raised one eyebrow.

“Yeah, you know—the Irish pub beer?” I tapped my fingers on the bar. “What? It’s been a long week.” And my wine sat untouched back at my apartment.

“Nothing. I just don’t know many women who drink Guinness.” He reached into a small refrigerator and pulled out the dark bottle. “In a glass?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

He popped the cap and handed it over. I grabbed it and turned around, checking out the scene on the stage in front of me. A group of five women stood listening intently to Pyper.

Kane came out from behind the bar and sat next to me, his own beer in hand.

“Drinking on the job?” I asked.

“One of the perks to being the owner.” He raised his bottle in a mock salute.

I couldn’t argue with that. Nodding, I touched his beer with my own and drank.

We sat in silence, our attention on the stage. Pyper seemed to be giving some sort of instruction. Intrigued, I leaned to the right, trying to see past one of the girls blocking my view. Kane’s musky scent filled my senses. My world tilted. Reaching out, I grabbed onto the closest thing. Kane’s thigh. His muscles tensed, and I wanted nothing more than to run my hand higher along the firm surface. My eyes met his. The deep pools of melted chocolate made me bite down on my lower lip. His eyes shifted at the movement and just when I thought he would lean in…

“What’s goin’ on?” Piqued interest invaded my senses.

The spell broken, I jumped, snatched my hand back and turned my attention to Pyper as she came to a stop in front of us.

“Love the pink,” Kane said in his normal tone, apparently unaffected by whatever had just happened.

She smiled. “I thought you might.”

“Jade was waiting for you.” He got up and left without saying another word.

“What’s that goofy look about?” Pyper asked.

“Huh?” I tried to put my face into a neutral expression. “I don’t know. Just out of my element, I guess. Sorry to bother you while you’re working, but I was hoping I could get a look at the furniture.”

“No problem, you’re not bothering me. My assistant has this under control.”

I grabbed my beer and followed Pyper to a door at the end of the hall. After unlocking it, she flipped the light and ushered me into a room reminiscent of Aunt Gwen’s attic. A tiny walkway had been forged through the clutter of cardboard boxes and old furniture. Dust covered every possible surface, making my nose twitch.

“All of this has been left by past residents?” I asked in disbelief.

“As far as we know. Most of it was here when Kane bought the building.”

Kane. Just his name sent my stomach into flip-flops.

Stop that. You are not interested in a strip club owner. Too bad he was so damn yummy.

“Jade?” Pyper waved her hand in front of my face.

“Hmmm?”

“Did you hear me? I said, feel free to take anything you want. We’re planning to donate it anyway.”

“Oh! Thanks.” I moved around the room, inspecting the old furniture. The place was packed with everything from antique settees to metal folding chairs. Moving slowly, I selected a small writer’s desk, an old couch destined for a slipcover, and a lamp base in desperate need of some paint. I needed a chair for the desk, but decided to hold out for something a little more comfortable.

“Jade, check this out!” Pyper called from the back of the room.

I picked my way through the mess and followed the direction of her pointed finger. In front of me stood the most beautiful, thick, honey oak headboard I’d ever seen. Intricately carved wooded vines trellised from the center out to the edges. I ran my hand over the tiny blossoms nestled in the clusters of leaves and let my guards down. Love and joy radiated from it. “What flower is this?”

“Bougainvillea. You see a lot of them around here.”

“It’s perfect.”

“I think you’ll want those, too.” Pyper pointed to two matching nightstands.

Grinning, I nodded.

She pulled out her iPhone and dialed. “Kane, I need you to come to the storage room.” She huffed in exasperation. “No, we’re not trapped under anything heavy. Just get your butt in here.”

My smiled faded. This stuff belonged to him. I was no expert, but even I could tell the bedroom furniture was worth a pretty penny. “How much do you think he’ll want for it?”

“Who? Want for what?” Pyper asked in confusion.

“Kane. The furniture.” I waved to the headboard. “That other stuff, the desk and couch, well it’s seen better days. I can see giving them away. But the bedroom set, just look at it.”

Pyper shook her head. “You can ask him, but I doubt he’ll take anything for it. He really wants to turn this room into an office, so the more stuff gone, the better.”

“I’m here. What do you want?” Kane said from right behind us, sounding irritated.

Pyper smiled, unleashing all of her charm on him. “Kane, darling, we need you to flex those bulging muscles and help us move some stuff up to Jade’s place.”

He rolled his eyes. “Your charms don’t work on me.” However, he smiled, and I sensed amusement entering his energy.

“Wanna bet?”

His smile turned into a grin. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.” He glanced at me and nodded.

I waved, feeling like an intruder.

Pyper showed him the bed and night stands. “We’ll get the rest.”

“We will?” I asked as I stared at the couch.

“Of course we will. Come on.”

Forty minutes later Pyper handed me an ice pack as I sat on my couch.

“You poor thing. Don’t feel bad, I trip all the time. Let me see it.” She gently pulled my hand away from my head. “It doesn’t look too bad, considering you face-planted the corner of your desk.” She ran a finger along the skin above my eyebrow.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry.” She rummaged in her purse and pulled out a small bottle. “Here, take a few of these.”

As soon as I downed the pills and a glass of water, a shirtless Kane walked in, carrying my desk. I’d left it on the second floor landing after tripping and almost knocking myself out. I cleared my throat. “Thank you,” I croaked out.

“No problem.”

Shifting the ice for a better view, I watched Kane. I just could not tear my eyes away from that chest. The view was more than enough to make me forget about my throbbing head. My hand twitched, aching to touch him, and I yelped in pain. “Oh, shit! That hurt.”

A shadow blocked the sun shining in through the window. I gazed up into Kane’s worried expression. He placed a pillow at the end of the couch. “Here, lie back.”

I did as he said, speechless once more from the heart-aching view.

He took the ice bag from me and gently laid it on my head. “Just relax. We’ll take care of the rest.”

I gave him a weak smile, not trusting my voice.

For the next hour I entertained myself by watching Kane, still shirtless, and Jeff, a club bouncer, move in my furniture and put together my bed. All kinds of Kane fantasies were entertained as his rippling muscles flexed under the weight of the headboard. That bed had some serious potential, and I had plenty of material to work with. I’d been having vivid sex dreams every night for the last four nights. My libido was definitely in overdrive. My mind had formed a particularly fascinating scenario involving caramel when Kane stood up and announced they were finished.

“Already?” I sat up.

Kane glanced at his watch. “Already? We’ve been at this for two hours.”

“Right. What do I owe you?” I reached for my purse.

“For what?”

“The furniture and your time. Jeff ’s too.”

“Didn’t Pyper already tell you that stuff was free?” To my disappointment, he pulled his shirt back on.

“Yeah. But it’s such nice stuff. I should pay you something for it.”

Kane stood with his arms folded and shook his head.

“Well, for your time then.” I pulled my wallet out, intent on not letting this go.

“I’ll collect later.” Kane said with a wry grin. “As for Jeff, you can just give him a tip. He’s already on the clock for the club.”

“That isn’t right! He’s been doing my work, not yours. Let me pay his hourly wage.”

Kane shook his head again. “No. I was going to get him to clean out the storage room anyway. It doesn’t matter if it goes up here, or if it goes to the restoration place.”

I stared at him. Was he for real? “At least let me take you to dinner sometime as a thank you.”

“I’m counting on it.” Kane walked away, signaling to Jeff it was time to go.

“Wait!” I pulled out forty dollars and pressed it into Jeff ’s hand. “Thank you both so much.”

Jeff looked at the cash, then at me, then to Kane.

“Take it,” Kane said as he opened the door.

Jeff smiled and nodded, following Kane.

“Thanks again,” I called as they left.

Immediately, I pulled out fresh sheets and went to work on making up my new bed. When I’d finished I topped it with my favorite down comforter and added poppy red and coral pillows for color. Standing back, I felt the lure of crawling into my new sanctuary. But my stomach growled. Loudly. I hadn’t eaten since my break at the coffee shop and couldn’t put it off any longer. I pulled my phone out and ordered a small veggie pizza.

With twenty minutes to wait, I showered and was draped in a robe when I heard the knock.

Grabbing my wallet, I raced to the door. When I opened it, my jaw dropped, and instinctively I cinched my robe tighter.

“Dinner’s ready,” Kane said, sweeping past me with the pizza box and a paper bag.

“Uh…”

He handed me the box and pulled me to the couch. “Sit.”

“How—”

“Do you have a bottle opener?”

“On my keychain.” I pointed to my keys on the counter.

He chuckled and pulled out two beers. Popping the caps, he asked, “Always prepared, huh?”

“Swiss army knife.”

He handed me a Guinness. I smiled. I could get used to a man who remembered my beer of choice. “I found the delivery guy outside looking lost,” Kane said as he sat next to me.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Dig in.”

I wasted no time and sighed with pleasure at the first bite.

“Yum.” I held out the box, offering him a piece.

He peered in. “Where’s the meat?”

“I don’t like pork.”

“I hear they have other meat options.”

I swallowed my next bite. “So I like veggies on my pizza. Get over it. It’s not like I knew I’d have company”

His eyes roamed over me. “So I see.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Didn’t he have naked employees needing his attention?

“Supposed to?” He pursed his lips. “In a matter of speaking, maybe. But Pyper has it under control. Besides, it isn’t busy right now.”

“Damn. She works all the time. When does she sleep?”

“I don’t think she does.” Kane grabbed the last piece, and we ate in silence.

When I finished I asked, “How much was the pizza?”

He shook his head.

“I can’t not pay you for my dinner. I can just call and get the total from the pizza place.”

“Sure you can ‘not pay’ me. I ate most of it.” He wadded up his napkin and tossed it into the empty box.

“You only ate half, and you brought the beer.” I opened my wallet and thrust a twenty at him.

“It wasn’t that much.”

“I don’t care. Just take it,” I said, frustrated. I wasn’t used to being taken care of, and I wasn’t a freeloader either. “Look. Thanks for all your help, but I can take care of myself.”

“I can see that.” His eyes twinkling, he got up and moved toward the door.

I followed and thrust the twenty at him again. “Take it, or I’ll put it in your pocket myself.”

“Really?” A mischievous grin spread over his face. His anticipation prickled my skin.

I groaned inwardly. Not the smartest comment I’d ever made. To save face, I took a deep breath and moved in. His arm came around me as I slipped the twenty into his back pocket. My breasts pressed up against his chest, and the thin material of my silk robe did nothing to hide my now aroused and pointed nipples.

Kane lowered his head. My breath caught just before he pressed a light kiss on the bruise above my eye.

He smiled down at me. “You can let go of my ass now.”

As if burned, I jumped back, folding my arms over my chest.

Chuckling, he opened the door. “Bye, Jade. Thanks for dinner.”

I closed the door and stood there wondering what in the hell just happened. The room suddenly became very cold, snapping me out of my trance. I turned toward the window and saw the outline of a medium-built, fair-haired man. The apparition grew into an almost solid image, took two steps, and vanished.

Shock rooted me to the floor.

Chapter 5

What the hell was that?

My heart hammered against my chest, and I stopped breathing at the same time. The combination made my head spin. I forced myself to take deep breaths. My right arm wasn’t shooting with pain, so I knew I hadn’t suffered cardiac arrest. Though for a minute there, I wasn’t so sure. When my heart slowed to a relatively normal rate, I moved cautiously through the apartment, scanning the emotional energy.

When I’d completed my circle without incident, my shoulders relaxed. Had I imagined the apparition? I didn’t think so. Maybe it wasn’t just my apartment that was haunted. Maybe the ghost haunted the whole building, and he’d left for the night. I could only hope. Grateful I had somewhere to be, I wasted no time getting ready for work.

After searching my closet, I dressed in a long pencil skirt and a wrap-around top, cut low in the front. Slipping on my only pair of heels—cute, strappy, black ones—I checked myself out in the bathroom mirror. Perfect if I was headed out for a date. Maybe a little overdressed for working a bar at a strip club, but I didn’t have anything else suitable. It would have to do.

Grabbing my keys, I took one last look at my apartment. Satisfied my ghost was still absent, I locked the door behind me and headed for the club.

A few minutes later I paused, letting my eyes adjust as I entered Wicked. The lights were dim as usual, but the place hadn’t started to fill up yet. Eight-thirty was still on the early side for a strip club. A cute, tiny blonde dancing on stage caught my eye. I frowned, wondering why anyone would want to strip down and get felt up by random guys every night. It made my skin crawl thinking about it.

I closed my eyes and focused on constructing my emotional barrier. Once my cylinder was in place I made my way over to the bar toward Pyper and Charlie. “Hey, I’m a bit early.”

“Good, that’ll give Charlie more time to get you up to speed.” Pyper stepped closer. “That’s one hell of a shiner you have above your eye.”

“Thanks.” I reached up, trying to cover it with a piece of my hair.

Pyper laughed. “You’re fighting a losing battle.”

“Ah, give my girl a break. It takes talent to look that hot with half your forehead black and blue,” Charlie said, waving toward a stool. “Sit down. I’ll get you a drink.”

Seeing Pyper nod, I happily obliged.

Charlie set a tall, slender glass of ice and a diet Coke on the counter and held up a bottle of rum in question.

“No thanks. I took some pain pills. I don’t think that’s a good combination.” Apparently drinking on the job was optional. Why not? It was a strip club.

“You’re such a good girl,” Charlie said, winking at me.

I snorted. “I need lessons on misbehaving.” I’d forgotten what it felt like to let loose every once in a while. Ever since I landed in New Orleans I’d been the height of Miss Responsibility. Something was seriously wrong with me. I had done nothing but work since I got here. Eyeing Pyper, I mentally penciled in a night on the town. No doubt she’d coax me into something not suitable for the PG-13 crowd.

“No time like the present,” Charlie said, spiking my drink with some Captain Morgan’s.

“Oh crap. I’m gonna need a keeper by the time the night is over.” I scowled, but picked up my glass and took a long swig. “Ahhh.”

Both of them laughed.

“I need two hurricanes,” someone said behind me.

I swiveled, finding Holly, the assistant manager from the café, in a bar maid outfit.

”Hey, I didn’t know you were working here, too,” I said.

She shrugged. “Pyper needed help.”

“That’s a common theme.”

“You’re working here?” She looked me up and down and then focused on the stool.

“Yes, when Charlie’s ready for me.” I frowned as hostility crept into my awareness.

She gave a curt nod, grabbed the drink tray and left.

That was odd. What did I do to annoy her? I watched her serve the drinks to an oblivious couple, now sharing one chair. The intense desire and excitement whirling around them made me blush. It was then I realized the alcohol was chipping away at my emotional barrier. I pushed the glass aside.

“Quite the show they’re putting on.” Pyper sat next to me.

“You might want to offer a room for them to rent.”

Pyper grinned. “Rooms by the hour. That’ll really class the place up.” She leaned closer, passing a glass to Charlie. “Fill me up, will you?” Her tired eyes drooped with fatigue.

“Do you ever sleep?” I asked.

Her smile vanished, and anxiety flowed over me in waves.

“Not these days. Insomnia, I guess.” She shook her head and pasted a smile back on her face. “Thanks again for helping out. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

Pyper put her hand on my arm. “I just don’t want you to feel taken advantage of. You’re starting to grow on us, and we’d like to keep you around.” She winked in Charlie’s direction.

“Damn straight,” Charlie piped in. “Best thing that’s happened around here since Roy was ousted.”

“Roy?” I asked.

“Previous owner before Kane bought the place. Serious jackass,” Pyper explained. “Anyway, I’ve got some work to do. See you later.” She waved and headed toward the offices.

An hour later, I wiped down the bar, wishing I had a sandwich. The rum, combined with the pain pills, hadn’t been the best idea. My barriers had vanished altogether, and I hadn’t been able to block out the rapidly intensifying energy in the club.

As I worked my way through the line of customers, Mr. Evil, the man I’d noticed the first time I’d come in the club, appeared at the table closest to the bar. As before, he held an unlit cigarette, but his anger was subdued this time. Maybe he’d invested in therapy. He stared intently at Pyper, never taking his eyes off her. I didn’t blame him. She’d changed into a silver push-up bra and a tiny black leather skirt, no more than eight inches long. Just enough to give the illusion it covered her bum.

“I thought you had the night off from stripping?” I asked when she joined us.

“So did I, but one of the girls hasn’t shown up. Strippers.” She rolled her eyes and laughed. “No one else was reachable, so I’m it.” She searched the crowd until she spotted Kane. My heart did a little jig in my chest, until I saw him put his hand on Holly’s back as he walked with her. He gave Pyper a wave. “That’s my cue,” she said and stepped toward the stage.

Right at that moment, the lights flickered off and on, and the music volume shot up to deafening levels. I cringed, my eardrums responding with sharp stabs of complaint, and squinted in confusion at the DJ booth. What the holy hell?

A faint prickle of glee entered my system, causing the hair on the back of my neck to rise. I turned toward the mental intrusion just as the tequila bottle I’d been holding ripped from my hand. Pain exploded through my skull.

Everything went black.

Groaning from the sunlight piercing my eyelids, I rolled over and shoved my face deep into the pillow. A flash of searing pain bolted me upright.

“Son of a bitch!” I gasped as my hands flew to inspect the damage. The goose-egg-sized lump made my stomach turn. With my eyes closed I took a few cleansing breaths before I felt the mattress shift beside me. Peeking through my fingers, I peered down at a sleepy-eyed Kane. His tousled dark hair and the glimpse of his bare chest momentarily made me forget my aching head. I searched my muddled brain for some recollection of how I ended up in this predicament, but it was blank.

“Morning,” mumbled my bed partner as he sat up. “Let me see.” He moved my hands and gently touched my forehead.

I closed my eyes to block out his sheer maleness, hoping my hormones would downshift from overdrive. With his touch, concern, tenderness and protectiveness illuminated from him, wrapping around me like a blanket. I lay my head back down on the pillow, too exhausted to analyze this turn of events.

“How did I end up here?” I asked as I admired the rich walnut armoire and four-poster bed I was snuggled into. “Do you remember anything from last night?” he asked.

I took a moment to think. “Not much. The last thing I remember is Pyper leaving the bar to go on stage, and suddenly everything went haywire.” I glanced up at him. “I’m guessing I was knocked out.”

He nodded.

“What got me?” I asked.

“Tequila bottle.”

“Jesus! Taken out by Cabo Wabo. It was a full bottle too. Is it toast?”

A strong mix of humor and exasperation overrode his concern. Kane snorted. “Considering what happened next, I’d hardly say it matters much at this point.”

I pushed myself up with my elbows and raised my eyebrows in question.

“Do you remember the lights flickering on and off and the music, that awful music?”

I nodded. The music had sped up, effectively giving us a Chipmunks’ version of a Prince song. “That’s the last thing I remember.”

“That’s because as Pyper left the bar and headed to the stage, all the loose bottles on the shelves shot up and circled her like a tornado. The one you’d been holding jerked out of your hand and bounced off your forehead on its way to join the others.”

“Right. Flying liquor bottles.” I laughed. “Come on, tell me what really happened. I ran into something again, right?”

Kane stared at me, shaking his head. His exasperation quickly stamped out any traces of humor.

I stared back finally remembering the tequila bottle flying from my grip.

Shit. A tornado. Just like the Honey Dust. A full minute went by as I digested the information. I found myself focusing on his shirtless chest and tan six-pack. My eyes glazed over as I imagined pulling the rest of the covers off him to explore further. Blinking, I caught his eye and flushed. He picked up a tee shirt and put in on.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, my ears growing fiercely hot.

He just sat there, wearing that sexy, cocky smile of his.

Clearing my throat, I said, “Okay, so that really happened. Fill me in on the details.”

Kane sat back against the headboard and handed me his pillow. I snuggled into it, catching a faint trace of his crisp, earthy cologne.

“I was headed to the bar when Holly hijacked me. We’d just turned toward my office when Prince turned into Alvin.”

A private moment with Holly in his office? A vile image of the two of them kissing flashed through my mind. Irrational? Yes, but there it was.

He continued. “Then the music stopped, and all the bottles from the bar started flying, including the one you held. I saw you go down and ran to help.”

“My hero,” I said with a small smile.

He grimaced, looking pained. “It took me a moment to realize the bottles were circling Pyper. Thank God whatever it was stopped, because I don’t think I could have broken through to get to her.”

“They just stopped?”

“Yeah and shattered all over the floor. We’re lucky everyone moved out of the way. Someone could have gotten seriously hurt.”

Through my mounting horror I couldn’t help wondering what the patrons had thought of bottles flying through the air. Suddenly I was intensely glad I’d been passed out and missed the whole thing.

Kane reached out and gently caressed my forehead, again. “You had us worried.”

The tenderness in his voice warmed me and scared me at the same time. Imagining sexy times excited me, but getting intimate was another thing entirely. “Pyper wasn’t hurt?”

He shook his head. “Just shook up.”

I breathed a sigh of relief and sat up. For the first time I noticed I was wearing my own Nick and Nora owl pajama bottoms and camisole. Who’d changed my clothes? I pulled the covers up, feeling exposed.

“Pyper helped you into your pajamas,” Kane said, reading my mind. “She also brought your toiletries. They’re in my bathroom.”

My stuff was mingling with his in the bathroom. Yikes. “Okay, thanks. But how did I get here?”

“I carried you.”

Too bad I’d missed that.

“Then, I went back for Pyper. I’d left her in Charlie’s care and by the time I got back, she’d settled down enough to insist we get your stuff so you’d be comfortable when you woke up. She stayed in her room—” he pointed to the wall on our right, “—and I stayed here with you, just to be sure you were okay.”

Wait what? “You and Pyper live together?” Hadn’t Charlie told me they weren’t a couple? Maybe she was misinformed.

“No. This is her place, but I keep stuff here for when I stay over. I guess you could say this is sort of my room.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what to make of that. Friends with benefits?

His eyes crinkled as his lips quirked up. “We aren’t a couple, just business partners and best friends. Sometimes I work so late I crash here.”

“I didn’t ask.” His ego swelled, pushing on my mental barriers.

Crap.

“Yes you did. You just didn’t voice it.”

I rolled my eyes and looked away, catching a glimpse at the clock. “Shit, I have to get to work.” I jumped up, causing a dizzy spell and almost fell back onto the bed. I put one hand on my throbbing head and the other on the bedpost to steady myself.

Kane scooted over and eased me back down. “No you don’t. Pyper said to tell you not to come in today. She’s got it covered.”

“But—”

“No, the last thing we need is you passing out in the café. She’ll call me if she needs help.” He got up. “I’ll go make you some breakfast. Stay here and rest, or grab a shower if you want. All your stuff is in the bathroom.”

I nodded, watching him head out the door. Kane wasn’t at all what I expected him to be. I’d judged him on the fact that he owned a strip club, and while I’d never met a strip club owner, I’d pegged him as a cross between Hugh Hefner and Larry Flint. In other words, a ladies’ man who thought about sex, women and more sex. Why else would a person go into the strip club business? I suspected he had some of those qualities, as most men did, but clearly he was made of a lot more. He’d been genuinely concerned about me, took care of me, and he was still doing it this morning. Smiling to myself, a warm feeling of pleasure grew in my chest.

Not wanting to have breakfast in my pajamas I got up and headed for a bath. The oversized tub took up half the bathroom. Feeling deliciously pampered, I couldn’t resist turning on the jets. I would have stayed there until my entire body shriveled into a raisin, but the smell of coffee and Kane’s call that breakfast was ready lured me out.

My backpack sat on the counter filled with my makeup bag, toothbrush, deodorant and, to my surprise, the Honey Dust. Why Pyper thought I’d need it for an overnight when I was knocked out, I didn’t know. But considering what happened the night before, I couldn’t believe she’d included it. Was she possessed? I hadn’t even touched it since the day I’d moved in. Maybe it was an act of defiance against the spirit. I set my shoulders and decided if she was brave enough, then so was I. What’s a little Honey Dust compared to flying bottles?

“If you’re here, Ghost, please stay away. You’re not invited into my space.” Hopefully that would keep him out. Looking around to be sure I was alone, I lightly dusted myself with the sweet scent. The air didn’t stir, and nothing suddenly appeared. Feeling victorious, I put the jar away, and dressed in the clean jeans and tank top Pyper had picked out for me. After pulling my hair into a bun and slapping some makeup on, I ventured into the rest of the apartment to join Kane.

I shuffled over the rich pecan hardwood floors, awestruck. I’d never been in a more soothing living room. The overstuffed mocha couch and loveseat were covered in peach pillows, complementing the vanilla cream walls. The aroma of fresh coffee filtered from the kitchen. Did the apartment always smell like freshly ground beans? It was directly above the café. I stopped in the adjoining dining room at the ten-foot-tall windows, letting the sun warm my face.

Kane appeared from the kitchen and stepped up behind me, handing me a steaming mug.

“Thanks,” I said, glancing back over my shoulder.

He hesitated then brushed his warm lips along the nape of my neck, gently kissing me. The flick of his soft tongue melted any resistance I might have mustered.

My breath caught soundlessly.

“Humm,” he murmured. “Honey Dust tastes better on you than I thought it would.”

Chapter 6

Kane moved away and retreated to the kitchen. I grabbed the window frame, steadying myself. Kane just kissed me. On my neck. Thank you, Pyper, and your silly Honey Dust fetish. I absently raised my mug and then sputtered as the scalding coffee seared my tongue. “Ow!”

“You okay?” Kane rounded the corner with two plates.

“Uh, yeah. Hotter than I expected.” I held the mug up and opened my mouth to ask if he’d kiss it and make it better, but clamped it shut when my brain took over. If he wanted to kiss me—real on-the-lips-with-tongue-and-everything kissing—then he would, but I wouldn’t beg for it.

He gave a sympathetic smile and put the plates on the table. “Breakfast. Hope you like waffles.” He passed me a silver carafe of syrup as I sat.

The waffle was cooked to perfection, golden brown on each side and smothered in fresh blueberries. I drizzled the syrup and sighed in pleasure with the first bite. “Yum.”

Satisfaction seeped from him as he watched me.

“What?” I asked.

“I’m glad to see you have an appetite. If you’d had a concussion you probably wouldn’t be very hungry right now.”

My insides turned to Jell-O. Suddenly I wished I’d had the nerve to ask for the kiss. No one but Kat and Gwen had gotten remotely close to caring for me in years, and here I had this gorgeous piece of eye candy doing just that. Of course he could be trying to make sure I didn’t sue his ass, but considering my inside information source, I really didn’t think so.

“Thank you for…everything,” I said, meaning it.

He nodded. “My pleasure.”

After breakfast, Kane left and I cleaned the kitchen then went back into his room to gather my things. I found my outfit from the night before folded on the dresser and packed it in my backpack on top of my toiletries. The bed remained unmade. I stopped, running my hand over the side Kane had slept in. His lingering concern touched my heart. Overwhelmed, I sat on the bed. It felt good to have a decent man care about what happened to me. Not wanting to let the feeling go, I curled up on his pillow, closed my eyes and breathed.

A man, cloaked by shadows, inched toward me. A soothing calm reached my awareness. The moonlight should have illuminated him, but his features remained unclear in his shadowy form. It didn’t matter. My body recognized him. For the last week he’d visited me almost every night.

He stopped next to the bed and waited.

“What’s your name,” I asked.

He stood still and silent. No matter what I asked, he never spoke. It was his body that did all the talking.

“I wish I knew your name.”

A stream of tenderness, longing and a hint of desperation caressed my soul. The sensations tingled in my belly. I shifted and patted the bed, extending an invitation.

He sat, and my arm brushed his solid thigh, sending heat to my center. Wanting to be touched, I lifted my face to his open hand. He cupped my cheek and traced his fingertips down the length of my neck. Moments went by as I delighted in the familiar sensation.

I reached out, exploring the solid, yet still mysterious figure. My fingers danced across his hot skin, feeling what my eyes couldn’t see. His fingers tensed and curled in my hair. Longing worked its way into my consciousness. Without thought I pulled him to lie beside me. Desperate to see my lover, I used my fingers to trace his cheeks, eyes and, finally, his mouth.

I struggled to make out his features, succeeding in just a rough outline. Focusing on his lips, I titled my head, giving him the answer he waited for. Our lips met, and all inhibitions were lost.

It took a while for my brain to process the annoying chirping in my ear. One eye popped open, and I sat up with my body pulsing from the reoccurring dream. Once again I found myself in Kane’s bedroom. Except he wasn’t there, and the chirping was my ringtone.

I groaned and snatched my cell from the bedside table. “Yeah?”

“Jade? It’s Pyper. Ian’s here to do more readings. Can you come down?”

“Sure,” I croaked. “Give me a few minutes.”

In serious need of a cold shower, I headed for the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, refreshed and smelling like a rain forest, I headed to the first floor of the building and found the club’s back door propped open. That was unusual. But if Ian was interviewing multiple people, he might have gotten tired of answering it. A few wall lights were on, giving me just enough light to see where I was headed. Trying not to disturb anything Ian might want to inspect, I stayed close to the walls, but it quickly became clear the place was spotless, completely cleaned up. And empty. Where was everybody?

I sat, staring at the stage trying to make sense of the ghost activity. Other than the energy suck after Pyper called out the ghost, my experiences with it had been mild. Honey Dust and an apparition were hardly threatening. But bottles flying around a crowded club? A chill ran down my back thinking about it. At least my suspicions were confirmed. It was haunting the whole building, not just my apartment.

Unless it was just haunting me.

No, it had attacked Pyper the night before. Had she pissed it off that day in my apartment?

I took a deep breath and walked to the stage. Maybe it had left some sort of emotional imprint. The events of the night before played in my mind like a movie reel. I saw Charlie and myself behind the bar, both hopping around, busily mixing drinks. I was watching Kane, surprised to notice he was keeping an eye on me. Pyper took her first few steps to the stage. Then the bottles flew. Dark emotions—anger, jealousy, disgust, and intense longing—wrapped around me. I could barely see Pyper through the whirlwind of bottles, but a faint trace of her terror reached me. The emotions intensified as if feeding on her fear. My body spasmed, unable to filter it all. I couldn’t breathe. Lightning bolts of synapses crisscrossed through my brain before my vision turned to snowy static.

I woke, lying on the stage, with Pyper holding my hand.

“What happened?” I asked, disoriented.

“You tell me,” she said. “I was headed into the office to make a phone call when I saw you standing there. You looked like you were in some kind of trance. Then your face went white, your eyes got wide and you collapsed. Something frightened you.”

“No, not frightened, exactly.” The truth was, I wasn’t sure what just happened. I hadn’t been scared. My own emotions had been buried under the onslaught of the darkness I’d just experienced while the scene had replayed for me. Even the parts I hadn’t been conscious to witness. Did I imagine what I thought happened? My empathy gift said otherwise.

“Then what?” Pyper looked at me expectantly.

What indeed? “Startled?”

“That look was not a startled one,” she said.

How could I tell her what had happened without revealing my ability? Panic formed in a little ball at the pit of my stomach. “Maybe I just overdid it after last night.” I stood, shaking slightly.

She stared at me for minute. “Yeah, maybe. I think you should sit down.”

She had a point, but I didn’t want to stay that long. “Where is everyone?”

“Next door, waiting for you.”

“Oh. I thought we were meeting here. Let’s go.” I took off, not caring if she followed. I needed to get out of club. It just felt…wrong.

I entered the back room of the café from the adjoining hallway and found Kane.

“I was starting to think you fell back asleep,” he said.

“No, I thought we were meeting next door. Is Ian out front?” I peeked through the tiny window from the back room of the café. Ian was sitting at one of the tables with a woman sporting bright red curls.

I bit my lip. Why was Kat here? She’d called a few days after the incident in the club. I hadn’t picked up, and she’d left a message asking if we were okay. I hadn’t called her back. It still stung that she hadn’t even considered I’d been telling the truth. Before all the drama happened, I wouldn’t have believed it either. But if Kat had been the one saying it, I would have at least listened.

As I lingered, trying to find the nerve to face my friend, Dan entered the café and strolled up to their table, holding a bouquet of sunflowers.

My breath hitched, and buried memories flooded back. Dan and I standing in his parent’s sunflower field on a hot summer day as he gazed down at me with a powerful wave of tenderness bursting from his essence. I’d reached up, caressing his jaw with my thumb and he’d kissed me for the first time. A romantic, emotional kiss that had ended with his arms wrapped tight around me as if he’d never let go. That was the summer we’d fallen in love, before I’d lost his trust and he’d lost mine.

Dan bent down and kissed Kat’s cheek. Her smile turned sweet as he handed her the bouquet. He always gave sunflowers. As homage to his parent’s livelihood, I’d supposed. But it still hurt seeing the familiar gesture.

Sadness settled in my chest. Dan had only recently turned into a massive jerk. Once he’d been a kind, attentive partner I’d been ready to spend my life with. And here he was, displaying a small piece of the man I’d once known. No wonder Kat didn’t see what I did.

Had I been just as blind? No. I’d had the added benefit of knowing what he was feeling. He’d loved me. I had never doubted it. Now he carried an emotional poison—at least when he was around me. Somewhere deep inside I wondered if I was to blame.

Kat stood, wrapped Dan in a tight hug and sat as he strolled off again and disappeared onto Bourbon Street.

“That’s your friend, right?” Kane asked, following my gaze.

I tilted my head, stealing a peek at his thoughtful expression. He’d remembered. “Yes.”

“What are you waiting for?” Kane nudged me, and I had no choice but to walk through the door.

I stopped behind Kat and cleared my throat. “Let’s sit outside.” I didn’t know where this conversation would lead, but we didn’t need an audience.

“Where the heck have you been?” Kat turned and frowned, her eyebrows pinched.

“Here,” I gestured vaguely around the shop and glanced at Ian. “Hi.”

“Hey. I’ll be right back.” He got up and headed toward the counter.

“I’ve been calling you since last night. Didn’t you get any of my messages?”

Shaking my head, I searched for my phone in my purse. I hadn’t checked to see if anyone had called. No doubt Gwen had been trying to reach me as well. “Oops, I must have left it in Kane’s room.”

“You slept with Kane?” she whispered, looking over my shoulder.

I glanced back to see the man in question watching us. I waved and he nodded. “No, well, yes…” Her eyes bulged with shock. I tried not to laugh. “I slept in his bed, but nothing happened.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Stop staring. Let’s talk about this outside.”

She grabbed her flowers and followed me. I glanced at them but said nothing. Conversations about Dan never went anywhere good.

Once we were seated she blinked a few times then reluctantly gave me her full attention. “Kane is sex on a stick.”

“Watch it, girl, you’re drooling.” I handed her a napkin, and my shoulders relaxed. I should have known girl chat about a hot guy would diffuse any awkwardness.

Ignoring my napkin, Kat switched gears. “Ian left me a message you’d been attacked last night. I’ve been calling ever since. Geez, Jade, you’ve had me in a panic all day.”

I tensed. Now she was worried about me? “I wasn’t attacked. My head just got in the way.”

“I wish you’d have called,” she said quietly. “Who else do you have to look after you?”

“I’m sorry. I was in no shape to call anyone. Besides, I have friends here. Pyper and Kane took care of me. See?” I held my hands out. “I’m fine. No need to worry.”

“Except for the giant bruise on your forehead. And I’d hardly call these people your friends. I mean they work at a strip club, for God’s sake.”

“So what?” My fists clenched in aggravation. “A minute ago you were wondering why I hadn’t thrown myself at Kane, and now you’re judging him and Pyper? You don’t even know them. Pyper isn’t some doped-up stripper. She owns the café and helps manage the club. And as for Kane, he was a perfect gentleman. Get off your high horse and drop the preconceived notions. At least they were there for me when I needed them.” I stared at my hands, trying to forget I’d been making the same sort of assumptions about Kane since I’d met him.

Kat’s pain, mixed with frustrated anger, assaulted me. I closed my eyes, quickly building my silo barrier. Damn it. I would not feel guilty. Pyper and Kane had proven to be better friends in the short time I’d known them than Kat had in the last three months. I wouldn’t stand for her insulting them.

“What do you mean, ‘At least they were there for you when you needed them’? When have I ever not been there for you?”

“Never mind.” I shook my head. “It’s not important.”

Her eyes narrowed. “It’s about Dan again, isn’t it? God, Jade, I wish you two would just let it go already.”

“And I wish you’d wake up!”

“I don’t want to be in the middle of this.” She closed her eyes for a moment then looked at me pleadingly. “Can we just agree to not talk about him?”

“Fine.”

“Thank you.”

“Excuse me.” Ian cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt, but I sort of need to talk to Jade.”

“You’re not interrupting,” I said. “We’re done here.”

Kat stood. “I have to get home anyway. I just needed to be sure Jade was okay. Thanks for letting me know, Ian.” She gave him a quick hug and left without saying another word.

I slumped and waved for Ian to sit. “Sorry about that. We’re having…issues.”

“It’ll blow over soon enough. You know how Kat is. She’s protective.” Ian set a paper cup in front of me. “Pyper thought a chai might perk you up.”

“She’s protecting the wrong person.” Closing my eyes, I took a long swig of the chai and sighed. Yep, I’d needed that. “Thanks.”

Ian took notes while I gave him a detailed account of the night before and the vision I’d just had in the club, minus the crazy emotional turmoil.

“Excellent.” He grinned.

“I’m glad you think so,” I said dryly. “I’d just like it to stop.”

“I’ve got a plan for that. After Kane called I left a message for my aunt, who has some tricks for us to ward off your ghost. I should hear back from her later today.”

Kane had called Ian? Did they know each other? Weird. “Okay, when can we get that done?”

“As soon as possible, but I need to take readings from inside the club first.” He stood up. “Ready?”

I nodded and followed him into the café. We found Pyper and Kane sitting with their heads together at a table in the corner.

“We’re back.” Ian waved.

Pyper straightened and smiled at him. “Oh, good. We were just talking about you. Have a seat.” She patted the chair next to her.

He gave her his sexy half-smile and squeezed in beside her.

Kane was staring at me, and suddenly my head swam. I grabbed the edge of the table and took cleansing breaths to center myself. His hand rested on the small of my back as he leaned in and whispered, “Maybe you should go up to Pyper’s and lie back down.”

“Probably.” But I made no move to leave. I wanted to know what we were going to do about the ghost. “Okay, Ian, what’s the plan?”

“Kane’s going to let us take some measurements down here, so I’ll get started with that shortly. I’ve got a lot to do in an hour.”

“An hour? But you stayed half the night in my apartment.”

Kane stiffened beside me. I looked at him, bewildered.

“Kane said he’d open the club a little late, but he has an event scheduled. Since we can’t measure activity with other people around, I’ll take what I can get. Though I would like to log some data with you and Pyper in there to see if either of you sets anything off.”

“Just me and Pyper?” I asked.

“Yes. It seems the two of you have some kind of connection with whatever may be lurking here. I’ll take some basic measurements and have each of you come in for a reading. After I record the data I can compare the results and see if we have any similarities or anomalies,” Ian explained.

“No.” Kane said.

“No?” I asked before anyone else could respond. “What do you mean, no?”

Kane turned serious eyes on me. “I mean, I don’t want you and Pyper involved anymore. You went into some sort of trance today in there, and Pyper could have been seriously hurt last night. I will not allow that to happen again.”

The blood rushed to my head. Combined with my fight with Kat and feeling like I had no control over what was happening, I snapped. “Who are you to tell me what you will and will not allow to happen?”

“Your boss.”

I huffed. “Right. Boss. I had no idea taking orders from you on my personal time was in the job description. Besides, you may be the owner of the club, but technically I work for Pyper, remember? I only filled in tending bar as a favor to her. Why in the hell else do you think I would work at a strip club?”

“For the money,” he said calmly. “Like all the other girls.”

“You son of a bitch.” I glowered at him, pissed off, mostly because he was right. I did need the money, but he didn’t have to know that. “You know damn well I only filled in as a favor to Pyper.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but Pyper cut him off. “That’s true.”

Kane turned to her. “Which part, the favor part or the son of-a-bitch part?”

“Both,” she said lightly. She turned her attention to Ian. “Of course, we’ll both help.” She waved her arm toward me.

I smiled at Kane’s incredulous expression.

“Oh, stop being a bully,” Pyper continued. “We’re both big girls. If we want to help Ian figure out what’s going on, we will.”

Kane stared at her until she raised an eyebrow. Then he studied me. I resisted the urge to stick out my tongue. Real mature, I told myself. Finally, he asked Ian, “Is there something you do to keep people safe in these situations?”

Ian nodded. “Yes. So far we haven’t had any mishaps…though this situation seems a bit more volatile than most we’ve been involved with.”

“Really?” I asked. “How so?”

“Well,” Ian paused, rubbing his chin. “Most of our clients come to us because they see images, like a vision, or they get a sixth sense something is there. Rarely do we come across cases where the spirits are interacting on as personal a level, as they seem to be doing in this case.”

Kane stayed silent but continued to glare at all of us.

Ian glanced at him, shifting uncomfortably. “But don’t worry, there are things we can do to discourage interaction. As soon as I hear back from my aunt we’ll set up wards to keep the ghost inactive.”

“Sounds great.” Pyper handed him a card. “My cell is on there. Give us a ring when you’re ready. Come on, Jade, let’s get some takeout and head to my apartment.”

Without glancing back, I fell into step behind Pyper.

Once back at Pyper’s I found my phone and grimaced at the multitude of calls from Kat and Gwen. I should have remembered to call my aunt. Chances are, she’d felt the void when I’d been knocked out and most certainly would have felt my energy shift while I’d been in the club that afternoon. I dialed, and spent a full twenty minutes assuring her I was fine, and promised to check in more often.

“It’s good to have someone to worry about you.” Pyper handed me a mug of chai.

I nodded. “Thanks.” Emotionally exhausted, I leaned back and closed my eyes.

Promptly at nine o’clock, Pyper’s cell phone rang. She answered and a moment later tucked her feet under her. “Ian wants just you for now. Then we’ll switch.”

“Here goes nothing.” I got to my feet, waved and took off down the two flights of stairs. My heart pounded. I wanted nothing else but to go back up to Pyper’s apartment and just hang with her.

Ian waited for me at the back door of Wicked. We wasted no time saying our protection spell and repeating the procedure we’d followed the week before in my apartment.

For the last hour I’d been having an internal debate, trying to decide if I wanted to open myself up and use my gift this time. On one hand it would give me insight, but on the other I might pass out again. And I was really tired of being treated like an invalid.

As Ian followed me around the room, making appreciative noises at whatever results he received, I couldn’t stop my curiosity. I had to know. Letting my guards down, I took in the lingering emotions. They were stale, and I was reminded of the smell of warm beer left out overnight after a party. Dingy lust, mixed with tired anticipation, swarmed in my head then suddenly was chased away by disgust and hatred.

I froze and scanned the room.

“Did you see something?” Ian’s voice and energy lit with excitement.

I shook my head, still trying to hone in on the direction of the intrusion. There wasn’t a clear path, just a whirlwind of toxic emotions.

“Say something,” Ian whispered.

“Why are you here?” I asked in a clear voice. The disgust gripped my senses until all I could see was a red haze. I gasped as I fought it. “Let go! You do not have permission to invade my aura.” The red cleared, and the toxic waste gripping me vanished. A pure white energy, something close to joy, filled my being. “Thank you.”

“Who are you thanking?” Ian asked, stepping up next to me.

“I don’t know. The goddess, maybe. Did you get what you needed?”

“More than enough. I can’t wait to analyze this.” Ian bounced like a little boy on a sugar high. He steadied himself and examined me. “What just happened there?’

I shrugged. I didn’t want to share my ability with Ian. Unfortunately I was too tired to come up with a great explanation. “Can we talk about it later, after you do your analysis?”

His face fell, but he recovered quickly. “Sure. It’s probably better to talk about it after the scientific stuff is laid out anyway.”

I turned to go. “I’ll send Pyper down when I get back upstairs.”

“I guess we’ll have to reschedule our date?” Ian said with a question.

Oops. I’d forgotten all about it. “Sure.” I smiled. “I’m also still waiting to hear what you found out during the first investigation.”

“Oh, right! I have a bunch of charts and stuff for you, but basically it boils down to some spiked EMF readings, indicating there was something there, but nothing definitive. I think we can safely say something is causing havoc. We just don’t have solid proof. Yet.”

I pursed my lips. “All right, but you know I don’t care about proof. I just want it to leave us alone.”

Ian’s smile soured. “Of course. I’m working on it.”

“I know.” I grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Thanks. I really do appreciate everything.”

He pulled me toward him and kissed my cheek. “You’re welcome. Any time. I’ll call you about dinner.”

I nodded and, trying not to read too much into his kiss, went to get Pyper. Halfway up the stairs, I spotted her coming toward me.

“Ian called already,” she said.

“Okay. Is the door open? I need to get my stuff.”

“Yeah, Kane’s up there.” She winked. “Go easy on him. He isn’t used to anyone but me putting him in his place.”

I laughed.

“See ya.” She squeezed past me and disappeared at the bottom of the stairwell.

A moment later I let myself into her apartment. “Kane?”

“In here.” His voiced carried from his room.

I stopped in the doorway, watching him make the bed. Now that my irritation had worn off, I felt bad I’d snapped at him. Even though he’d kind of deserved it. I really didn’t like to be told what to do. Still, he’d only been being protective. “Sorry I lost it on you earlier. It’s been a rough few days.”

He turned, eyeing me. “It’s all right. I admire women with spunk.”

“I can see that.”

His lips quirked. “Oh? Who have you noticed me admiring?”

“Just Pyper. You two are obviously close, and she has more spunk than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t know. Charlie might give her a run for her money. That girl can run a bar, keep the dancers in check and throw trouble-making losers out on their asses. Between the two of them I don’t know why they need me.”

For the eye candy. I hid a smile. “If Pyper is the club manager and Charlie runs the bar and helps her out, what exactly do you do?”

“I’m supposed to be taking over for Pyper so she can devote her full attention to the café, but my other work keeps me too busy. I should just promote Charlie and leave it all in her capable hands.” He sat down on the bed and kicked off his shoes.

I leaned against the doorframe, enjoying talking with him. “Your other job?”

“Yeah, I’m a financial advisor. Independent contractor, so I set my own hours.”

“That’s interesting. I didn’t know that.” Well, well, well. Mr. Strip Club Owner had a respectable job. Not that it mattered. Hadn’t I already decided I didn’t care what he did for a living while defending him to Kat? Or had I? I still couldn’t see myself dating someone who worked in the sex trade.

Fantasizing about? Appreciating? Drooling over? Yes. But not dating.

The thought brought me back to reality, and I grabbed my bag off the dresser. “I should go. Thanks again for looking after me.”

His eyes met mine. “Any time, Jade. Any time.”

Chapter 7

I scowled at the line snaking its way out the front door of The Grind. What the hell? Usually the place was empty at eight o’clock on a Sunday morning. Since I wasn’t scheduled to work and craved a chai, I dragged my feet to the back of the line and waited.

Five minutes later the line had barely moved. I craned my neck to see what was going on inside. A mass of bodies blocked my view. I started to move past the crowd when a petite blonde grabbed my arm. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

Her irritation did nothing to help my already grumpy mood. I stared pointedly at her hand. “Let go.”

“I’m not going to let you cut in line. We were here first.”

A slightly darker blonde clone stood next to her, nodding in agreement.

“You have about two seconds to let go before I make you do it.”

At that moment someone else grabbed my opposite shoulder. I whirled, ripping my arm out of the blonde chick’s grip, and came face to face with Kane.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

The blonde started babbling about line jumping while my irritation rose to startling levels. How dare he interfere? Through my angry haze I didn’t hear what Kane said, but the blonde backed off and reclaimed her place in line.

“Let go,” I said.

He released his grip. “Sorry, I just meant to guide you away from the crazy.”

“I can take care of myself,” I snapped.

The confusion in his eyes made me instantly regret my tone. “Sorry.”

Damn, why did I have to be so cranky? The sex dreams had to stop. Every morning I woke frustrated, and hanging out with Kane didn’t help. I was pretty sure he was the reason I was having them in the first place.

“Rough morning?” he asked.

“Something like that.”

“A chai might help.”

I stared, impressed he remembered my drink of choice. He didn’t miss anything. “I can’t—out of time to wait any longer. I have to get to the glass studio. I have a class starting today.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll have it done before you know it.” He guided me into the café, ignoring my protests.

“Thank God,” Pyper said when she spotted us. “We’ve had one tour group after another this morning. Jade, I thought you had class this morning.”

“She does,” Kane said as he joined her behind the counter. “She needs a chai before she goes.”

Pyper immediately started fixing my drink.

I protested, but neither of them paid any attention and wouldn’t let me pay. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

Pyper smiled. “There have to be some perks to this thankless job.”

As I left I sent the blonde clones a sickly sweet smile and toasted them with my cup. It was a petty thing to do, but for some reason I couldn’t shake my mood, even after Pyper and Kane had been so kind. I quickened my step, hoping to walk off some tension. Otherwise, teaching would be a disaster.

I cleared my mind and imagined holding a glass rod in my hands. Melting glass was my passion. The first time I’d lit a torch and introduced the glass into the flame, everything else in my life ceased to exist. I focused on that feeling, letting everything else go. My shoulders relaxed as the tension eased.

For years, making beads had been my sanctuary. I didn’t know if it was the concentration required when working with molten glass or the mesmerizing flame, but when focused on a piece, I didn’t feel anyone’s emotions. No one’s but mine. It was a gift I cherished.

I arrived a half hour early and went to work prepping torch stations. The eight-week beginner’s course was designed to teach students how to set up a studio, understand the properties of working with glass and master the art of round beads. How advanced we got in technique all depended on how fast the class progressed.

At eight-forty the bell indicating a visitor rang. Pulling the door open, I said, “You’re a little bit early, but…”

The older woman from The Herbal Connection stood in front of me, casually dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved cotton shirt. If it hadn’t been for her light energy invading my senses, I wouldn’t have recognized her.

“I’m sorry, dear. I hope I’m not an imposition.” She wore a pleasant smile.

“Oh no! I’m sorry. Come in. I was just surprised. It’s Bea, right?”

She nodded, peering thoughtfully at me like she had the first time we’d met. “I was hoping I’d run into you again.”

I wasn’t. Had she known I was the teacher here? I bit back the frown threatening my lips and smiled. “Would you like some coffee while you wait?” I gestured toward the snack counter. “I only have decaf. I stopped serving the caffeinated kind after students got too jittery. Shaking hands and hot glass are never a good mix.”

Her arm brushed mine as she moved toward the coffee carafe. She paused. “No need to be nervous. I don’t bite.”

Had she read me, or was my mental state just that obvious? I busied myself, arranging work stations until the bell rang again. I practically ran to let the other students in.

The first hour of the class I spent lecturing on proper safety procedures involving the torches, propane lines and eyewear. After answering all their questions on setting up a home studio, we got started. The group took to the techniques faster than any of my other classes. By the third hour I found myself relaxed and thoroughly enjoying myself. Bea turned out to be the star of the class, mastering the lessons first.

“Done!” she exclaimed, proudly holding up her bead.

I carefully took the cool end of the metal mandrel she’d wound her bead on and admired it. “Wow, you did an excellent job. Perfectly round, with even dots spiraling around it. Okay, someone open the kiln so we can get this beauty in there.”

A young woman, just barely eighteen, jumped up and held the metal door open for me. I slid the mandrel in, beaming at Bea. “Okay, make another one. Then you’ll have a pair.”

Bea settled back into her chair, intent on her task. I scanned the rest of the class and found they too were almost finished and doing quite well. I wondered if Bea’s energy had anything to do with it. Pure white essence mixed with a calmness and joy radiated from her, circling everyone in the room, including myself. It’s typical for people’s moods to affect each other, both good and bad. I’m in a unique position to witness it firsthand. Despite my impulse to stay away from Bea, I found myself undeniably drawn to her.

“Bea! Look, I did it!” Sandy, the eighteen-year-old, exclaimed. She held her mandrel up. “It’s not as nice as yours, but at least it’s round.”

“It’s beautiful, Sandy,” Bea said from the station next to her. She rolled her chair back and held the kiln door open. “Put it in next to mine, and then get another one made. Next week, Jade will show us how to make earrings.”

Sandy grinned and did as instructed.

I nodded an acknowledgement at Bea, thankful for her help, as I instructed another student on adding molten glass to her bead.

Before long I stood in front of the work stations, calling the class to order. “Excellent first day!” Pride radiated off them. “Next week when you come in, I’ll have the very first beads you ever made. Don’t worry about how they look.” Though I already knew they were much better than any of my other students. “Whatever they look like, we’re going to turn them into a piece of jewelry just for you. Think about how cool it will be to tell anyone who asks where you got that fantastic jewelry—you can say, ‘I made them, even the beads.’”

A cheer went up, and the class dispersed.

“Thanks for your help,” I said to Bea.

“Me? I didn’t do anything.” Her smile gave her away.

“Right. Okay, but thanks all the same.”

“You’re welcome. Since you seem to think I did you a favor, I’m wondering if you can do something for me in return?”

I waited.

“Come have tea with me sometime after class when you’re free. There’s something I’d like to show you.” Her face gave off nothing, and suddenly her energy vanished.

“Mysterious.” I gazed at her. Very unusual. Bea hid her emotions from me as if by will, but all day I noticed her energy putting the students at ease. It could be a dangerous combination if she really did have control over what she was doing, and I was certain she did. However, I hadn’t felt anything but pure white light from her, a sign of goodness. I had to admit, I was intrigued. So what if she was a practicing witch? It wasn’t as if she had asked me to join a coven. And if she did, I’d walk away.

Besides, she seemed too pure to be a witch. I didn’t have a clue what she was. “All right.”

Her white light brightened with my agreement. “Wonderful! I can’t wait.” She waved goodbye as she headed toward the door.

I sat down, exhausted and contemplated heading home to take a nap. The idea sent my heart racing. Ian hadn’t shown up with the protection wards yet, and I really didn’t want to face the possibility of more ghost sightings. I hadn’t seen or felt anything the night before, but I’d slept like the dead (if the dead dreamed of hot guys, that is). A whole room of ghosts could have been loitering and I wouldn’t have noticed.

Sliding my protective glasses on, I picked up a flint striker and lit my torch. The familiar orange flame calmed my pulse as I picked up a rod of glass and introduced it to the heat. My attention focused as the glass formed a soft, molten ball. Soon all other thoughts left my head as I pulled thin strands of glass to use later as decoration. With my work station full of prep, I grabbed a steel mandrel and started creating a complicated focal bead.

Hours later, after packing my kiln full of beads, I organized my work station and cleaned up glass scraps until the work surface shined. A true testament to how much I didn’t want to go home. Organization was not my middle name. With a sigh, I turned out the lights and headed home.

Walking past the line formed in front of Wicked, I waved to one of the dancers standing out front and entered the side door. With nervous energy making me nauseous, I forced myself up the three flights of stairs. Please let the ghost be taking the night off.

As I slid my key into the lock, a note taped to the door caught my attention.

Jade, if you need to, for any reason, come on down to Pyper’s apartment. I’ll be there. Kane.

A silly grin broke out on my face. For any reason? I’d keep that in mind. Feeling a weight lifted, I entered my apartment and flipped the lights on. I peered around the room. Everything looked calm. Still hesitant, I stepped inside, let my guard down and tapped into the emotional energy. Nothing unusual. To be sure, I circled my apartment three times. Faint waves of familiar comfort washed over me, and I knew nothing lingered except traces of my own essence. I sighed in relief and got ready for bed.

Not long after I pulled the covers back and snuggled in, the dreaming started.

My eyes flickered at a movement and I sat up, startled. Across the room a man leaned against the window frame, unbuttoning his shirt as his pale blue eyes searched mine.

Automatically I covered my bare chest, feeling exposed and aroused at the same time. His familiar energy engulfed me, and my breath caught. Finally, I could put a face to my dream lover.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he ran a hand through his tousled, sandy brown hair and moved toward me. He reached out, soothing the side of my face.

Tingling with the caress, I clasped my hand over his and leaned back.

“Join me,” I urged.

Watching as he stepped out of his jeans, I inhaled sharply at the sight of his well-defined thighs. His thumbs reached the elastic of his boxers, slowly sliding them over the concave of his hips. My eyes fixated on his silhouette as he stood there completely exposed, adoration streaming off him.

His obvious love filled me with a heartbreaking tenderness as his eyes roamed slowly down my body and back up again. The action reminded me of someone carefully memorizing every detail. With a slow, seductive smile, he lowered himself and caressed my hair, fanning it out behind me on the pillow. I reveled in the silky smooth sensation, losing myself. When his hand finally stopped he leaned in close, his warm mouth hovering over my own. Too impatient to wait longer, my hand shot out, pulling his head down the last few inches and tasted the sweet warmth beneath his lips.

A small sigh turned into a gasp as he jerked back, his surprise and anger filling my senses. Intense jealousy blocked his emotions, startling me. My senses followed the stream, and I found Kane, his fists raised, standing just behind my lover. Realization dawned. Kane had pulled the man off me.

With my heart pounding, my eyes flew open. Moonlight spilled through the darkness of my empty apartment.

The next day, Ian arrived with dried herbs. He mounted them near my front door and balcony window then took off to do the same for the club. He’d said his aunt had put them together and invoked them to ward off evil. I hoped Auntie knew what she was doing. Not just anyone could invoke a charm.

After two ghost-free days I decided the ghost repellent was working and took an afternoon off from the glass studio to work on my Etsy website. It had been too long since I’d updated it. I set my laptop up on the balcony and settled in for some serious photo editing. After a few dozen or so pictures my mind started to wander.

A small smile played at my lips as I recalled the X-rated dreams I’d continued to have. They started out exactly the same, with the sandy-haired, blue eyed man I now referred to as Mr. Sexy appearing at my bedside. His light-as-a-feather touch sent my senses into overload, simultaneously relaxing me and sending electric shock waves through my veins. But each time as Mr. Sexy leaned in, intent on replacing his fingers with his lips, Kane appeared.

In that instant, Mr. Sexy evaporated and Kane replaced him. His roving hands and eager lips set off my already primed body with a passion so fierce and memorable, all of my past real-life experiences paled in comparison. Though, to be honest, I didn’t have a lot to compare it to. Dan happened to be one of only two people who had actual carnal knowledge of my body.

Heat rose to my face as I recalled the intimate details of my dream. Who knew my subconscious could be so imaginative? And with two men. Too distracted to work, I hauled my laptop inside and went to the kitchen, searching for a bottle of wine. I knew I’d brought a few bottles with me from Kat’s house. I’d emptied one, but where had I put the other? Ah, yes, in the suitcase I hadn’t yet emptied. Leaving it close to the closet was good enough, right?

Inside, I found an unopened cream envelope. I picked it up, reached for the wine bottle sitting in the middle of the bag and headed back to my kitchen.

After uncorking the bottle, I poured a glass and sat on my couch, fingering the neat scrawl of my name in Kat’s handwriting. I took a sip of the rich cabernet and pulled the card out. Two women huddled close on the front, with a single word at the top. Girlfriends.

A gift-card-sized envelope fell out as I opened it. Kat’s handwritten note read:

Jade,

I know things have been difficult with the “situation,” but I want you to know you’re my best friend, and no man will ever change that. I love you, Kat.

P.S. Put the label on your bathroom door. Every girl needs privacy.

Searching the envelope, I found the black and white label. No Ghosts Allowed.

I laughed, remembering our ghost speculation the night before I’d moved out. Kane had said it was haunted, but none of us had taken him seriously.

The thought wiped the grin from my face. I ripped the gift card open and found a generous gift certificate to a local home furnishing store. Tears sprang to my eyes. I’d let my feelings about Dan get in the way of our friendship. I hadn’t heard from or spoken to her since we’d argued that day in the cafe. While I wasn’t mad anymore, I was disappointed. In her quest to remain Switzerland between Dan and me, she’d all but shut me out.

I reread her card, letting the words sink in and then grabbed the phone. Her voicemail picked up on the third ring.

“Kat, I just found your card and am calling to say thank you. I’m sorry about our fight. It’s not fair to put you in the middle of me and Dan’s B.S. Call me so we can make plans to spend this ASAP. I love you, too.” Setting the phone down, I wiped the fresh tears from my eyes and headed back for my wine. On the way I picked up the No Ghosts Allowed label. Snickering, I placed it in the middle of my bathroom door.

“Do you see that, ghost? You are not allowed in the bathroom. Some things are private.” I retreated back to the couch, and an image near the window made me spin. I gasped. A vague, shadowy, outline grew stronger until a man, a man I recognized stood near my window. Mr. Sexy.

Oh. My. God. My dreams were haunted by a ghost. I stood paralyzed, transfixed, waiting. Our eyes met and Mr. Sexy’s lips quirked up. Then he dissipated.

I ran to the phone and dialed, still staring at the place he’d vanished from.

“He’s back,” I said into the receiver.

“The ghost?” Ian’s voice climbed an octave higher.

“Yes. I just saw him.” Draining my glass, I wondered what I should say. I’d been having dream-sex with my ghost? I reached for the wine bottle.

“What did he do?”

“Nothing. He just appeared, then left.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I think so. Just a little freaked out.” I sat down, afraid I might fall.

“Understandable, but he sounds harmless enough. That kind of apparition is pretty tame. What happened right before he appeared?”

“Uh, I spoke to him. Told him to stay out of the bathroom. You know, privacy.”

Ian chuckled. “That’s what you get for talking to him. If I were a ghost, I’d follow you in there too.”

“Perv.” I cleared my throat. “You really think there isn’t anything to worry about?”

“Probably not. He likely appeared because you spoke to him. As long as nothing sinister is happening and you don’t feel threatened, it should be fine.”

Threatened? Not exactly. More like invaded. “Okay, but will you be around later if I need you?”

“Sure. Do you want me to come over?”

I mulled it over for a minute. I really did want to relax and work on my online store, but at the same time I knew any hope of concentrating was shot now. “Do you want to come watch a movie?”

“Sure. Give me about forty-five minutes, and I’ll be over. Want me to bring a DVD?”

“Yes, surprise me.” I didn’t really care what we watched. I just didn’t want to be alone. “And if you have any more ghost repellent, bring it too.”

“Will do.”

I sat rigid on the couch. A ghost invaded my dreams. How was that possible? I’d seen an outline of him before in my apartment, but not a detailed one. It couldn’t just be my subconscious. I’d never seen him before.

Shaking my head, I recalled the very real emotions of Mr. Sexy. Every day I let my guard down in the apartment and didn’t feel his intense emotions while awake. Only while dreaming. I shivered. If he did visit me in my dreams, did he stick around to witness my intense and very private scenes with Kane? I didn’t think so. In those scenes the only emotions I remembered were Kane’s, which felt just as real.

Lowering my head to my hands, I rubbed my temples. Kane certainly wasn’t a ghost, and I dreamt of his emotions too. Dreaming while reading emotions was something I’d never experienced before. I’d just thought it was a new dimension in my dream world. Now I didn’t know what to think. I guessed it was possible Mr. Sexy visited me in my dreams, and then my subconscious took over, pushing him out and replacing him with Kane—the one I actually wanted to be with.

Should I tell Ian about the dream visits? What would I say—that I spent my nights getting intimate with my ghost until Kane showed up and things got even more imaginative? God, no! I could barely even think about my dreams without heat burning my cheeks. They were like nothing I’d ever experienced before and way more intimate than anything I’d ever shared with anyone, including my two ex-boyfriends.

Maybe I could just tell him Mr. Sexy appeared in my dreams and leave Kane out of it altogether. I sighed heavily. I didn’t want to talk about any of it, but if I wanted help, I’d have to.

The alarm buzzed at four-thirty a.m., and the springs creaked as Ian rolled over. I slid out of bed, eyeing the coffee maker. I bypassed it and tiptoed my way to the bathroom. I could get coffee at the café, but I just didn’t function well until I’d had my first cup.

After showering, I spent ten minutes applying a bit of makeup and arranging my wet hair into a bun. When I emerged I found Ian upright, his hair tousled, sipping fresh coffee.

“Oh, you are a god!” I squealed and pivoted to pour my own cup of glorious java.

“Not the response I anticipated, but I’ll take it.” He smiled.

I grinned and took in his very cute bed-head look. “Sorry I had to wake you so early.”

“No problem. I need to head home and get ready for work anyway.” He fished around, searching for his shoes.

“They’re over here.” I pointed to the end of the bed. “Did you sleep okay?”

He slipped his feet in the unlaced Vans. “Yep, like a baby. You?”

“Best night’s sleep since I moved in.” I hadn’t dreamt of Mr. Sexy or Kane, to my immense relief. I’d die of embarrassment if Ian heard me call out in my sleep for another man—if I did, in fact, call out in my sleep. Judging by the intensity the dreams held, I wouldn’t be surprised.

“Good, glad I could help.” He picked up the movie we never got around to watching. We’d been too busy discussing my ghost and—once I’d gotten over my intense embarrassment—the dreams. He’d been amused and highly curious about the new turn of events. He’d heard of dream haunting before, but not any of the sexual nature. He promised to check into it further.

“Maybe next time.”

“Yeah, next time,” he agreed.

“If you’re ready I’ll walk you down. Maybe grab you a muffin from the café?”

“Sure.” He followed me to the door.

I stopped just before opening it. “Thanks, Ian. I had a good time.”

“My pleasure.”

I leaned in and kissed his cheek. He winked and followed me down the stairs.

“Hey, I forgot to ask, did you finish with the results of the reading you did the other night?”

“I was going to finish up last night, but I got distracted.” He grinned. “Tell you what, I can get them done today and bring you a copy tomorrow. Maybe we can finally get that dinner date in?”

“That’d be great.” I smiled up at him.

“But in the meantime, you can do some research. Look for past residents of the building. See if you can find information about anyone who died here. Especially if it wasn’t a natural death. A suicide, accident, murder…that kind of thing.”

“Why?” I stopped on the bottom stair.

“If we find out who it is, we might have a better idea what he’s doing here and how best to get rid of him.”

Suddenly, I felt unsettled at the thought of my ghost’s possible gruesome death. I didn’t notice Kane until his irritation filled my energy field. I stiffened and turned around. “Kane?” I stood to one side, watching him.

“Jade, Ian.” His eyes narrowed at Ian, taking in his appearance. Jealousy swarmed around us, and I had to hide a smile.

“You’re up early,” I said.

“Up late.” Kane locked the door to the club. Turning to Ian, he said, “You seem to have had a late night as well.”

Ian shrugged.

Kane’s face stayed neutral, but his emotions spiraled out of control. Anger, jealousy and maybe even a little pain swirled together.

The pain made me pause. I put a hand on his arm. “Everything okay?” The touch sent a shiver through my entire body, and I felt him flinch slightly.

“Fine, just tired. I’m headed up to bed. See you later.” He turned without another word and took the other set of stairs leading to Pyper’s apartment.

“What was that about?” Ian asked.

“No idea. Come on, let’s get you that muffin.”

We arrived at the café just as Pyper turned the lights on.

“Good morning,” I sang.

“Morning to you, too. New employee?” She gestured to Ian.

Ian laughed. “No, not today, anyway. I was promised a muffin.”

“In that case, take your pick.” She waved him to the trays on a rolling rack.

Ian grabbed a double chocolate and pulled out some dollar bills.

“No, no. I got it covered. Thanks again, Ian. I really appreciate everything.” I leaned in giving him a big hug. “I’ll call you later.”

He bent down and kissed my cheek. “You better.” He waved to Pyper and left out the back door.

“Oh my God!” Pyper exclaimed.

“What?”

“The schoolboy had a sleepover? Kane is going to freak.” Mischief danced in her eyes.

“What? Why will Kane freak?” I asked, clocking in.

“Because, silly, he’s the one who wants the sleepovers.”

“Since when?” It’s not like he’d asked me out or anything.

“Since the day he set eyes on you. How was it?” Curiosity and anticipation dominated Pyper’s energy.

“How was what?”

“’How was what?’” she parroted. “Your night with Ian. Come on, dish!”

“We didn’t have a sleepover in that way. My ghost paid me a brief visit yesterday, and I called Ian about it. He ended up coming over and stayed so I didn’t freak out. We just talked and slept. It was all rather boring actually.”

Her face fell. “The ghost?”

“Don’t worry, nothing happened. Just a minor apparition.”

“That is rather boring. At least Kane won’t have to worry.”

I laughed. “Well…he did see Ian leaving with me this morning.”

Pyper joined in my laughter. “Oh yeah, this is gonna get interesting.”

Chapter 8

At nine o’clock I grabbed a muffin and headed to the back for a short break. Just as I took my first bite, the back door squeaked.

Kane walked in, with a calm almost Zen-like energy.

“Good morning again. I thought you’d still be sleeping,” I said.

He shrugged.

“You’re not stoned, are you?” I asked before I could stop myself.

His expression implied I’d lost my mind. “Of course not. Let’s see what you look like after three hours of sleep.”

I gazed at him, taking in his dark, wavy, fresh-from-the shower hair. He looked as if he’d just had a full night’s worth of sleep. “You look great. I was referring to your mood.”

Pleasure and a heavy dose of desire flowed from him as his lips turned up in a half grin. “Great, huh?”

I nodded. With full knowledge of his attraction to me, my bravado came out in full force. “Every woman’s dream.”

He paused, studying me. “Even yours?”

“Maybe.” I met his eyes. His energy remained steady, like a cool stream.

He moved closer, stopping just in front of me. “Who else do you dream about, Jade?”

My breath caught as my pulse sped up. I was outclassed and not experienced enough for this game. But that didn’t stop me. Smiling, I raised an eyebrow. “Unfair question, Kane.”

“Maybe, but you’re the star of my dreams these days. I’m just wondering if Ian has a role in yours, or is he a distraction?”

His mocha eyes transfixed mine. The breath left my lungs as I sat motionless, mesmerized.

“The star?” I asked when my breathing resumed. “Who are the supporting characters?”

“Unfair question.”

“Then you don’t need to know who else has roles in mine.” I smirked.

He narrowed his eyes, and a predatory grin broke out on his face. He leaned in close to mine and whispered, “I’ll find out.” Before I could respond he retreated out the back door.

“Wow.”

I slowed my steps as I entered the club, unsure if I wanted to see Kane or not. Okay, I wanted to see him. Who wouldn’t? But after the morning’s interlude I didn’t know what to say. I took a deep breath and knocked.

A muffled, “Come in,” answered.

I made my way inside.

“Jade, what can I do for you today?” Charlie asked from behind the desk as I flopped into a folding chair across from her.

“I was looking for Pyper.” Or Kane, but my stomach got jittery just thinking his name. “Have you seen her?”

She shook her head. “No, I think she actually went to get some sleep.”

“Really? I didn’t think she ever slept.” I fiddled with the notebook in my lap. “I’m glad to hear it. I was hoping to research some documents, but since she isn’t here I guess I’ll come back.” I stood up, but Charlie held her hand up in a stop motion.

“Hold on. I have access to records. What do you need?”

“Would it be all right if I take a look at who might have rented my apartment in the past? Do they have those records?” I filled her in on Ian’s suggestion to try to identify the ghost.

“It’s like a mystery.” Charlie got up and headed to the door. “Come on, the files are in the storage room.”

I followed her into the hallway. She stopped outside the room where I’d gotten my used furniture and fumbled with a ring of keys.

“There are files in here as well?” I didn’t remember seeing any.

Charlie nodded. “There are now. They used to live in one of Pyper’s closets until you took some of that old furniture.”

We walked in, turned the light on, and found a mound of bankers’ file boxes stacked next to the door, barricading us from the rest of the room.

“I guess she was in a hurry,” I said and coughed from the disturbed dust. “Thanks Charlie, I can take it from here.”

She sat in an old thread-worn chair and grabbed the box closest to her. “I can help.” Opening it up, she pulled a stack of papers out.

“You don’t have other work you need to do?” I didn’t want to get her into trouble.

She shrugged. “Sure, but helping you is a lot more entertaining, and I can hear the phone from here if anyone calls.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said, pleased to have some company. I couldn’t get around the large pile of boxes to dig out another chair, so I flopped my butt down right on the floor. Charlie smirked. I shrugged as if to say oh well and pulled the nearest box to me. As I searched through the piles I said, “I didn’t know you worked in the office. Did you get promoted?”

“No. I just help out Pyper sometimes. She does way too much, as I’m sure you know. I don’t mind, and I get along with the girls. Or most of them, anyway,” she said sheepishly.

I raised my eyebrows.

“A few are exes.” She chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Never date a coworker.”

“Okay, I won’t date you.” I smiled innocently.

“Damn.”

“It’s your rule.”

“I’m willing to break it.” Charlie leaned in and leered before chuckling.

“I’ll keep it in mind.” I giggled. The girls around here could do worse than Charlie. Glancing at the paper in my hand, I asked, “Do you have any others that date back a little farther? These are all from this year.”

Charlie shook her head. “I don’t know if Kane will have those records.”

“Really?” I said, surprised. “It looks like he keeps everything.” I waved to the mountain of boxes in front of us.

“He does. This is all from this year alone.”

“Where are the rest?”

Charlie glanced up, dusting her hands off. “These are it. Didn’t you know? Kane just bought this place last year.”

I stopped scanning the papers and gave her my full attention. “No. For some reason I just assumed he and Pyper have had this place for a while now. Have you been here longer than that?”

“Wow, Jade, you really don’t know the scoop, do you?”

I shook my head. “Apparently not.”

“Did you know Pyper’s been managing this place for about five years?”

I nodded.

“Pyper is very dedicated to the girls, and last year the owner started demanding some new services, if you know what I mean.”

I didn’t know, but I could take a guess. So I nodded again, getting really curious.

“As you can imagine, Pyper didn’t take kindly to that suggestion, so she basically told him to shove it. He didn’t like that too much and one night, the two of them got into it. Pyper was giving him a piece of her mind. Roy, the former owner, got a little physical. Kane was here and laid the guy out flat.”

“Really?” My mind flashed back to the night Kane removed Dan from the club. Enjoying the mental image, I smiled to myself.

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Charlie gave me a rueful smile.

I giggled nervously and felt my face flush. “What happened after Kane knocked the guy out?”

“Roy had Kane banned from the premises and threatened to press charges. He went to the police and everything. Pyper was a mess, threatening Roy daily. Can’t you just see her, that tiny body standing in the office doorway, telling Big Old Roy how she was going to remove his balls with her bare hands? He would stand there, six feet, two inches tall, always with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. She shot daggers at him with her eyes, and he’d growl at her. But she never backed down. We use to joke that if Roy went missing, Pyper would be the prime suspect.” Her grin widened. “We used to pray for it, actually.”

“Why didn’t she just leave?” I couldn’t imagine staying in such a toxic environment.

She shrugged. “He was determined to turn this place into a whorehouse. Pyper was determined to protect the girls.”

I stared up at her, blinked, and asked the question I was dying to know. “This place has never been more than what it seems on the surface?”

Charlie tilted her head. “It depends on what you mean by ‘what it seems.’”

I shrugged. “Just a strip bar.”

She smiled a wide devilish grin. “You have no idea what goes on in a regular strip bar, do you?”

The heat burned my neck. I shifted my eyes away toward the back of the storage room. “No, not exactly. But I can imagine,” I said as she hooted with laughter.

“God, you are something else. How did you ever end up working here?”

Unashamed, I said, “Pyper asked me to.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Me too.”

My eyes widened. “You didn’t, I mean, uh, you don’t work here for the benefits…?” Shit. I’d probably just offended her. Convinced my head would burst into flames from embarrassment, I stared at the file in my hand.

There was silence for a few beats. When I glanced in Charlie’s direction she threw her head back and laughed until the tears streamed down her face. Gasping for breath, she said, “Christ.”

I raised my head and let out the breath I’d been holding. “I’m glad you find me so humorous.”

Finally pulling herself together, Charlie wiped her eyes with a tissue I handed her from my purse. Still smiling, she reached out and grabbed my hand. “I’m so glad Pyper found you.” Her touch was light and friendly. “And no, I didn’t take the job for the benefits,” she dragged out the word “benefits” for emphasis. “But it’s a nice perk.” A cat-like grin took over her face as her pale green eyes sparkled.

I sent her a tentative smile and squeezed her hand before letting go. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I can be a little bit blunt.”

“A little bit? That’s an understatement if I ever heard one. Don’t worry,” she added, seeing my frown. “When you spend your whole life surrounded by women, a little directness is a great thing.”

“Uh, thanks.” We fell silent as we shuffled through the piles in front of us. Then I remembered. “You were telling me how Kane came to own this place?”

“That’s right, you distracted me.” She set the papers in her hand to one side. “But I have got to get something to drink first. You want anything?”

Nodding, I gave her my standard chai tea order and grabbed the next box as she strode out the door. I spent ten minutes going through more employee files. I knew everyone in the stack except the last one. It read: Charlene Keller; Lead Server.

“Huh, I wonder who that is. Charlene, Charlene.” I pictured all four cocktail servers standing up against the bar. My mind locked in on Charlie leaning against the back counter, giving them instructions, and I started to laugh. Feeling slightly dense but amused, I put the file aside and spotted one more box a few feet away.

I stood, dusted off my rear and sat in Charlie’s chair. Out of nowhere, agitation coursed through my veins. Where was this coming from? Gritting my teeth, I tried fruitlessly to build my defenses back up. The poison completely took over, burning a trail as it filled my soul with gut-wrenching hate. I doubled over and slid out of the chair. As I lay on the floor shaking, the venomous emotions began to fade.

Mentally bruised, I forced myself to my feet, glanced at the last remaining box, and ran. The storage door slammed behind me. I propped myself against the hallway wall and took deep calming breaths to collect myself. Whoa. That was creepy. I’d never come across a piece of furniture as emotionally charged as that one. It made me want to sage smudge myself. With a shudder, I headed to the café in search of some more uplifting emotional energy.

Charlie was standing at the counter talking to Pyper when I entered The Grind. Charlie handed me my chai and after a long sip, I let out a loud, “Ahh.”

“Oops. I must have been longer than I thought,” Charlie said.

“No, not that long. I just needed a break.” I turned to Pyper. “How about you? I could help out here if you need me to.”

Her smile didn’t reach her dark, tired eyes. “No, you’ve worked enough today. I have it covered.”

“Isn’t Holly here?” I asked, craning my head to look in the back.

“Sure.” Pyper glanced toward the tables in the front. “She’s interviewing someone.”

I spotted her sitting with a pretty brunette.

“College girl?”

Charlie nodded and turned her head toward them. “Fresh potential.” Her term for possible lesbians.

Pyper laughed, and I rolled my eyes.

“Come on, Charlene.” I tugged her arm. “You were helping me with a project, if I recall.”

Pyper snickered as Charlie’s eyes widened in surprise.

“You shouldn’t have left me alone with the files for so long if you didn’t want me to find out your real name,” I said.

“Shit. Don’t ever breathe a word of this.” She fell into step beside me.

I laughed then nodded toward Pyper as we walked back into the club. “I thought she was sleeping.”

“Me too. I told her we’d take care of the café and she should go back up, but she said she couldn’t sleep, so she figured she should be useful.” Charlie raised her hands, palms up. “I don’t know what else to do, but she sure looks like she needs some rest. If I didn’t know better I’d say she was on speed. But that isn’t her style.”

“If I was Pyper, I’d have to take speed to keep up with what she does. I don’t know how she handles it all without having a psychotic episode.”

“Me either.”

“I’m done looking at those files for now,” I told Charlie as I dropped into the folding chair in front of the desk.

“Did you find anything useful?” She picked up the phone.

I shook my head and waited for her to retrieve the messages.

After she hung up I said, “But I still want the scoop. How exactly did Kane end up owning this place?”

“More than just idle curiosity?” She eyed me with her eyebrows raised.

I gave a noncommittal head shake.

“You could do worse.”

“I don’t have anything going with Kane.”

“Not yet,” she said.

When I didn’t respond, she shrugged and told me the story. The police had shown up at Kane’s door with questions. He cooperated, and the DA decided it was frivolous and not worth his time to pursue the charges. Roy filed a civil suit and then promptly told Kane he would be willing to settle out of court and let the whole thing go, as long as the price was right. Considering there were more than a handful of witnesses who saw Kane throw the first punch, a civil suit wasn’t looking so good in Kane’s favor. No one saw Roy threaten and hit Pyper—that happened in the office. It was after Kane saw Pyper and the bruises that he went after him. So Kane offered to settle, apparently for a very generous amount. The only stipulation on Kane’s part was Roy had to sell the place to him as part of the deal.

“Had Kane been trying to buy the place prior to that?” I asked.

Charlie shook her head. “I don’t think so. At the time he was still working for some financial company. He just turned all the reins over to Pyper. It’s the best thing that ever happened around here. She’s a great boss.”

I nodded.

“But then a few months later she opened The Grind. I didn’t know it at the time, but the building next door was part of the deal.”

I’d been focused on the bit of information pertaining to Kane and him not being the strip club lord I had imagined. I felt as if a weight had lifted off my heart, and I smiled.

“What?” Charlie asked

“Nothing. I’m just glad things worked out.”

The imprint of Kane’s kisses lingered on my swollen, tender lips. I stretched, enjoying the ache of well-used muscles. What the hell? Talk about realistic. I must have acted out a majority of the dream in my sleep. My temperature spiked as a few memorable scenes reeled through my brain. Thank goodness I didn’t have a roommate. At least, not a live one.

I scanned the room for any intruding ghosts. All was quiet and apparition-free.

Lying back, I ran my hands the length of my naked body, still tingling with tiny aftershocks from the wicked ways it felt like Kane had touched me. Yep. Definitely the best, most realistic dream ever.

As intense as dreaming of Kane had become, what I found more surprising was how I felt at the beginning of my dreams when I was with Mr. Sexy. I felt safe, loved even. I knew it should have been creepy, considering the ghost factor, but it wasn’t. It was…comforting, until he vanished and Kane took over. Dreams of Kane were anything but comforting. Intense. Hot. Naughty. The mental image of Kane, bare in only his skin, sent new heat to all the right places.

There was only one thing to do. Take another cold shower. The thought had me shivering, and I opted for coffee instead.

As I sipped my java and checked email, my phone rang. No one called me this early. Ever. Not even Gwen when she could somehow tell I was awake. Crap, this could only be bad news.

“Hello,” I said cautiously after recognizing the number to The Grind.

“Thank God. Jade, it’s Pyper. Holly just got sick, and I had to send her home. Is there any way you can come work with me through the lunch shift?”

Bad news, definitely. If I worked today that would be six days in a row at the café.

“Jade? You there?” Pyper asked.

“Yeah.” I sighed. “I’ll be down as soon as I can.”

The morning flew by in a blur, with long lines of caffeine deprived tourists and locals alike. Pyper and I worked straight through the morning, and when she finally told me to take a break I almost kissed her with relief.

With my calves screaming from standing in front of the espresso machine, I made a quick getaway to the back room. Unfortunately, the one office chair was piled high with files and invoices. I groaned and opted to sit on the much-less cluttered countertop. Pyper really needed to hire a professional organizer.

I dug into my daily muffin, washed it down with an iced latte and leaned against the cupboards with my eyes closed. My back ached. I made a mental date with my tub.

The swinging door to the front of the café creaked. “Just a few more minutes, I promise,” I said.

“Take as long as you need,” a deep, husky voice replied.

My eyes flew open, spotting Kane moving toward me. Where had he come from? I jolted up out of my slouch, preparing to leap off the counter, but Kane blocked me, making it impossible. His eyes roamed over my body, as if taking inventory. My stomach fluttered, and I said a silent thanks I was sitting when my knees turned to jelly. Damn.

“Can I help you?” I asked in a stiff, formal voice.

“Sure, any time.” He moved in close.

“Uh, I mean, do you need something? Now?”

“Yes, I do.” He leaned in with his right arm holding his weight on the shelf over my head.

I tried to form the word what, but as his face came closer I lost all rational thought. Wanting to taste him, to feel his lips on mine, I closed the distance between us and was rewarded with the slightest brush of a kiss. Kane’s warm lips lingered on mine while his free hand caressed my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. The kiss swiftly turned heated as our lips parted with urgency. He tasted faintly of mocha and cinnamon. I pressed closer, anxious for more.

My mind stopped working altogether, and I let myself get lost in the delicious intensity of his expert mouth. Unaware of how it happened, my arms and legs somehow wrapped themselves around his waist. He pressed his hips closer, pushing me up against the cupboards.

His excitement became apparent in more than the bulge pressing against my jeans. Intense need, exactly as I dreamt the night before, took over my senses. My blood boiled, and I ached to feel him, all of him. Desperate to regain control, I pulled away.

He took a step back, smiling a devilish grin. “That wasn’t exactly what I meant, but thanks all the same.” He held a sleeve of coffee cups in his right hand. “I stopped in for a second, and Pyper asked me to get these.”

I tilted my head and spotted the inventory of extra cups.

Shit.

Stunned by my recent actions, I sat silent as he gazed at me.

“Kane! What are you doing back there?” Pyper called from out front.

He looked toward the door and then back at me. “We’ll finish this later.”

My breath caught as I started to tremble. That’s what I was afraid of.

“Ouch! Son of a bitch,” I yelped.

“Jade, are you all right?” Casey, the studio manager, called from my door.

“Fine. Just burned my arm. Wasn’t paying attention.” I’d been replaying that kiss in my mind. Again.

Sighing, I tossed the glass piece I’d been working on in a bowl of water and reached for the aloe plant. I hissed as I dabbed it on.

“Careful,” Casey said then went back out front.

I stared at the three mandrels in my water bucket. Resigned, I turned the kiln off. I wasn’t getting anywhere. I’d planned on spending most of the afternoon in the studio working on a few orders. Plus, beadmaking usually was a great distraction. Not today, though. I just couldn’t get Kane, that kiss and the dreams out of my mind.

Giving up, I decided to run errands instead and headed for the market.

An hour later I set the grocery bags on my counter. My pants started to sing, causing me to jump. While shoving perishables in the fridge, I grabbed my phone and immediately dumped a bag of oranges on the floor. “Hello?”

“Hey there, stranger,” a masculine voice said as I scrambled to gather the rolling fruit.

“Ian?”

“Yep. Ready for tonight?”

Cradling the oranges in my shirt, I stood and eyed the calendar pinned to the wall. I hadn’t noted any plans. “Tonight?”

“Dinner? The ghost readings report?” He prompted.

“Of course!” Idiot! How could I forget? Thoughts of Kane, his lips, and that hard body, had rattled my brain.

“Great.” He sounded relieved. “I just called to find out if seven is okay?”

“Sure, sounds good. See you then.”

Chapter 9

After a shower, reapplication of my makeup and a thorough blow dry, I smiled in satisfaction. My strawberry-blond hair had just the right amount of wave, making it appear sophisticated, instead of my usual messy-casual look. It had been a long time since I’d been out on an actual date.

I checked my watch. Still a half hour until Ian arrived. With time to kill, I settled in at my desk and went to work listing new beads in my Etsy store.

I’d gotten two new items uploaded when the knocking started. “Come in; it’s open.” The door creaked. “Is it seven already?”

“No. What happens at seven?”

Startled, I whipped around, knocking my elbow on the edge of my bead tray and sending all my glass creations scattering to the floor. “Damn it!” As they rolled across the hardwood I dropped to my knees, gathering as many as I could before they disappeared under the couch.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” Kane crouched, his face now eye level as he helped me. A faint trace of stubble shadowed his jaw.

I fisted one hand, resisting the sudden urge to caress the roughness. “What are you doing here?” I stood and dumped the beads back in the tray.

“What’s happening at seven?”

“Huh?” An image of our last encounter at The Grind made my brain short-circuit.

“You were expecting someone at seven?” He rose and handed me the last of the runaway beads.

Right. “Ian’s coming with results.” I walked to my fridge, searching for something to do. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Sure. Guinness?” He sat, making himself comfortable. “You weren’t going to call me?”

“Why?” I passed him the beer, grabbed one for myself and took the other end of the sofa.

He glanced at my high-heeled feet then looked at the ceiling. “To meet with Ian.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t realize you wanted in on the meeting.”

“It is my building.”

“Okay, okay. You’re here now. Stick around, and you can get the results. By the way, why are you here?”

“Just being neighborly,” he said with a wry smile.

“Oh?” I wiped my sweaty hand on the old fabric of the arm rest. “Are you my neighbor this evening?”

He nodded, his smile transforming into a grin. “Looks like it.”

My heart sped up as I imagined him shirtless in bed. Last night’s dream flashed in my mind. I swallowed and studied my beer.

“I stay over a few nights a week, when I work late.” His gaze dropped to my lips. Longing and anticipation swirled around me in a dense fog, pulling me toward him as if I’d been lassoed.

My throat went dry. “I know, you told me.”

A light film of sweat broke out on my neck as he licked his lips, leaned in and whispered, “Jade.”

A rapid knock on the door broke my gaze. Jumping up, I took four steps and opened the door. Ian stood leaning against the door jam, holding a pink, long-stemmed rose. He held it out. “Good evening.”

“Uh, hi, Ian. Thanks.” I took the rose and stepped back, revealing my house guest. Biting my lip, I waved him in. “You know Kane.”

Ian nodded. “Hello.”

Eyeing the rose, Kane raised one eyebrow and leaned back on the couch. “Someone let you in the building?”

A good question, since my buzzer didn’t go off.

“I ran into Pyper out front,” Ian said.

“Kane just stopped by,” I explained as I rooted around for a vase. Coming up empty, I poured out my beer and used the bottle instead. I set the rose next to my computer and buried my nose in the blossom, inhaling its sweet aroma. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

He smiled. “You’re welcome.”

Kane stood, staring at me for a long moment. Then he walked to the door. “Sorry, didn’t mean to intrude.” He was gone before I could reply.

“What was that about?” Ian asked.

I shrugged. “No idea.” Other than Kane realizing Ian and I had a date. I suppressed a sigh.

“So,” Ian paused. “Anything new to report about your ghost?”

“No.”

He studied me and raised his brow in question. “No new dreams?”

“More dreams—same content.” I’d already told him they were of the sexual nature. He didn’t need anything else. “The dreams are harmless anyway, so I guess it isn’t too important.” Except it was creepy to think of him invading my dreams, especially since while I was having them, I wasn’t creeped out at all. The whole thing was twisted.

“They might be an important clue as to why he’s here. Would it be too awkward to tell me about them?”

I frowned. How could sex dreams be interpreted in any other way than wanting sex? “Can we get to that later?” I stalled. “I’m dying to know the results you got.”

“Sure.” Ian’s face lit up as he sat down on the floor and spread files all around him.

I laughed. “Very professional.”

He grinned. “Take a look at this.” He handed me a photo of my apartment.

“What am I looking at?” I peered at it, seeing nothing unusual.

“Now look at this one.”

I gasped. “Oh, is that him?” The same scene reflected back at me, only this time I was in the photo with a silver outline of what looked like a person standing next to me.

“I’d say so. Here are the rest.” He handed me a small stack. “Remember I told you all we got were some EMF readings here in your apartment?”

I nodded.

“I’d sent this out to be developed and forgot to pick it up. The digital didn’t capture what the manual camera did, so we thought we didn’t have a shadow image. But now we have the proof. Isn’t that great?”

All of the photos without me in them were imageless, and all of the ones with me had a silvery outline image. “I guess.” I frowned. “Does this mean he follows me around?”

“Maybe.” Ian passed a chart of numbers to me. “From the photos it looks like he might, but we have no way to tell if he leaves the apartment or not. It’s possible he has more energy when you’re around, causing the outline.” That scenario didn’t make me feel any better.

He pulled out a chart. “See here?”

Two columns of numbers were lined up side by side. “Uh-huh.”

“Look at how the numbers don’t seem to change much.”

“Okay.” I had no idea where he was going with this.

“The numbers are a reading from an EMF detector. It reads the electromagnetic field. We use it to pick up paranormal activity. Do you follow?” Ian glanced up.

“I think so. These numbers are telling you there’s paranormal activity?”

“Yes. That’s the theory anyway. These numbers here—” he pointed again, “—are in the range of four to six. That’s the area we look for. These charts are the readings from before you entered the room and after. See how they don’t change a great deal?”

“So they didn’t change a lot, which means he was likely here but stronger when I entered the room?”

“Exactly.” Ian beamed, no doubt pleased I’d caught on.

“That’s better than the alternative. I’m not crazy about being stalked by a ghost.”

Ian shrugged. “It’s possible he does follow you sometimes. These are just the readings we got that day.”

“Not what I wanted to hear. I’m going to assume he stays here in the building.” It’s what I wanted to believe and let’s face it; the scientific readings hardly seemed, well, scientific. “Did you get any interesting readings in the club?”

Ian started bouncing on his heels, going from excited to downright giddy. “Oh, yeah. Look at these.”

More photos. Again, pictures of the empty club, then pictures of my silver shadow and me.

“Now look at these.” He handed me a third stack.

“Wow, that’s weird. Pyper has a shadow too, but hers is a darker gray. Is that a different ghost?”

Ian shrugged. “I’d bet it is the same one.”

“Even though the outline is a different color?”

“Yes, ghosts take their energy from those around them, so he would appear different depending on whose energy he’s feeding from.”

I nodded. Being in the position to feel and sometimes see people’s energy, I perfectly understood his explanation. “Okay, but why would he be following both of us around?”

Ian shook his head. “Good question. Maybe he thinks she’s sexy.”

A sudden bolt of jealousy struck me. I’d come to think of him as my ghost. He invaded my dreams with love and devotion radiating off him each night. So why was he following Pyper around? I knew it sounded crazy, but his emotions were doing a number on me.

Snap out of it, Jade. This is a ghost you’re thinking about. Just a dream lover. A very sexy dream lover.

Kane’s face flashed in my mind, and suddenly I felt like an idiot. Here I was sitting with Ian, my date, and I was jealous of Pyper over a ghost and thinking of Kane.

I put the whole thing out of my mind. “All right, that’s enough ghost talk for now. You ready for dinner?” I asked.

Ian checked his watch. “Yep, our reservation is in twenty minutes.” He got up and held a hand out to me.

“You brought me here because it’s haunted?” I sipped from my wine glass and looked around Muriel’s, the famous restaurant Ian had brought me to.

“You haven’t heard the story?”

“No.” I glanced over my shoulder as if I expected a ghost
to appear.

Ian laughed. “A lot of the restaurants are said to be haunted. It’s unavoidable with the sordid history of New Orleans.”

“I bet,” I said. “Have you done scientific measurements on any of them?”

“I’d love to, but no, I haven’t had the opportunity.” He lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned in. “When I choose a restaurant I always pick one rumored to be haunted, hoping for a sighting.”

A shiver ran up my spine. That was the last thing I wanted after my recent experiences. “Do you ever see any?”

“Nothing definitive, but there have been a few occasions that made me wonder.” Ian’s eyes got big and sparkled with excitement.

“Ever see anything here?” I bit my lip and glanced around again.

“No, but I love coming to check it out. It’s said the guy who built this house lost it in a poker game. Before he turned his home over, he hung himself here. People say he still haunts the place. I’d love to get a glimpse of him.” Ian craned his neck, studying the exposed inner courtyard.

“See anything?”

“No. Not yet.” He twisted around to check behind him toward the front lobby.

I set my almost-empty wine glass down and signaled to the waiter for more. Great. Just what I needed. A ghost-hunting expedition. A small sigh escaped my lips.

When the waiter came back, I had him leave the bottle.

Ian spent the entire meal giving me a verbal ghost tour of the supposed hauntings in the French Quarter. By the time dessert was offered I’d had enough. It was a rare evening when I wasn’t tempted by cheesecake. But I didn’t want to continue watching Ian crane his neck, waiting for something unusual to happen. People were starting to stare.

“Ready to go then?” he asked, signing the check.

“Sure. Where to?”

“Frenchmen Street. Let’s walk.” He held out his hand.

I took it and stifled a groan. I didn’t mind walking, really I didn’t. In fact I liked it, except when I have my sexy date heels on.

After seven blocks a blister had formed on my left toe, causing a mild limp.

“Are you all right?” Ian asked.

“Oh sure, just not the best walking shoes.” I grimaced. It was my own fault. Nobody drives in the French Quarter. I made a mental note to buy more sensible shoes. Yeah, right.

Embarrassment washed over him. “I’m sorry, Jade. I didn’t think about that. We’ll take a cab back.”

“Sounds good.”

“You’re gonna love this place,” Ian said when we finally made it to the front of a club. “It’s one of the best places to hear music and maybe catch a ghost sighting.”

Great, just what I wanted to hear. “More ghosts?”

“You never know.” Ian took my arm and led me to a table in a corner. After we placed our drink order, he scooted his chair closer and leaned in. “This is nice, right?”

“Sure.” The music was slow and soulful, successful in bringing people’s emotions to the surface. Mostly they were pleasure-based, but sadness also worked its way in. I put my guards up, wary of being worn down.

Ian slid his arm around my shoulder, letting his fingertips caress my arm. I closed my eyes, enjoying the music and the sensation. This date might still be salvageable.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”

Opening my eyes, I smiled. “Thank you. You’re looking pretty good yourself.” Ian had dressed in all black. Black pants, black button-down shirt and black Converse shoes. It worked for him, highlighting his blond hair and clear blues eyes, now staring intently into mine.

“You are the first woman I’ve taken out who really gets me,” Ian whispered in my ear.

“Oh?”

“Uh-huh. Most of them don’t understand the ghost thing.”

“As in, don’t believe? Maybe they just don’t have any experiences with them?”

Ian tilted his head. “Probably. But it’s more than that. You accept me for me. That’s rare, you know?”

I did know. More than I could explain. I nodded.

“Most women I meet can’t accept my passion is ghost hunting and not climbing the career ladder. It must be because you’re an artist. Your living isn’t exactly conventional either.”

I laughed. “No, it isn’t. But that can’t be rare in New Orleans?”

Ian moved a lock of hair from my eyes. “No. Not really. There’s something a little bit different about you. I haven’t put my finger on it yet. But I like it. I like it a lot.”

Heat rose to my cheeks, making me grateful for the dim lighting.

Ian brushed his fingers along my jawline then tilted my face toward his. As he leaned in his eyes flickered slightly toward the stage. “Oh my God!”

I followed his gaze. “What?”

“Do you see them?”

“Who?”

“The two people on the left? The woman and the man? There’s a faint outline of them.”

I squinted, searching the stage. I didn’t see anything. “I only see smoke.”

Ian frowned as he glanced at me.

“Sorry,” I said. Though I wasn’t. While I understood Ian’s excitement, ghosts were not on my list of things I wanted to experience. Enough was enough.

“It’s all right. Maybe they’ll appear again.”

For the next two hours Ian stared diligently at the stage, only speaking to relay tales of previous ghost sightings at the club. After catching me covering up a yawn, Ian reluctantly paid our tab and had the doorman call us a cab.

The ride didn’t take long, and within minutes, we pulled up to the corner of Bourbon Street closest to Wicked. As usual, Bourbon Street was barricaded, with the street party in full swing.

“Looks like a busy night,” Ian said, helping me out of the cab.

“Looks like it.”

“I’ll walk you to your building.” He put his arm around my waist, guiding me as I hobbled on my blistered feet.

When we reached the building entrance I stopped. “I think I’m safe from here.”

“Oh, okay then.” His disappointment penetrated my defenses.

“Thank you for the nice evening. Dinner was excellent.” At least, the food and wine was.

Ian smiled. “You’re welcome. Maybe we can do it again sometime.”

“Sure.” I pulled the door open. “Goodnight, Ian.”

He leaned in, and I automatically turned my head slightly to the left. The kiss landed on my right cheek.

“Night,” I said again. “I’ll talk with you soon.” Before he could say another word I scooted through the entrance door, pulling it closed behind me. Thank God that was over.

“Have a nice date?”

I jumped. “What the hell are you doing? Spying on me?” I glared at Kane.

“Why would I do that?” He backed up in front of the stairwell, effectively blocking me from going to my apartment.

“No idea. But why else would you be skulking in the hallway?”

“I’m not skulking.” Kane crossed his arms, a mix of irritation and amusement floating around him.

I rolled my eyes.

“How long have you been dating Ian?”

“I’m not dating Ian.” What the hell? Who did he think he was? I tried to move past him but he put his arm out, blocking me.

“You just went on a date with him. That’s dating where I come from.”

“Fine, I’m dating Ian.” Irritated, I flung a hand out, gesturing to the stairwell. “Can I go up to my apartment now?”

“I didn’t picture you with a guy like that.” Kane’s eyes stayed level with mine.

“You were picturing me with guys?” I smiled, my irritation replaced by smug satisfaction.

“No.”

“Okay, sure.” My smiled blossomed into a grin. “Excuse me, but these feet are ready for some pampering, so if you’ll kindly move—”

“This was, what, the second date?” Kane asked, still blocking the stairwell.

“What? No. The first,” I said, caught off guard.

“Huh, I must have been mistaken.”

I smirked, remembering the night Ian stayed over. “Why are you so interested?”

“I’m just wondering why.” He shrugged.

“Why what, exactly?”

“Why you’re dating him?”

“Because he asked.” I pushed past him and paused for just a moment. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Chapter 10

Sitting at my computer, I took a big bite of my freshly made omelet. My hangover specialty. I wasn’t nauseous, so I knew it wasn’t really a hangover, but I’d woken up with a headache. Maybe the smoke in the jazz club caused it. More likely, it was Ian and his nonstop ghost hunting. Or possibly the latest dream I’d had—but I didn’t want to think about it.

I went for a second cup of coffee, leaving my breakfast on the desk. As I poured the drink, a loud knock sounded on the door.

Checking the peephole, I bit my lip, took a deep breath and opened the door. “Good morning, Kane.”

“Morning.”

“What’cha got there?” I eyed two paper coffee cups and a pastry bag.

He held a cup out.

I inhaled the sweet honey spice of chai. “You’re my hero!”

“Mission accomplished.” He set the bag on the counter.

“Breakfast, too?”

He nodded.

I picked up the bag and peeked inside. “Chocolate muffins? That’s not breakfast, that’s dessert. You’re sweet, but my breakfast is right there.” I pointed to the desk, trying to behave.

Kane looked to my omelet then back at me. “Aren’t you going to share after I brought you a chai?”

My gaze shifted from the plate to the muffins, and I shrugged. “Sure.” If I was going to be polite and eat the muffin he brought me, I needed to save some room.

I grabbed another fork, returned to my desk and cut a line through the middle of the omelet. “That half is yours.”

“Don’t trust me?” he asked with mock surprise.

After claiming a spot on the couch, I gestured for him to join me. “Nope.”

Kane’s eyes crinkled as he laughed. Damn, that was sexy. My heart melted.

Lost in my own thoughts, I missed what he was saying. “Huh?”

“You forgot your chai.”

“Oh yeah, thanks.” I grabbed the cup and a muffin and reclaimed my seat. “What brings you by this morning?”

“The ghost report.”

Damn it. Why did my life have to be all about the ghost? I sampled my chocolate muffin, and then relayed the information I’d learned from Ian.

“The ghost is attached to Pyper too?”

“I don’t know. He apparently likes her since he showed up in her photos.”

“I better tell her.” Kane got up, taking the plate to my sink.

“All right. See you later.” I waved from the sofa.

He lifted one eyebrow. “Trying to get rid of me? And after I brought you breakfast?”

“Uh, no…I just thought you said you were…never mind.”

“Do I make you nervous, Jade?” Kane walked toward me.

“No.” I stood up, concentrating on the cinnamon flakes in his eyes.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“In that case, have dinner with me tonight.” His voice held a bit of a challenge.

“What makes you think I don’t have plans?”

“Considering you ditched your date last night without inviting him up, I’m not too worried.” However, nervous energy radiated off him like static. If I hadn’t had my special ability I’d be thinking he was a smug bastard right about now.

My lips turned up in a little smile.

“Is that a yes?”

“I’m thinking it over,” I said, enjoying myself.

“Hmm, let me convince you.” The nervous energy vanished, replaced by determination and confidence. He leaned in, eyes locked on mine. I stood motionless as one arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me close. He bent his head, bringing his lips inches from mine. I’m pretty sure I stopped breathing.

His lips brushed mine while his free hand trailed down my bare neck. My body shivered against his, and he chuckled softly.

Closing my eyes, I focused on the nerve endings, which sent electric shocks through my body.

“Tonight at eight,” he whispered.

“Okay.”

His lips clasped my lower lip, sucking almost painfully, until a small moan escaped my throat. At the sound he crushed me to him, tongue exploring. I molded my body to his unyielding frame, desperate to be closer. The passion of my nightly dreams sparked a fierce intensity, propelling the aching need deep in my center.

He pulled back. “Eight it is.”

“Huh?” I looked up, dazed and breathless.

“I’ll pick you up at eight for dinner.”

“Right. Dinner.”

Kane leaned in, brushing a soft kiss over my cheek. “Thanks for breakfast.” Then he left.

“Holy Jesus.” I stared at the door. A flash of light to my right startled me. The apparition grew into the shape of a person, glowed a bright gold, turned red, then melted into a blob on the floor before finally evaporating.

Leaning back, I put a hand over my eyes. “This is too weird.”

Feeling like I was being watched, I headed to the bathroom, brushed my teeth and took off for the studio.

Sweat trickled down my back as I fumbled with the key in the doorknob. “Damn it! Come on.” Glancing at my watch, I groaned. Only twenty-five minutes until Kane was due to pick me up.

I’d been grateful for the distraction of the weekly beadmaking class earlier that day. Thank God Bea had been there. Her energy calmed me just enough to be able to teach the class successfully. I really wanted to know how she did that. Maybe I should have taken her up on her invitation. When she’d asked me after class to join her for lunch I’d turned her down. I’d already committed to helping out a fellow glass worker in the hot shop making paper weights and goblets. It had been the perfect thing to get my mind off my ghost and my upcoming date. Unfortunately, I’d completely lost track of time. No way was I going to be ready by eight. Kane would just have to be patient.

At the thought of him I practically swooned. It’s a damn good thing I’d been busy all day. If it hadn’t been for that I’d be ready to explode by now. Who was I kidding? I was a walking time bomb, and just the thought of him lit my fuse.

But first I needed a shower. Maybe a cold one. I taped a note to the door, telling Kane to come in and wait in case I didn’t hear him knocking.

Grabbing my favorite green cotton skirt and a black tank top along with my favorite bra and matching thong, I headed to my bathroom, thinking I’d be quick. However, removing the hair from my legs proved to be more important. My quick bath turned into a longer grooming session than normal.

Stepping out of the shower, I spied the Honey Dust. Unable to resist, I applied it all over with a silly grin on my face. After I was dressed, I poked my head out of the bathroom and spotted Kane relaxing on my couch.

I smiled. “Hey there.”

“Hey yourself. Mighty risky asking me to let myself in while you’re in the shower, don’t you think?” His lips turned into a sly smile.

“No choice in the matter. Sorry I’m running late. Grab yourself something to drink out of the fridge. I’ll be out in ten.” I winked and shut the door. Twenty minutes later, my hair and makeup done, I strolled out of the bathroom.

Kane stood up, gave me an approving glance and kissed my cheek. “Nice. Ready for dinner?”

“Definitely.” I took his hand, and we walked toward the door. As I was closing it, a gust of wind kicked up and slammed it hard. “Oh!” I said, startled. “Must have left the window open.” I turned the key in the lock. “Let’s go.”

Kane fell in step behind me. “No, you didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Leave the window open. I closed it while you were getting ready. It looks like a storm might blow through, and I didn’t want you to forget about it.” He opened the door to the street for me.

I stopped in the middle of the doorjamb. “You did? Damn it. That’s twice today.”

“Your door slammed like that twice today?”

“No.” I turned around to face him. “My ghost made two appearances. I don’t think he likes you much.”

“Huh?”

“He appeared after you left this morning, and apparently just slammed the door on us.”

“Did you call Ian?” Kane frowned, unhappiness flowing from him.

“No. I was busy and forgot.” His unhappiness dissipated, replaced by relief. I stared at him, confused. “You don’t want me to call Ian?”

“No, not right now, but if you need to fill him in on the details, I can wait.”

“No, no. I’ll call him tomorrow.” And broach how I could get my ghost to be less active. So far Ian seemed to be all about more ghostly action. I was tired of it.

“Good.” He took my hand and guided me through the crowd of tourists on the side walk. The streets were crowded, and we didn’t talk again until we reached the Bourbon Street Seafood House. He spoke to the hostess, who smiled brightly at him. A moment later we were seated.

“That was impressive,” I said, scanning the large line of hungry patrons waiting for a table. “Do you have a standing table or something?”

He laughed. “Not really. Though I do know some of the staff and depending on who’s working, I can sometimes get seated more quickly.”

I glanced over his shoulder at the attractive brunette taking care of another party. “How do you know her?” I took in her tight, black dress and instantly hated her for the slim, curvy figure it showed off. I frowned and studied the menu in front of me.

“Who?” He followed my gaze as I looked up. Spotting the woman in question, he said, “Just an old friend. I’ve known her for years.”

I nodded, trying to appear unconcerned. But I wondered just how good a friend she was and exactly just how much of her he knew. I mentally shook myself. First, I had no claim on this man, though it was becoming clear to me I wanted one, even if my head screamed it was a bad idea. Second, he’d done nothing to warrant my irrational jealousy.

“Oysters?” he asked.

My lips twitched. “I hear good things about oysters.”

He grinned back. “Never tried them yourself?”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes, and then I asked him about his college days. He told me he went to LSU, which was where he met Pyper. He regaled me with wild stories of their college adventures. Mostly they were about Pyper. She’d changed personas as often as she changed boyfriends. And girlfriends, for that matter. In their sophomore year Pyper came out of the closet. In her junior year she went back in and, finally, by senior year announced there wasn’t a closet and dated both men and women.

“And you two were best friends through all that?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.

“Pretty much.”

My eyebrows rose, and he shrugged. I guessed that was all I was getting. “How did you meet?” I asked.

“She was my neighbor in the dorm our freshman year. She befriended my girlfriend at the time. Eventually they became an item, and I was left in the cold, shunned by the two most beautiful women in the class,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“No!”

“Yep. It’s okay. I had my eye on someone else anyway.”

An hour and a half later, full of oysters, grilled redfish, crab and a shared bottle of wine, Kane paid the bill and led me back onto Bourbon Street. Music blared from nightclubs, drowning out the chatter of the mass of people making their way up and down the street. Kane took my hand, guiding me down a side street away from the crowds. “Would you mind taking a walk?”

The wine had relaxed me considerably, and my hand tingled in his. Even my blistered toe didn’t hurt. “I’d love to.”

He led me down Iberville Street and turned left on Royal. We strolled along, appreciating the architecture and window shopping the art galleries and antique stores closed up for the night.

I stopped, studying one building. “Do you ever wonder how the balconies manage to stay in place?” I pointed to the one in front of us. “Look at that one. The balcony is slanted down, and it’s just held on by what looks like L-brackets.”

He chuckled, putting his arm around my waist. “I try not to think about it.”

“Good plan.” We walked a few more feet, his arm still around me. I wondered how the buildings themselves managed to stay upright. Many of them dated back to the eighteenth century and if you looked close enough, you could see the buildings leaning slightly one way or another, or in some cases leaning drastically in one direction. I assumed the buildings themselves held each other up, since they were mostly all connected with shared walls.

My attention shifted to Kane’s hand, which had moved to the small of my back. He stopped beside me, and I did the same, closing my eyes for just a moment to take in the comforting sensation. Kane turned and steered me ninety degrees, causing my heel to stick in the cracked sidewalk.

“Ouch,” I yelped, buckling.

Kane’s quick hands steadied me and kept me from falling. “I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

“I think so.” I put my foot down, testing the weight on my ankle. Grimacing, I lifted my foot, only applying pressure with my toes. “I don’t think I can walk anymore.” At least, not in high heels.

Concern reached my consciousness before I turned and found it etched on his face. “Sprained?”

“Probably. I need to get some ice on it. Can you call a cab?” I leaned into him.

He reached down and easily lifted me up into his arms. I wrapped my arms around his neck, feeling weightless and very feminine pressed against his chest.

“Uh, okay, but you don’t really think you can carry me all the way back to my apartment, do you?” As romantic as it was, even he couldn’t possibly sustain carrying me that far.

He smiled down at me, “No, just a block.” He took off in easy strides.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see.”

He stopped in front of a beautiful, deep gold Victorian home, trimmed in brick red. I sighed wistfully. “Who lives here?”

He lowered me gently, my body grazing down the front of his. I stood on the top step, both of my hands on his chest. Heat radiated. Leaning toward him, I stumbled and his arms came around me, steadying me once more. “Careful,” he whispered, his breath warming my ear. My eyes unfocused as his lips brushed against my cheek.

“Come on.” He produced a key.

Regaining my senses, I asked, “You live here?”

Nodding, he opened the door and nudged me inside. “We need to get you off your feet.”

I’d forgotten all about my ankle.

The home was a shotgun double. I mentally calculated the cost of such a place in the French Quarter. As I added up the zeros, my chest tightened. I realized I was holding my breath and slowly let it out. I’d known on some level Kane was a man of means, considering he owned a club and building on Bourbon Street. But for some reason seeing his beautiful home made me feel inferior. I’d never had more than just enough to pay my modest rent.

Shaking off the ridiculous feeling, I took in my surroundings. Typical shotgun doubles were originally a type of duplex. The front had two doors, but this place had one covered in shutters, with access to only the left side. It had been converted into a single. The story goes, the homes are named shotguns because a person could open the front door, fire a shotgun and the slug would sail out the back door without ever hitting any walls. My first glimpse told me this was true. I could see straight through the living room, dining room and kitchen, clear to the garden in the back. Each room was separated by an archway, carved away in the dividing walls. To the right was what I supposed were bedrooms.

“This way.” Kane led me into the pale yellow kitchen and pointed to an island in the middle. “Have a seat.”

I sat, undid my strappy heel and inspected the damage. Not too much swelling, but enough that it would be sore for a few days.

Kane handed me ice wrapped in a towel. “Here, I’ll get you something to drink.”

I waited while he poured a couple glasses of wine. “Trying to get me drunk?”

He grinned. “No, but since no one’s driving…”

“No driving, but walking on this foot, especially while drunk, is likely to permanently maim me.” I picked up the glass anyway.

“I hadn’t planned on you walking anytime soon.”

“Oh, and what were you planning?” I gazed at him through lowered lashes.

“Dessert.”

‘Dessert?”

“Cheesecake, actually.” He pulled a cake plate out of his refrigerator and set it on the counter.

“Oh my God. I think I’m in love.” Cheesecake, wine and Kane all in the same room. I hoped I wasn’t drooling.

Kane paused, mid-slice, and raised his eyes to mine.

Panic seized my brain. “With cheesecake…and wine. I mean, I love both. I’m not in love with it. Obviously.” I cleared my throat. Someone had taken over my mouth. “It’s an expression.”

Kane’s eyebrows rose steadily through my stammering, then his lips quirked as he dished up two plates. Shit. That’s me, the stunning conversationalist. My eyes stayed glued to the dessert, even as he handed me a fork and claimed the stool next to me.

“Cheers.” Kane raised his glass.

“Cheers.” I risked a peek before taking a sip, and then reached for the cheesecake. “Yum, this is wonderful.”

Kane watched me, leaving his plate untouched.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” I asked.

“Eventually. It’s more fun to watch you.”

I smiled and began licking the dessert off the tip of my fork. His gaze dropped to my mouth. Slowly I wrapped my lips around the morsel, careful to get every last bit of creamy goodness. Satisfied I had his full attention, I brought a fresh forkful to his mouth and stopped breathing as he used his tongue to mimic my movements. What I wouldn’t give to be that piece of cheesecake right then.

“You’re right.” I swallowed, trying to clear my dry throat. “That was fun.” My skin prickled with the current of desire sparking through him. Suddenly my whole body pulsed with aching need. Mine and his.

“Jade,” he said, his voice a few octaves lower than normal as he gently pulled me from the chair, sending shockwaves to my most sensitive places. His strong muscular arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me tight to his heated body.

It was too much. Too fast. Everything pulsed. The tender flesh of my neck. My taut nipples. Between my thighs. And he’d barely touched me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, intending for some sort of calm, but failed miserably as his fresh rain scent overwhelmed me. An exquisite tremor ran the length of my limbs, and a small moan escaped my throat as it reached my core.

“God, Jade, I’ve been dreaming about this for days.” Kane pushed me against the counter, his lips hungry and searching as they met mine.

Somewhere in the depths of my mind a wry laugh echoed. If he only knew. Pent-up passion exploded and all coherent thought vanished when I ran my greedy hands over his rippled stomach and the concave of his narrow hips.

He pulled back just enough to break the kiss. Passion smoldered in his rich chocolate eyes as we held an intense, agonizing gaze. His unguarded raw emotion was like nothing I’d experienced before. Desperate need and hunger overpowered something more vulnerable; an aching desire to know me, all of me, and to be known. To love and be loved. It changed everything. My heart swelled and broke all at once as I recognized the familiar ache. An ache I’d buried long ago.

I reached up, tracing the smooth edges of his freshly shaved jawline. A tiny shiver raked over his skin, transferring to me as he gently nuzzled a trail of kisses down my bare neck and collarbone. I tilted my head, reveling in the tender moment, until his hands found my hips and he yanked me tight against his hard length. Desperate to be closer, feel more, know more, I lifted my injured leg over his hip and pressed into him.

Kane grasped my thigh, pulling it higher, and ran his smooth hand over my silky skin. His mouth assaulted my neck, nipping and sucking, while his merciless fingers teased the sensitive area of my hip and upper thigh. I writhed between him and the counter and buried my hands in his thick wavy hair, holding on as his thumb inched closer between us toward my heat.

Kane’s kisses turned feather-light and moved up my neck. He paused and whispered, “I want to see you. All of you.”

A new shock of desire rocked my core. All I could do was nod.

In one swift movement he lifted and cradled me against his broad chest, striding from the kitchen to a nearby bedroom. Careful of my foot, he lowered me gently and stepped back, staring with burning intensity.

I licked my lips and struggled to maintain balance in the midst of unsated tension.

“I want to see you,” he said again.

Delicious pain raged in his psyche as he held himself back. He was savoring this moment. It made it that much sweeter. I wasn’t wearing much, just a skirt and tank top over my bra and silk thong, but I took my time lowering the zipper until the skirt fell, pooling around my ankles.

His searing gaze fell just below the hem of my tank top. I struggled to maintain an appearance of calm. Overly heated and wet, I wanted nothing more than to drag him to the bed and wrap myself around him, until everything touched and he’d buried himself inside me.

Instead, my fingers danced around the edges of the cotton tank until he lifted his eyes, silently begging me to continue. Slowly I flattened my hands, gathering the fabric with my thumbs as they moved up over my flat stomach. I paused, cupping my full breasts, watching him as he watched me.

His eyes narrowed as my fingers inched together, pinching one nipple until it stood erect beneath the lace fabric of my bra.

His control, already pushed to the brink, waivered and pressed against my consciousness. A second later it shattered. I quickly pushed my tank over my head, freeing my arms to wrap around him as his mouth clasped on my breast, sucking painfully, deliciously through the thin lace until I cried out.

“My turn,” I gasped and pulled on the button of his jeans, rushing to push them over his hips. He tore his attention away from my nipple long enough to divest himself of his shirt and kick the jeans aside.

“No fair,” I whispered as his teeth scraped my other breast.

“Hmm?” he mumbled into my flesh.

“I didn’t get to—oh!” His hand had slid its way between my thighs, pushing past the satin fabric. One long finger massaged the slick flesh, gliding into my opening. My knees buckled.

He caught me as a chuckle rippled from his satisfied half-smile. It took him just a moment to free us both of the rest of our garments, and when he laid me back on the bed our bodies melded together in the inferno, pressing, needing, clawing. Desperate to feel his silky flesh inside me, I opened to him, begging with my body to be consumed.

“Not yet.” He pulled back, his body trembling with effort. “Not yet.”

Slowing the pace, he inched his way down my flesh, lips brushing and nipping, until finally he reached my center. His tongue, hot and greedy, sent ripples crashing through me. I whimpered in approval and felt his pleasure wrap around me. Every sensation, touch and emotion intensified. Seconds later his fingers plunged into me. I gasped, clenched the cool sheets, lost in the tide until ripples exploded, electrifying every inch of my being.

Moments went by as I lost myself in the pleasure-filled haze of my orgasm. Then suddenly, I was brought abruptly back with the shock of Kane’s unyielding passion to take me. Now. Poised above me, his hands grasping mine, our eyes locked. I lifted my hips in answer.

His eyes never left mine as he reached for a condom. When he entered me, slowly, he relished in the sensation. Locked in his energy, I savored his pleasure of each new shock as we inched together until our hips fused as one. We held still for a long moment. Then our energies merged and I no longer knew where I started and he stopped.

Our bodies moved in rhythm, picking up the pace, faster, higher, deeper. The tension built in hot, urgent waves spreading to my limbs. I cried out with each thrust until suddenly my body spasmed. With a strangled moan, he buried himself in me. I wrapped myself tightly around him, letting the explosion take us together.

Some time later, lying snuggled in the crook of Kane’s arm, my body liquid and tranquil, I kissed his chest lightly. A small tremor ran through his body, and suddenly my soul was wrapped in tenderness and a fierce emotion I could only describe as love. The emotional energy was Kane’s. I felt intrusive and self-conscious all of a sudden and glanced up to find him gazing at me, intent and thoughtful.

“What?” I whispered.

“You feel it, don’t you?”

A chill that had nothing to do with the air-conditioning rippled through me. Had he sensed my ability? Sadness settled in my chest. I wasn’t ready to lose him. I’d bared too much.

Trying hard to keep it light, I nipped his lower lip and replied, “The magic?”

“Yes, there’s magic.” He kissed my temple and ran his hand the length of my arm. “I’ve known that since I first met you, but I don’t think you have.”

Relief replaced my fears and I smiled. “I may not have known it, but I’ve certainly felt it.” I demonstrated my feelings by pressing into him as my hand roamed lower, wrapping around his silky shaft, already firming to my touch. He let out a small, strangled moan and pulled me on top of him.

“If you keep that up, you’re likely to kill me,” he said, deftly putting on another condom then sliding into me.

“If you keep that up, I may never leave.”

His hands found my hips, holding me to him as he lifted his lips to mine. “Deal.”

When we’d had our fill of each other, we lay content and motionless in each other’s arms. I closed my eyes, listening to Kane’s breath steadily deepen as he fell effortlessly into sleep. Sighing softly, I snuggled beside him and let the night take me.

Chapter 11

Intruding anger slammed into me. An intense sense of betrayal sent an arrow of pain straight through my heart. I gasped, struggling to breathe. Jealousy filled my being, joined by disbelief and shock. Mr. Sexy stood in front of me, shaking with fury, tears of disappointment in his eyes. A cry ripped from my throat as white-hot splinters of fire shot through my belly, shattering my soul.

“Jade! Jade, wake up. Come on baby, wake up.”

The voice was far away and muted. Through the blur of sleep-filled eyes, my brain registered someone hovering over me. I cringed, curling into myself.

“There you are,” he said, his voice tight.

“Kane,” I said softly.

“It’s all right now, just a dream. It was just a dream.” He gathered me to him.

Still full of pain, the tears flowed hot and steady, turning into racking sobs. Kane held me for a long time, murmuring, “I’m here. You’re safe.”

I concentrated on those strong arms encircling me and held on until the tears subsided and the raw, stabbing pain in my soul eased to a dull ache. Snuggling closer, I pressed my cheek to his chest and whispered, ‘Thank you.” Sniffling, I added, “I’m sorry.”

Kane handed me a tissue from the box on the nightstand, while he stroked my back. “Sorry for what?”

“This.” I waved a hand around my face. “Not a great way to end the night.” I pulled away, suddenly self-conscious, and wrapped myself in the sheet.

“Morning, you mean.” He nodded toward the pre-dawn light filtering through the open window.

“Oh.”

Kane leaned in and tilted my chin up. Catching my eye, he gave me a small smile. “This isn’t how we’re ending the morning. Go ahead and take a shower. I’ll make us some breakfast.” He kissed my nose lightly, pulled on his jeans, and wandered out of the room.

I let out the breath I’d been holding and fell back onto the bed. What kind of a woman was terrified and reduced to tears by a dream? God, I was an idiot. Emotionally empty and physically battered, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and hobbled off to the bathroom, careful of my still-sore ankle.

Scrubbed and pink from the shower, I made my way from the bedroom to the kitchen. I spotted Kane sitting in the breakfast nook at the back of the house. A full wall of windows and French doors led out into a lush courtyard. I stopped at the open doors, taking in the soft morning breeze and vibrant colors. Orange honeysuckle covered one wall, and the large red blossoms of a hibiscus bush bloomed just outside the door.

Kane came up behind me and rested a hand on my shoulder. I leaned into him as his arms came around my waist. Comforted by his touch, I let my mind go blank and willed my soul to soak up his energy. He projected a steady calm, but I could feel it masking nervousness and maybe a bit of weariness. Well, who could blame him? My mind clamped down on the emotional radar. I was intruding and didn’t want to know what else he was feeling.

“You should eat before it gets cold. I made omelets.” Kane stepped back and pulled out a chair for me.

“You did?” I looked at the table for the first time. It was set with a pale yellow tablecloth and a slender vase in the middle, holding pink and white stargazer lilies. “Are those from your courtyard?”

He nodded and settled into the chair next to me.

“They’re gorgeous. Your place is wonderful.” And I meant it.

The ceilings were at least ten feet high with crown molding. All the rooms except the bathroom and kitchen had original, wide-planked pine floors, recently resurfaced and gleaming in the morning sun. The nook looked like a picture I’d once seen in an architectural magazine. A bay window was on the left outside wall, complete with a window seat. To the right, an adjoining sun room, separated by a double-opening archway, was furnished with indoor white wicker, lots of green plants and a vibrant painting of the French Quarter. I could happily make that one room my home.

“This is delicious,” I mumbled after the first bite. My omelet was full of fresh tomatoes, mushrooms, chives, avocado and swiss cheese—just the way I like it. “You remembered.”

Kane winked and poured me a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table.

“Thank you,” I said after taking a sip. “Everything is wonderful.”

“You’re welcome.” As he gazed at me, his smile vanished, and he suddenly became very interested in pushing the eggs around on his plate.

What happened? Was he having second thoughts? Who wouldn’t after my emotional outburst? I suppressed a sigh and shoved a forkful of omelet in my mouth.

“Jade.” Kane brought both arms down on the table and turned to look me dead in the eye. His determined expression caused me to pause mid-bite. “Who’s the man in your dreams?”

I choked. “What?”

“The one you dreamed of last night. Usually powerful dreams like that feature people you know.”

“What makes you think I was dreaming of a man?”

Agitation radiated off him, ripping holes in my emotional armor. “Let’s not play this game. I know because I saw him.”

“What? You saw my ghost?”

His eyes went wide, surprised, and he straightened. “The ghost? The one Ian’s been hunting? He’s the one you’ve been dreaming about?”

I set the coffee cup down, furrowed my eyebrows and asked, “How exactly did you know about my dreams?” Had he spoken to Ian?

He didn’t say anything, his face hard as he stared me down.

“Ian told you?”

He shook his head and frowned. “You told Ian?”

“He’s the ghost hunter. Of course I told him. If it wasn’t Ian, then who told you?” No one else knew.

He blew out a breath, and pushed his uneaten breakfast away. “You did.”

“What! No I didn’t.” I knew without a doubt we hadn’t had that conversation. “I certainly would remember—”

Kane held a hand up. “You told me in your dreams.”

I gaped, too stunned to talk.

“I have something to tell you,” he continued, focusing on something over my shoulder.

“Clearly.” My voice held a slight chill.

He raised his determined eyes to mine and held the intent stare for a long moment. I was sure he was searching for my soul. “Have you heard of dreamwalking?”

“Yes, that’s when you travel in your dreams, right?” Gwen’s best friend Annabelle, back in Idaho, swore she traveled all over the world in her dreams. Her descriptions and tales were so vivid and entertaining, it was easy to believe it was possible.

“Yes, for some people. My dreamwalking is a bit different.”

Torn between curiosity and aggravation, I pushed the food around on my plate until, finally, curiosity won out. “Okay, tell me about your dreamwalking.”

“When I was little, I had very vivid dreams about people I knew.” He shook his head, rose from the chair, and started pacing the kitchen. “Not about people, really, but more like dreams from their point of view. They were always people I was close to, so I figured it was natural to dream of them and their emotions.” He paused. “As I got older the dreams changed, became more intense, and I was able to watch from the person’s perspective. Or I could interact in the dream, like a character in a movie.”

A slow ball of uneasiness grew in the pit of my stomach. I leaned back in the chair, picked up the coffee, set it back down, then asked in a whisper, “You dreamwalk my dreams?”

He took a deep breath and nodded.

“Oh, God.” I stood up, turned and strode out into the courtyard. I walked to the far end, stopping at a fountain with a stone fleur-de-lis spouting water in a steady stream. Kane’s footsteps scraped on the bricks behind me, but he didn’t say anything.

My face burned, no doubt the color crimson. Unwilling to face him, I continued to stare into the clear pool in the fountain basin, wishing the ground would open up and swallow me whole.

“I’m sorry, Jade,” he said softly. “I know it’s an intrusion, and I’m sorry for it. But I—”

My temper broke, and I turned on him. “Stop. Just stop. How could you? Do you have any idea of how violated I feel right now?”

His eyes squinted as he frowned. “I can imagine. But I thought you felt it.”

“Felt it? Of course I felt it. You were making love to me in my dreams. It wasn’t just me dreaming it. You were there? Participating?” The last of my words were barely audible as my voice broke. My own anger and humiliation pressed a heavy weight on my heart.

His eyes turned sad and a small tinge of pain reached me. “Something like that.”

Pushing past him, I grabbed my purse from the counter, ran through the house and out the front door.

The tears gathered quickly. Blinking hard, I tried to hold them back and disappeared around the nearest corner. I prayed he wouldn’t follow me. As I hurried down the street, I realized unless I went to Kat’s place, he would be able to find me. And I couldn’t go to Kat’s with Dan there. “Damn!”

Nowhere to go but home. Maybe I could just lock the door and pretend I didn’t exist.

Ten minutes later, I limped passed Pyper’s red VW Bug and stopped in front of my building’s entrance. I hoped she was at the café and not just inside. Careful to make as little noise as possible, I slowly pulled the heavy door open and peeked in.

“Who are you sneaking up on?” a voice whispered from behind me.

I let go of the door and jumped. It slammed with a loud thunk. “Holy shit!” I turned, finding Pyper standing behind me, with a twitch of a smile.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Her smile grew then faded as her brow creased in concern. “What happened?”

“Just a fight,” I muttered, waving a hand to signify unimportance.

“Uh-oh, what did he do now? You’re talking about Kane, right? The big date was last night?” She rolled her eyes at my nod. “Men can be so dense.” She whipped her key out and reopened the door. “It couldn’t have been all bad though, if you’re just getting home.” Her gaze roamed down the length of my body to my feet. Her lips turned into a teasing smile. “Forget your shoes again?”

I grimaced and moved past her, making my way up the stairs. With my ankle starting to throb, I grasped the railing and took my time, trying not to think about what must be glued to the bottom of my feet after walking barefoot through the French Quarter.

“Hey,” Pyper called as she bounded up the steps. “Really, are you okay?”

I gave a slight nod, unlocked my door and turned around. “Did you know Kane dreamwalks?”

Pyper’s eyes widened then narrowed. “Is he dreamwalking you?”

I nodded, fiddling with my keys.

“Damn.”

“You knew of this special gift?”

“Yeah.” She studied me, searching for something, but I didn’t know what.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone for a while.” I tried to close the door, but her hand stopped me. We stared at each other for a few moments until I lost my patience. “What?”

She pursed her lips. “Look, I know you’re upset and believe me, normally I would never stick my nose into anyone else’s relationship, but I think you have to know this.” She paused.

I waited.

“If Kane is dreamwalking you, it’s serious.”

I let out a mocking laugh. “Serious? No kidding, talk about invasion of privacy.” A heavy dose of guilt rocked me. Invasion of privacy. The same thing I’d done to Kane—spying on his emotions. The same thing I’d done to Dan for years and never told him. No wonder he’d felt so betrayed and hurt when I’d finally revealed my gift. I stumbled backward into the apartment and sat heavily on my worn sofa.

Pyper followed. She sat next me and took my hand. “No, Jade. I meant his feelings are serious. From what I know of Kane, he doesn’t dreamwalk on purpose, at least not these days. So, if he walked your dreams, it’s because of a deep connection to you.”

“Has he done it to you?”

She broke eye contact and grimaced, then nodded. “It’s been a long time, though.”

“I see,” I said with a hint of ice in my voice. “Then you know how it feels.” She opened her mouth to speak, but, spurned by irrational jealousy and inner turmoil, I cut her off. “I’d really like it if you left me alone now.”

I felt the sting of my words penetrate her tough exterior. She stood and walked to the door. “If you need to talk, you know where to find me.”

“Pyper?”

Holding the doorknob, she glanced back at me.

“I’m sorry. I just need to process this.”

“It’s okay. I understand.” The door shut softly behind her.

Somewhere deep inside, a nagging voice told me I was overreacting. Nothing Kane had done was worse than what I’d done to him. I’d spied on his emotions. He’d been an active participant in my dreams. Either action was a huge intrusion.

But damn, my dreams were so personal.

As if his emotions aren’t. I snorted loudly and clenched my fists in frustration.

The worst part was I didn’t know how much my desire for Kane was based on my own feelings or a result of what we’d done while he dreamwalked me. I’d always desired Kane. I had since the first day we’d met. But in the dreams I’d experienced a passion I’d never known, escalating that desire into something I couldn’t resist. Now I knew Kane himself had influenced at least some of that without me knowing.

It made me feel used and manipulated.

Is that how Dan had felt after I told him I could sense his emotions?

I’d spent my childhood ostracized by my peers for knowing things I shouldn’t. One doesn’t make friends easily when teachers force you to tell on other students by reading which ones have a guilty conscience. My only defense was to keep my gift to myself and try to be as invisible as possible. But the damage had been done. I’d been labeled the town freak.

That changed when I’d moved to Boise shortly after I’d lost my mom. I’d shut off that part of my life completely, vowing to never tell anyone about my gift. Only one person knew: Kat. She’d lived for a short time in the small town I was from and had known me before I lost my mom. She’d said she thought my gift was kind of cool, and we’d become best friends then and there.

When Dan had come along I’d kept my vow, especially after he’d saved Kat and me from the horrors of that foster home. I hadn’t wanted him to know I’d experienced everything he’d felt that night. At the time, it had seemed too much to bear.

But when he’d proposed years later, I found myself unable to accept until he knew the truth. I’d known he’d be upset. I’d lied to him—for years—too locked up in my own fears to trust him.

At first he’d scoffed, unable to believe I had such a gift. Then he’d spent three days grilling me on the status of his emotional energy. Finally I’d snapped, and explained in great detail everything he’d felt the day he’d proposed. The information had rocked him to his core.

He’d definitely been hurt, but I’d been shocked to feel deep-seated twinges of disgust and horror. All the rejection of my childhood had come roaring back. And a week later when he’d slept with someone else, I’d sensed it immediately. His intense satisfaction at hurting me had ended us then and there.

I’d hated him for it. But now, I had to stop and wonder what I’d done to him. He’d always said he’d loved me because I understood him in ways even he didn’t always recognize. He’d believed in soul mates and often said how lucky he was to find me. Had he thought I’d done anything to manipulate his emotions? I couldn’t change what he was feeling, but I could read them and use them to my advantage.

Did he feel used? Betrayed? The same way I felt with what Kane had done.

The guilt weighed heavy on my soul. Suddenly, I had to get out of my apartment.

Ten minutes later, the tension in my shoulders eased slightly when I sat behind my work bench in the studio. It was exactly what I needed, and I’d be safe from any unwanted company. Ready to be immersed, I turned the volume on my iPod to high and then lit my torch.

It must have been late afternoon by the time I finished the last bead of the day. The air conditioner had been no match for the June heat. I was soaked in sweat, but I was calmer. Mission accomplished. After cleaning up, I splurged and called a cab. My ankle needed a rest.

Chapter 12

Emerging from the bathroom in old, faded jeans and a T-shirt, I crossed the room to shut the window. I pulled the latch closed and jumped at a sudden movement. Kane stood in front of me.

“Feeling better?” he asked through the glass.

“Jesus, Kane. What the hell are you doing here?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” A thin thread of appreciation reached me.

I scowled. What exactly did he appreciate? My fresh-from-the-shower look? My hands curled into fists. It was a damn good thing glass separated us. For him, anyway. “How long have you been here?”

“A while.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Can you open the window?”

Feeling the urge to deck him, I ignored the request. How dare he intrude on my private space? “Did you come in while I was in the shower?”

He shook his head slowly. “You weren’t here. I waited.”

I laughed humorlessly. “Figures. What? Used your landlord key?” That meant he’d been on my balcony the whole time I’d been home. I felt violated all over again.

He nodded.

“Bastard.” I spat.

“No argument here.”

Anger boiled in my belly as I glared at him.

“Jade, come on. It’s starting to rain. Could you let me in so we can discuss this?”

A couple of fat raindrops splattered on the window. Then the skies opened up into a typical New Orleans afternoon downpour. A twisted sense of satisfaction grew from my aggravation as I watched the water stream down his face. Fully intending to leave him there, I started to close the curtain.

Then the first booms of thunder rumbled.

“Oh, all right!” I couldn’t be responsible for him being struck by lightning, could I? “Wait right there.” I pointed to the wall closest to the window. “Do not drip on my computer.” After he toweled off, I shoved a folding chair at him. “You can sit here.”

He moved toward me.

“No. You’re only allowed to sit there, or else you can leave.”

Stepping back, he sat.

“What exactly are you doing here?”

“I was thinking you need a security latch on your door. Keep the underbelly out.”

“Are you the underbelly?” I turned in surprise at his comment.

He shrugged. “Strip club owner. I make my money off of naked women. Most people would consider me one of the underbelly. So yes, I guess so. Couple that with invading the private dreams of the women around me, and I think the jury would reach a unanimous conclusion.”

I raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Women?” My voice rose higher than usual as anger coiled tighter. “Are you invading other women’s dreams these days as well?”

“No, just yours lately.”

“Lately. Lucky me.” I snorted. “Who else has had this pleasure?”

“You know Pyper and I are old friends.” It was a statement, not a question, but I nodded. “She’s my closest friend. The thing is, the closer I am with someone the more likely it is I’d unconsciously slip into his or her dreams. I’ve learned over the years how to stop it, or to step out of the dream when it happens. I haven’t found myself in one of Pyper’s dreams in a few years.”

“A few years?” An unwelcome image of him and Pyper together, intimate, in a dream flashed through my mind. I frowned and pushed it away. He’d just said they were friends. It could have been a dream about flying to the moon for all I knew.

He nodded.

“Wait,” I said, as my brain started to function again. “You said you learned how to step out of dreams. Why exactly didn’t you step out of mine? Didn’t you think what you were doing to me was a huge invasion?”

He looked pained.

“Not only that, but you seduced me in my dreams, letting me think it was my own subconscious. God! You had me thinking I have feelings for you. I feel like an idiot for jumping into bed with you.”

“You do have feelings for me,” Kane said softly. I opened my mouth, a string of expletives poised on my lips, but his raw emotion stunned me into silence. Regret, shame and a trickle of loneliness punctured my defensive wall. “You do, and I have feelings for you.” His voice was low and rough. His vulnerability wrapped around my soul, and suddenly the spark fizzled from my anger. I still hated what he did, but I knew without a doubt it had been done with passion and something close to love. Even if it was wrong and twisted.

Overwhelmed, I stared into his eyes and for once didn’t feel like melting. “I thought I did, but…I need time to process.”

“I know.” Kane got up, moving toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Home. I thought I’d give you space.”

“Space later. Right now I have more questions about your ability.” He wasn’t getting out the door until I had answers.

Kane cleared his throat and reclaimed the chair. “Okay.”

I sat on my couch, facing him. “Tell me how it works. You said you just find yourself in other people’s dreams, and you can step out of them. How?”

He took a moment, seeming to process my question, then leaned forward. “It’s easier if I realize a dreamwalk is going to happen. Then I can clear my mind and consciously will myself to ‘stay at home’ in my own head, if you know what I mean.”

I didn’t but nodded anyway, encouraging him to continue.

“It takes a lot more effort to step out of a dream. I have to realize I’m there and leave. It’s sort of like when you’re dreaming and you realize it’s a dream and wake yourself up. Of course, if I want to dreamwalk it’s pretty much the opposite. I envision myself in a person’s dream and will myself to go there.”

“You do that often?” I said, in a more accusatory tone than I meant to.

A weak smile lit his lips. “No. I haven’t consciously dreamwalked since college.”

I bit back a snarky reply and continued with my interrogation. “You said you accidentally walked in both Pyper’s dreams and mine.”

He nodded.

“Anyone else?”

He didn’t say anything at first. I started to get nervous. It wasn’t really any of my business and I didn’t have a right to ask, but I was anyway.

“An ex-girlfriend,” he finally said.

“Holly?”

He jerked back and shook his head. “No. Holly and I have never dated. Where did you get that idea?”

A bit of tension eased out of my shoulders. I shrugged. “I saw you two talking once and just had the idea in my mind. Sorry, it’s none of my business.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t it, though?”

My heart squeezed at his question, but I ignored it. “What did Pyper and your ex-girlfriend do when they found out you were invading their dreams?”

He winced at my tone. “I didn’t do it on purpose, you know.”

Softening, I moved closer to him on the sofa. “No, I don’t know. Explain it to me.”

He got up, pacing. Back and forth he strode, gathering his thoughts. Finally he stopped. “Pyper knew what it felt like when I was in her dreams. If I had to guess, I’d say you have an idea of what that means, even if you didn’t know it when it was happening.”

I thought about that. Yes, I did know. There were times when I dreamt of Mr. Sexy and suddenly Kane was there, as real in my dreams as he was in life. Heat inched up my neck, reaching my face as the intimate scenes flooded back. Then the emotions. The implications of what he felt for me were a lot to process. I decided to not think about it at all until I had time to examine what it meant. I cleared my throat. “Yes, I felt you.” My voice seemed far away, a little detached.

He nodded. “I thought you did. Pyper knew in much the same way.”

I blanched.

He caught my look and laughed. “It’s not like that. It never has been.” Taking two steps, he reached my side and took my hand. “I know I’ve violated your trust, but please believe me when I say there is no one else.”

Tears welled in the back of my eyes, and I did my best to blink them back. I didn’t know what to say. Yesterday I would have been thrilled to hear Kane say I was his one and only. Now I didn’t know what I wanted.

I shifted, pulling my hand out of his. The love I’d felt the night before was now shadowed in pain. My rejection was hurting him just as much as he’d hurt me, Overwhelmed, I steered the conversation back to the dreams. “So what did Pyper do to stop you from invading her dreams?”

Kane sat back on his heels and ran a hand through his hair. “There are a few precautions one can take to keep others out of their head, but it wasn’t necessary for her to do that. I worked harder on keeping my distance. It usually only happens when something intense is going on or my defenses are down. Once we started working so closely together, the dreamwalking began. I just strengthened my defenses, and it stopped.” He sighed and in a husky voice said, “This time my defenses have been blown away. Everything I’ve done to try to stop the dreamwalking with you has failed. I’m sorry, Jade.” With his shoulders hunched, he looked miserable.

Fighting the urge to reach out to him, I asked. “How long?”

As he lifted his face, I clarified. “How long have you been fighting it?”

He grimaced then said a little sheepishly, “A few days.”

The dreams had been going on quite a bit longer than that.

“I know it doesn’t mean much, but I really am sorry. I know it’s an awful thing to do. I just…” His face turned a rather dark shade of maroon. “It’s just, I enjoyed your dreams…unless he was starring.”

“Jesus, Kane,” I said. Irritated and embarrassed, I got up and moved to stare at the rain.

“It was driving me crazy.” He followed me.

“I told you to sit in that chair or leave.”

Ignoring my statement, he stepped in front of me, locked his eyes on mine and stared. Golden glints sparkled from rich chocolate irises.

He reached out and stroked my cheek. I clasped my hand over his, wanting to stop the motion, but Kane took it as an invitation and leaned in. Just as his lips met mine, lightning flashed and a loud crack sounded, jolting us apart. Another bolt struck, illuminating a dark shadow darting up the walls. It circled us then hovered over my computer.

It grew larger, glowed red and flew at me as if to attack. I screamed in terror as my insides ripped apart, just as they had in my dream the night before. Falling to my knees, I clutched my stomach, gasping for breath.

The apparition disappeared just as the tray with my glass beads rose in the air. “No!” I shouted as I watched them tumble out and rise toward the ceiling, hovering high above our heads. Kane knelt next to me, his arms covering my shoulders and head protectively.

“Get off,” I huffed, pushing him away. Jumping up, I took a deep breath and said in my most commanding voice, “You put those beads down right this minute. I won’t stand for your scare tactics. How dare you treat me this way!” My voice echoed off the walls, slightly muffled by the thunderous storm. The beads rotated, inched higher then fell.

“Gently!” I yelled. Just before they would have crashed, all of them came to a sudden stop, less than an inch from the floor, and tumbled softly. I stood in the center of the room, my chest heaving. The next thing I knew, Kane grabbed my hand and tugged me out the door.

“Where are we going?” I gasped, trying to clear my head.

“Out of here,” Kane said, his voice muffled.

He was right in front of me but I couldn’t focus. His lips moved, but I had trouble hearing him. “What did you say?”

“I said, you need to be somewhere safe. Let’s go.”

Too tired to protest, I weakly muttered something about clothes.

Kane positioned me outside the door. Through a distorted hazy consciousness, I watched him open my drawers and throw some garments in a bag. In seconds he returned and picked me up. That’s the last thing I remember.

A chatter of voices pulled me from my slumber. Disoriented, I sat up and, through blurry eyes, I spotted rich, heavy velvet drapes. Pyper’s apartment. Again. I needed to get out of this habit. The silver crescent moon shone through the window. How long had I been here?

“No, she isn’t going back up there tonight,” Kane said.

“Isn’t that up to her?” Ian said.

“Not when she’s passed out.”

“I’m up,” I said from the doorway, leaning against the jamb to steady myself.

“Honey, are you okay?” Pyper rushed toward me, led me over to the couch and gently pushed me down. “I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into the kitchen.

Ian and Kane both turned toward me.

“Go where?” I asked

“Nowhere,” Kane said.

Ignoring him, I turned to Ian. “Where do you want me to go?”

Ian frowned. “I know you’re wiped out, but if you have any energy at all, the best thing to do—if we want more clues—is to go back up to the apartment. I need another reading with you.” He glanced in Kane’s direction. Reluctance penetrated my awareness when he added, “and Kane too.”

“No,” Kane said.

Pyper appeared with hot tea and a few cookies. “Here, honey, this should help.”

“Thanks.” I took a bite, sipped my tea and looked over at Kane. “I can speak for myself.”

“Of course you can,” he said. “But I’m still not going to let you go back up there.” His voice was tender now, losing some of the authoritative edge he’d used with Ian.

With a faint smile, I asked, “Let?”

He shrugged as he raised his hands, palms up. He glanced at Pyper, found no help, and then sat on the sofa.

“Anyone care to fill me in on the details I’ve missed?” I glanced around at each of them.

Kane spoke up. “You haven’t missed much. You passed out. I brought you here and called Pyper, who then called Ian. Ian’s been here for about an hour. We’ve been discussing a course of action to rid you of your ghost.”

“An hour?” How long had I been asleep?

“You’ve been here for about three hours.” Pyper patted my hand. “We didn’t think you’d suffered any physical damage, judging by what Kane said, so we let you sleep. Does it hurt anywhere?” She peered at me, checking for nonexistent bruises, I guessed.

I smiled at her mothering. “I’m fine. Just feel like my insides have been ripped to shreds, is all.”

“Really?” Ian’s eyes went wide. “Did it happen upstairs?”

I nodded.

“Can you tell me exactly what happened?” He dug around in his canvas bag and pulled out a notepad.

“Do we have to do this right now?” Kane sounded impatient. He slid toward me on the sofa and brushed the hair out of my eyes. “You don’t have to do this now, you know.”

I caught Ian watching me. He was also doing a fair job of suppressing the jealousy that had bubbled up when Kane touched me. With a grim smile at Kane, I said, “I know, but somehow I think I need to get this out.”

He let out a long breath then acknowledged my statement with a nod.

“Kane told you what we saw?” I asked.

“Yes, but I’d like to hear it from your perspective.” Ian made small fast circles with his ballpoint pen, trying to get the ink to flow.

“Okay.” I launched into my version of the events. Ian scribbled intently as I recounted the haunting. When I got to the part when the shadow disappeared, I paused. “I felt like something in my gut shattered like the red image. Not like a stomachache or anything like that. More like my soul was being torn into individual little pieces. It happened just like that in my dream last night, too.”

Ian took in a sharp breath.

Kane clasped his hand over mine. “Damn it, Jade. The ghost is haunting your dreams. You aren’t just dreaming about him.”

“Right, I told you that this morning.”

“No, you said you were dreaming about him.”

“No, you interpreted it that way.”

“Jade—”

“Can you two work that out later?” Pyper said.

Kane sighed and leaned back. “Fine.”

Ian finished scribbling some notes then looked up, focusing for a second on my hand clasped in Kane’s. “This is very unusual, especially considering the sexual content.”

“I thought you said ghosts haunting dreams weren’t unheard of,” I said.

Ian leaned forward. “They aren’t, but I’ve never heard of someone being attacked in one. That, plus the intimate nature, makes me uneasy.”

Ian’s troubled expression unsettled me more than his words. “So what do we do now?”

“I have a few ideas, but I’d need to get you back up there—”

Kane let out an audible grunt, cutting Ian off.

“—when you think she’s up to it,” Ian finished, eyeing Kane.

“It’s not up to him to decide.” Feeling smothered, I lowered my voice. “Look, Kane, I know you want to protect me, but this is something I have to deal with. I have a feeling the longer it goes on, the worse it’s going to get. I need to do what I can, even if I have to endure more encounters with the ghost. Plus, he invaded my dream at your house last night. I’m not so sure location matters anymore. If Ian thinks he can help, I need to trust him.”

Kane searched my eyes for a moment, kissed my hand and said, “Okay.”

A tiny bit of weight lifted from my heart. I squeezed his hand before letting go.

“All right then. I’ve already got my equipment set up, and John is monitoring the readings. Let’s go.” Ian tilted his head toward me as he moved toward the door. “I’ll have her back as soon as possible. I know she needs to rest, but I don’t want to miss the chance of getting a reading so close to the event.”

I stood, trying to shake the dizzy feeling, and followed him. When I glanced back, I found Kane on my heels.

“I’m going also.”

“I don’t think…” Ian paused when Kane’s face darkened.

“Don’t think what?” I asked.

“I’d rather get a reading with just you. It’s more scientific,” Ian said. Kane’s irritation poked at me as Ian continued. “From what I’ve heard, this ghost is really only interacting with Jade. I don’t want to introduce any other elements until I get a clean reading with her.”

“But you said earlier you wanted a reading with both of us,” Kane countered.

“Yes, but Jade first, then you,” Ian said.

Kane continued to look unconvinced.

I sighed and waved at Pyper, “A little help here?”

“Come on, Kane, I’ll entertain you while they’re up there.” Pyper grabbed his arm and led him to the couch.

I strode out the door with Ian close on my heels. When I got to the stairwell of my own apartment, I stopped dead in my tracks and stumbled forward as Ian barged into me. He reached out a strong arm and grabbed me around the middle just before my head bashed into the railing.

“Oh, sorry, Jade!” Ian turned me toward him. “Why did you stop?”

I gave him a weak smile. “Just nervous.” Nervous was putting it mildly. My knees started shaking, and my heart felt like it would beat right out of my chest. I took a few deep breaths and grabbed on to the railing.

Ian took my arm and patted my hand. “It’s all right. Really, I’ve seen a fair number of odd paranormal occurrences. I know what to do if something happens.” He lifted my chin and looked straight in my eyes. “I won’t let anything happen to you. It’ll be all right. I promise.”

I nodded and let him tug me up the stairs. We stopped just outside my door.

“Now, when we go in, don’t say anything until I ask you to. I’m going to walk you around the room then onto the balcony while I take readings. Okay?”

I nodded my agreement and followed him inside.

The investigation was set up in much the same manner it had been during the first recording. Candles burned in a circle around the room. A video camera was set up just to the right of the door, along with an old-fashioned tape recorder. John had two cameras around his neck, a 35mm and a digital camera. He had told me digitals were the preferred choice, but ghosts were known to mess with electronics, causing them to fail. Just like last time. The 35mm was the camera that caught my ghost image.

Ian steered me to the middle of the room, holding my arm, keeping me close. He cleared his throat and began to speak. “Lord in heaven, please protect us, your children, from harm and possession. We only seek knowledge and not destruction. Amen.” He smiled “Ready?”

I gave him a small nod.

“Dear earthbound spirit of apartment 3-A. We are here seeking only information and do not wish you harm. If you so choose, please allow us to communicate with you.”

John handed Ian a small electronic device. Holding it under candlelight, he scribbled a reading in a notebook. He took my hand and walked me slowly around the room, focusing on the electronic readings. The continuous click of the camera cut through the silence as John snapped photo after photo. The conditions with the candlelight were dim. I wondered how he’d get any decently lit pictures without a flash.

After the third circle I started to get dizzy and was relieved when Ian led me to the balcony. “Stay out here for a minute. I want to get some more readings, and then I’ll have you come back in.”

I sat down in my chair to wait.

Ian stepped back inside and let out a loud yelp. I scrambled to my feet and poked my head in the window.

Ian grabbed my shoulder. “Get in here!”

A queasy feeling rolled through my stomach as I scanned the room. I saw nothing out of the ordinary. It looked just as it had, except for the expressions on the two men’s faces.

I stepped in, confused. Ian held up a hand, gesturing for me to wait. John stood in the corner using the 35mm camera, clicking over and over again in rapid succession. He paused to reload and then nodded at Ian.

Ian, standing just to my left, put a hand on my arm and whispered, “Talk to him.”

I took a shaky breath, let it out slowly and opened my mouth. No words came out.

Ian, seeing my struggle, asked, “Have you spoken to him before?”

‘Yes.”

“If you gave him a name or title, use it now.”

“Damn,” I muttered under my breath. “Oookay. Hello, Mr. Sexy.”

John chuckled quietly from across the room. I shot him a dirty look, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was still busy snapping away. Click, click. Click, click.

I focused on talking to my ghost. “It’s been an eventful day, has it not? You must have used a lot of energy picking up all of my beads. Thank you, by the way, for setting them down gently.” The candles flickered a few times then burned bright again.

I glanced at Ian. He nodded his head enthusiastically, encouraging me to continue.

“Thank you for the acknowledgment. I assume that was you, flickering the candles?” The candles flickered again, a few of them blowing out entirely. “Yes, I know you’re there. I wish I knew your real name.” The flame on the candle closest to my bed went out.

“Yes, I know it’s you in my dreams.” I stopped, at a loss for words. My skin started to warm, and something soft wrapped around my shoulders. Even though I was sure the gesture was meant as a loving one, hair stood up on the back of my neck. “Is that you? Did you wrap a blanket over my shoulders?” My knees started to tremble and, not trusting myself to stand any longer, I sat on my couch.

“Keep going,” Ian said softly.

I closed my eyes and concentrated. “I wish I knew who you were and why you’re here. I get the feeling you don’t know you’re a ghost.” The warmth slid from my shoulders. I shivered. Unwilling to give up, I asked, “What happened to you? Can you tell us? There’s a recording device over by the door. If you stand close to it, we might hear you. Please, we want to help.”

“Jesus!” John jumped suddenly from his spot near the recorder and scooted closer to Ian.

“What the hell—” Ian started, but was cut off by the door opening suddenly, with Kane striding in.

“You’ve got to get down to Pyper’s apartment,” Kane announced, grabbing Ian’s arm.

“What? No. We’re just getting going here.” Ian glared at Kane. “It’s best if you leave.”

Ian’s face contorted in pain as Kane gripped harder. “No. Pyper’s in trouble. You need to go, now.”

“In trouble? What happened?” I demanded. Not waiting for an answer, I ran out the door, took the stairs two at a time and was on the ground floor before I realized no one was following me.

Chapter 13

A minute later I burst through the apartment door and found Pyper sprawled out on the floor. Falling to my knees by her side, I placed my palm on her chest. My hand rose as she took in a breath. The dread in my gut eased slightly.

“Thank God. Pyper? Can you hear me?” She didn’t move as I smoothed her hair back from her closed eyes. Her skin burned. I ran for a cold wet cloth. Once I started to mop her brow, her eyes flickered open.

“There you are,” I said. “Welcome back.”

“Jade.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Is he still here?”

“Who? Kane?” My voice was low and, I hoped, calming, though my heart was beating hard enough to leap right out of my chest.

She shook her head, tears streaming down her temples.

“It’s all right now. Shhh. It’s all right.” I moved to cradle her head in my lap and stroked her hair.

Pyper’s breath came short with silent sobs. She turned her face into my shirt and held on while her body shook. I continued to whisper soothing words until finally she stopped and was silent. A muffled sound came from her buried face.

“Hmmm?” I said.

“Thank you,” she said in a hoarse voice. She sat up across from me.

I handed her the cloth and gave her a small smile. “No thanks needed. It’s what friends do.”

She tried to smile back but failed, turning her head toward the window.

I got up and headed to the kitchen. I didn’t notice the shaking until I grabbed the tea kettle. After filling it and placing it on the burner, I ran my still shaking hands over my arms. Pyper wasn’t the type of person to break down. I didn’t think anything else could unnerve me more. Searching through the cupboards, I found a new bag of mint Milano cookies. After arranging the cookies on a plate, I set it on a tray along with the tea and headed back into the living room. Pyper sat curled up at the end of the couch.

I set the tray down and handed her a mug. “Here, drink this.”

She took the mug but neglected to take a sip and stared into the contents. After a few moments, I held out a cookie. “This might help.”

She glanced up but sat unmoving.

“If you don’t want it, I’m eating it. This is not the time to turn down chocolate.”

She made a move for it, but I bit into it before she could grab it.

“Bitch,” she said, but it lacked any heat.

I smiled sweetly and handed her another from the tray. She took it before I could snatch it back, and we nibbled the cookies in silence for a few minutes. Finally, I asked, “If you weren’t asking about Kane, who were you asking about?”

She ran her fingers along the rim of her cup then looked up meeting my eyes. “The man I’ve been dreaming about.”

My head jerked back, causing me to spill my tea. “Shit!” I tried to mop it up with a napkin, but a small dark spot stained the cream sofa.

“Don’t worry about it.” Pyper waved her hand in a dismissive fashion. “I know the owner.” She tried to smile, but it came out more as a grimace.

I shook my head and said something about getting it cleaned. After putting the tea cup down to avoid further disaster, I turned to give her my full attention. “You’re dreaming of someone, too?”

She nodded, fear flashing in her eyes. It wrapped around my chest, making me wheeze. I took shallow breaths and tried to conjure up as much calm as I could to combat her energy. When the air flowed freer, I asked, “Do you know him?”

Her confusion, fear and anger seeped through my protective calm. Clamping down on my barriers, I shoved her emotions and my own mounting anger aside and concentrated.

Pyper shook her head. “I don’t actually see him. There aren’t any details, just a shape, so I don’t know who it is.”

“Can you tell me what happens in your dreams?” My stomach did flip-flops. Was it the same ghost as Mr. Sexy? My hands started shaking again. I didn’t really want to know what had happened to cause her breakdown, but I knew I needed to hear it.

Pyper focused on her tea cup again. “He torments me, almost every night, or day. Whenever I try to sleep.”

My fists curled. “How?”

“I don’t know how to explain it exactly.” Her voice shook a little and I took her hand, squeezing it lightly. “It’s like…well, like I’m being physically beaten, but I’m not.”

I nodded and waited for her to continue.

She screwed her face up in concentration. “In the dreams I can feel myself being hit all over, but the brunt of it is my stomach and my face. My arms feel pinned down so I can’t defend myself. I feel the pain. I literally feel it so intensely, I think I must cry out in my sleep.”

I shivered as the hair stood up on my arms.

“When it’s over I feel empty. And bruised. Only, when I wake up, I’m not bruised at all. Then I think it’s just all in my mind, the pain, you know? “

“I think so.” Her experience was very much like my own dreams of Mr. Sexy, only most of the time he brought me pleasure. It wasn’t until recently that he’d brought physical pain, and it didn’t sound the same. Mine was more of an emotional hurt, not an actual beating.

I thought about what she said for a moment. “What happened tonight that sent Kane to get us?”

“Hey, where is he?” Pyper glanced around.

“I have no idea,” I blurted. “He came in raving about how we needed to help you. I took off and the rest of them stayed in my apartment.”

Pyper drew her eyebrows together and frowned. “That’s odd.” I thought so too, but didn’t respond. “Well,” she continued, “Kane and I were just sitting here talking and I felt so safe being here with him, I curled up and went to sleep. I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

“I can imagine.” I felt a small twinge of guilt as I remembered actually enjoying Mr. Sexy in my dreams.

“I guess I thought with Kane here, things might be all right.” Her face paled. “But I was wrong. It was the worst attack yet. I woke up screaming and ran.”

She plucked at the couch cushion. “I guess I was disoriented and panicked. Kane started yelling at me to stop so he could help me. I froze. When he got to my side and put his arms around me, there was a light that flashed. Lightning, probably.” She squeezed her eyes closed and shuddered. “Then I suddenly started to burn from the inside out. I guess that’s when I passed out.” Her eyes fluttered open and found mine. “The next thing I knew, you were sitting next to me.”

“Oh my God, Pyper.” I squeezed her hand harder and said in a very small voice, “This is my fault. I’m sorry.”

“What? Your fault?” Her shock penetrated my defenses.

“I don’t know if it’s my fault exactly, but I’ve been having somewhat similar dreams. Maybe if I’d shared the extent of them we could have figured something out so this didn’t keep happening to you.”

“If I understand correctly, you’re having sex dreams. Those are nothing like mine.”

Her flat, cold stare made me flinch. “No, the content isn’t the same. You’re right.” I stopped, rubbed my eyes. “What I mean is, mine seem so real. They feel just as real as yours do. When I wake up I can still feel the effects of the lovemaking.” My face burned hot and I turned away, embarrassed.

“Okay, maybe, but what does that mean?”

“I know, or at least I think I know, that the person in my dreams is the same as the ghost in my apartment. What if the same ghost is invading both of our dreams?”

“If that is true, why would he torture me and have sex with you?” Her eyes narrowed, piercing me.

“I don’t know!” I threw my hands up. “How could I know? He’s been hurting me too, lately. And with the similarity, it could be a link.” I paused as my words triggered a thought. “You said this attack was the worst one yet, right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Kane was with you. The two times I was attacked, Kane was with me.”

We stared at each other until Pyper leaned back and in a low, controlled voice asked, “You think Kane has something to do with this?”

A thread of anger, combined with protectiveness, entered my consciousness. I rushed to reassure her. “No. I don’t. But maybe he’s a trigger for the ghost.”

“I’m sorry.” She moved to sit next to me. “You’re right that he could be a trigger, but the ghost hurts me when Kane isn’t around, too.”

“I know. It just seemed like too much of a coincidence.”

She nodded agreement then jumped to her feet. “I’m tired of being the victim. I wish there was something we could do. Like confront the bastard.”

“We can,” I said, surprising myself. “We can call him out like we did that first day in my apartment.”

“Now?”

“Yes.” I said in a firm voice, not feeling at all as confident as I sounded.

She studied me for a long moment and gave a quick nod.

I moved to the middle of the living room. Pyper joined me and clasped my hand in hers.

“I think we should both call him at the same time. Do you have a name you refer to him as?” I asked.

“Mr. Evil,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing.

“What?” She frowned.

“You’ll see,” I said trying to contain myself. “On three, then.” With a nod from Pyper, I counted backwards from three.

On one I called out, “Mr. Sexy,” just as Pyper called, “Mr. Evil.”

Pyper turned her head toward me and grinned briefly. Another flash of lightning shone through the uncovered window. Pyper flinched, tightening her grip on my hand. Her face went chalk white. Her terror rippled through me as if it were my own. “No, please don’t,” she whispered.

I turned my head frantically from side to side, seeing nothing.

She shook violently.

Panicked, I yelled out “Mr. Sexy! Stop this right now. Do you hear me? I need you to stop this!” I concentrated hard on gathering as much energy as I could from my being. A tight ball formed in my stomach. It grew rapidly like an inflating balloon. When I mentally pushed the force from myself the lights flickered off and on, off and on. The tea tray vibrated on the coffee table, and a dark shadow appeared right in front of the two of us. A light breeze tickled my skin and ruffled my hair.

And suddenly there was Mr. Sexy, standing in full view in front of us. He looked at me, turned around and put his arms out wide. The flickering and shaking stopped, and all that was left was a light tickling breeze.

Trembling, I turned to Pyper. I felt the tension run out of her and her death grip loosen. But she didn’t let go. The color returned to her face, and a rush of gratitude and relief oozed from her into my awareness.

“It’s all right now.” I stared at my ghost and reached my hand out, slow and tentative. The air felt hot and thick, even though I could hear the air conditioner blowing just over our heads.

The ghost lowered his arms, turned back to face me and just as my hand was about to reach his outstretched one, the door flew open with a bang. He vanished into a dark shadow and disappeared. “Damn it!”

Kane, Ian and John barged into the room. Equipment filled their hands and hung from straps around their necks.

Kane shot me a weary glance as he strode toward Pyper.

“Where have you been all this time?” I asked.

“Dealing with your ghost.” He stopped in front of Pyper. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” She turned to me. “Thank you, Jade.” Her arms wrapped around me. She hugged me hard and whispered, “I’ll be right back.” She moved toward her bedroom. I thought I saw a single tear roll down her cheek.

I watched her disappear through the door then turned on Kane. “What the hell are you talking about? The ghost was here.”

Kane raised his eyebrows and Ian’s eyes went wide. “At least for a little while, anyway.”

Ian didn’t question me. He said something softly to John, and the two of them went about setting up equipment around the room.

I grabbed Kane’s arm. “What did you mean? What happened after I left?”

“What happened here?” he said at the same time.

“You first,” I said, poking him in the ribs. “It must have been something compelling to keep you away when Pyper was passed out on the floor.”

“Passed out?” His voice rose and he turned in the direction of Pyper’s room. “She was screaming just like you did last night. I couldn’t get her to come out of it. I thought—”

“She’s all right.” My heart squeezed with his pain. “What happened?”

Kane led me to the couch and tugged me down to sit next to him. “When you left, I followed you.”

“No—”

“Yes. I did. At least, I tried to.”

My eyebrows pinched together, causing a wrinkle just above my nose.

He reached his hand out to smooth it. “Don’t do that. You’ll give yourself a headache.”

I frowned, in no mood to be teased. “Go on.”

“I was right behind you when you left. You ran out the door. I turned to follow you, only Ian yelled for me to stop and I hesitated. Both of them, Ian and John, went crazy taking pictures.” He shook his head. “I thought they’d gone mad. I couldn’t see anything, so I turned to follow you. Only…well, when I tried to go out the door, it was blocked somehow.”

“Blocked? With what?”

He shrugged. “I have no idea. I couldn’t see anything except you turning the corner at the end of the stairway. I called out. Didn’t you hear me?”

“No, I didn’t. How could the door be blocked by nothing?”

“You’ve got me. Ian said it was the ghost’s energy keeping us trapped in the room. It was hot, like fire. I could get right up next to it and feel nothing, but as soon as I tried to go through I’d burn.”

I gasped. “How did you get out?”

“Right after the lightning struck, the doorway turned bright orange then dissipated into thousands of tiny particles and flew down the stairs.”

My heart started hammering again. “Then what did you do?”

“Came here, obviously.” He took my hand and held it lightly in his own.

“Here.” My voice was weak and my head swam. “You said it broke right after the lightning?”

He nodded.

“Shit.” My skin went cold and the gooseflesh came back. “I called him. That’s why he left.” My voice shook. “Well, we both did, actually.” I tilted my head toward Pyper’s room.

Kane’s face turned red. I could see him try to control his anger. “Why would you do that on your own? One or both of you could have been seriously hurt.”

I threw my hands up in frustration. “Because we’re both sick of being out of control. I guess I figured if we called him, we might have the upper hand.”

“And did you?” He looked skeptical.

“In the end, yes I did.” I smiled with satisfaction and filled the three of them in on what happened.

When I finished, Ian stopped his frantic recording of my account, put his notebook down and looked at me thoughtfully. “What?” I asked.

“I was just thinking about the timetable of events. It seems we were encountering something in your apartment at the same time something was going on with Pyper when Kane came to get us.”

“Can a ghost be in two places at once?” It seemed unlikely to me.

Ian scratched his chin, pursed his lips and said, “Not that I know of. At least, I’ve never heard of such a thing. But if it’s the same ghost—”

I cut him off. “It is. I saw him materialize in front of me. I recognized him.”

“I know, I heard. What I was going to say is, if the same ghost has connected with both of you, I wonder if he can be in one person’s mind, while physically somewhere else. Like in Pyper’s mind, while interacting with you in your apartment. That would take a lot of energy. More than I’ve ever encountered.”

Kane and I started asking questions at the same time. Then a movement caught my eye. I glanced up to see Pyper, emerging from her room. She’d changed into tiny black hot-pants and a large gray sweatshirt.

“What the hell are you wearing?” I asked in disbelief. “You’re not going to work at the club after all of that, are you?”

She rolled her eyes. “What am I supposed to do? Sit around here and waste my life waiting for more abuse?”

“Make her not go,” I demanded, turning to Kane. “She’s in no shape to be dealing with the club. Take her home or out to eat or something, but do not let her go to work.”

He patted my hand like a father would his daughter. “Of course I won’t let her work. Pyper, are you insane?”

“I hear that’s up for debate.” She flipped her pink hair over her shoulder and headed for the door.

Kane leaped up from the couch, scooting in front of her. He folded his arms over his chest and stared her down. “Charlie’s there. She’s got it covered.”

Pyper narrowed her eyes, pointed her finger and walked right up to him. “You cannot keep handing everything off to Charlie, Kane. It isn’t right.” She stabbed him in the chest. “That girl deserves a raise and a promotion based on how much you take advantage of her.”

“Done,” he said.

Pyper took a step back, clearly not ready for that. “You gave her a raise and a promotion?”

“Not yet. But I’ve been planning to.”

“Oh.” Pyper backed off. “But you better give her a bonus or something for time already served.”

Kane looked up, as if to ask God for help, or patience. “Fine. Just stay here until we’re ready to go.” He strode off toward his part-time room.

“Go? Go where?” She turned in his direction and found John staring at her ass, camera pointed and ready. “Jesus, just take the damn picture already.” She stripped off her sweatshirt, revealing a black lace push-up bra, and posed, sticking her ass right in John’s face.

I covered my mouth to hide the laughter bubbling up. John’s face went beet-red as he stood, staring.

“Hurry up. I’m freezing.” Pyper reached around, snapping her fingers in front of his eyes a few times.

John quickly snapped the picture, then retreated to Ian, who made no effort to hide his laughter on the other side of the room.

Kane cleared his throat and gestured to Pyper. “If you want to put some more clothes on, the three of us—” he nodded, indicating me, “—should get some food.” His tone of voice made it more of an order than a statement.

“What’s wrong with my outfit?” Pyper cooed from the chair.

Kane rolled his eyes, and I shrugged.

“Oh, all right.” She bounced off to her bedroom, clearly feeling more like herself.

“Would you mind if we stayed to do more readings?” Ian asked.

“Fine,” Kane answered. “Stay as long as you like. The girls can stay at my place.”

Kane glanced at me in question. Despite my earlier concerns that he might be a link with the pain the ghost was causing, I nodded in agreement. I wasn’t up for an argument, nor did I want to be alone.

Chapter 14

With a promise from Ian he’d call sometime the next day, we left in search of food. An hour later we sat at Kane’s table with takeout from the Gumbo Shop. The conversation was nonexistent, as the three of us sat pretending to be absorbed in our meals. Letting out a barely audible sigh, Pyper picked up her plate and carried it into the living room, where she curled up in the overstuffed chair. I wanted to do the same but decided she might like a bit of time to herself.

I looked up to find Kane watching me intently. I gave him a weak smile and asked, “Wine?”

Without saying a word he rose, grabbed a bottle of red and two glasses from his wine rack. A small pop sounded, causing Pyper to look our way. Kane held the bottle up in question, but she shook her head and went back to moving the etouffee around on her plate. After handing me a full glass, Kane set the bottle on the table, sat down next to me and focused on my face as he sipped.

“Thank you.” I raised my glass slightly.

He gave me a small nod, still staring.

The heat rose to my face as I examined the blackened swordfish on my plate. It was one of my favorites, but it sat untouched. “Stop,” I said in a low voice.

“Stop what?”

Whipping my head up, I looked him straight in the eye. “You know damn well what. Stop staring at me like that.”

“Am I making you nervous?”

“No.”

“If you say so.”

I glared at him.

Kane scooted closer, bringing his face mere inches from mine. “I wanted to get your attention.”

“There are easier ways.”

He shrugged. “This was a pretty low-level effort for me.”

My eyes slanted. “Now that you have my attention…”

“I just wanted you to know. What we started last night and this morning isn’t over.” He brought his face so close, I could almost feel the smooth silk of his lips.

I jerked back. “No? I don’t think that’s for you to say.”

“I do. I know there’s something different about you. I just don’t know what yet.”

A chill ran up my spine. “You mean, apart from my ghost-attracting abilities?”

He took his time before he spoke. “No, Jade. This isn’t about your ghost. I can sense your energy. I don’t know how to explain it, but even if I can’t see you, I always know when you’re around.”

The statement couldn’t have surprised me more. It hit me hard as if he’d punched me in the gut. “You do? How?” Mortified, I gnawed on my lower lip, suddenly very interested in my hands now lying in my lap.

I risked a glance, catching his eye.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just feel it. Probably the same way you feel me while I’m dreamwalking.”

“Does this happen with anyone else? Can you sense Pyper?”

“No. I’ve never experienced this before. It’s something special about you.”

I stood up and carried my dishes to the sink. How could I possibly tell him about my own abilities? I knew my invasion of his privacy was just as bad as his dreamwalking, but I’d told myself I didn’t do it on purpose. Of course he’d said he didn’t either, he just didn’t do anything to stop it. Well, neither had I. Worse, I hadn’t even wanted to, until this morning when things got too intense. My stomach knotted, making me glad I hadn’t eaten much.

Overcome with emotion, my eyes filled. I blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay.

Kane walked up behind me. “Jade, are you going to tell me about it?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, so low even I could barely hear it. I turned around, realizing he deserved an honest answer. But I just couldn’t tell him. The last person I’d told was Dan, and that had turned out disastrous. In my heart I knew Kane was different. He wasn’t likely to cast me aside. I just wasn’t ready to face what I’d done, especially after how I’d reacted to his confession. “I really am sorry. I just can’t talk about it right now.” Unable to hold it back, a single tear fell down my cheek.

Cupping my face with his palm, he caught the tear with his thumb. “There’s no need to be sorry,” he said softly. “We’ll talk later. It’s all right.”

The tenderness made the tears flow fast and hot. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me close. For the first time all day I felt safe. My world narrowed to all things Kane. His fresh scent. The hand gently stroking my hair. The way he held me, patiently waiting until my tears were spent.

Finally I removed myself and made my way to his bathroom. After a long, hot shower, I changed into a T-shirt and a pair of Kane’s boxers and returned to the living room.

The two of them were huddled together, talking quietly. The image gave me a small jolt, reminding me how close they really were. I was in danger here and didn’t know how to stop my growing emotions. They both said they were just friends, and I didn’t have any reason to think otherwise, but my rational mind wasn’t convincing my inner jealous woman.

Not wanting to interrupt, I tried to make my way quietly to the guest bedroom.

“Where are you going?” Kane asked just as I was about to open the bedroom door. Caught. Damn.

I put a smile on my face before turning around and said, “To bed. I could really use a good night’s sleep.”

“In there?” the two asked in unison.

“Uh, yeah. Is that a problem?”

Kane gazed at me with an intense look, while Pyper glanced back and forth between the two of us.

Kane turned to Pyper. “And where are you sleeping?”

“Here, I guess.” She patted the couch cushions and failed at the attempted smile, resulting in a smirk.

‘No,” I said quickly. “You can sleep in here.” I pointed to the queen-sized bed through the now-open door. “I don’t mind sharing. As long as you don’t snore.” I teased.

Pyper lifted her eyebrows, questioning Kane.

He stared at the ceiling. “It’s college all over again.”

“Huh?” I asked.

Pyper giggled and punched his arm. “Get over it already.” She turned toward me. “I dated one of his ex-girlfriends in college.”

“Dated? More like stole,” Kane said.

“You can’t steal someone from someone else, Kane,” Pyper replied.

“Close enough.”

“Umm…” I didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t worry. I haven’t hit on a girl in ages, and I’m not going to start with Jade.” Pyper turned to me. “I don’t mind sharing if you don’t.”

“Not at all.” I waved as I turned toward the room.

‘I’ll be right there,” Pyper called.

“Take your time. Once I’m asleep there’s no waking me up.” I closed the door behind me and crawled into bed.

The dream came on in a vibrant cascade of soft white light. My awareness floated somewhere near the ceiling, giving me a clear view of the room. There I was, snuggled up with a pillow, Pyper curled up next to me. Beautiful light illuminated both of our faces. We looked so peaceful. The light was like a protective layer of warmth and love. As my awareness drifted back to my body I spotted Mr. Sexy at the foot of the bed, keeping a watchful eye over us. The last thing I saw before I drifted back into unconsciousness was a small reassuring smile from him.

I woke, feeling thick and groggy. The sun was doing its best to shine through the shade on the window. Blinded with sleep, I stumbled to the bathroom to complete my morning ritual.

When I’d finished I found Pyper sitting in an armchair in the corner, waiting.

“Morning. The bathroom is all yours.” I shuffled over to the bag Kane had packed for me the day before and found a blue cotton skirt and form-fitting white tee. He couldn’t have done better if I’d given him a list.

“I had a dream,” Pyper said, still sitting in her chair.

Her words triggered the memory of my own dream. I stopped rummaging through my bag and sat on the bed opposite her. “And?”

“I slept better last night than I have in weeks. The dream was full of warmth and light. I felt safe, protected even.” She gave me a small smile.

I frowned. It made no sense. This was the ghost that had hurt both of us. “I had the same dream. Did you see anyone in it?”

“No. Why, was Kane there?”

I shook my head. “No. Someone else.” She tensed. Should I tell her? I bit my lip, then decided she had a right to know. “Our ghost was there, but all I sensed was him protecting us.” Her face went white. “Both of us.” I added reassuringly.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t, but you felt it just the same way I did. It didn’t feel threatening, did it?”

She shook her head.

“It’s definitely odd, but better than the alternative, right?”

She plucked at the blanket. “I guess.”

“Then let’s consider it progress.” I stood, not wanting to dwell on it any longer. “Did Kane make something to eat?”

Her lips quirked. “Yes. I don’t know what you did to him, but I never got breakfast before.”

“Well, I didn’t steal his girlfriend.” I winked and headed for the door. When I glanced back, she stuck out her tongue. I was still chuckling when I found Kane.

“Sleep well?” he asked, giving me a light kiss.

I nodded. “You?”

“No.”

“Really? After all that happened yesterday, I’d have thought nothing could keep you up.”

“Nothing but the knowledge of the two of you sharing a bed.” He gave me a rueful smile and I rolled my eyes.

“Men.”

Later that day, Pyper and I worked late closing down the café. I was covering for Holly, who’d been working extra while we played ghost hunter.

“He’s coming at five?” Pyper asked, referring to Ian.

“Yep. When he called, he said he wasn’t finished analyzing but wanted to share what he had.”

“Did you tell Kane?”

“No.” That would be counterproductive, since I wanted to avoid him. I still hadn’t found the nerve to be honest with him. And as each hour passed, my anxiety about it grew.

“Okay, I’ll give him a buzz and let him know.”

Great. “I’ll just go get cleaned up and meet you back here in about fifteen.”

“Sounds good.”

I heard the phone ringing as I unlocked my door. “Coming!” I called, as if someone could actually hear me. By the time I got in and picked it up, I’d missed it. “Damn.”

The message was from Kat, wanting to see when we could get together. We’d been playing phone tag ever since I’d found her note and gift card. I’d forgiven her after having some distance and did want to see her, but didn’t think I’d have enough time to spend on a proper conversation since we hadn’t actually spoken in a few weeks. I made a mental note to call her back later.

I changed my clothes and took a few extra moments to reapply my makeup. Just because I wanted to avoid Kane didn’t mean I had to look like a slob. On my way back down I grabbed a six-pack of beer and a bottle opener. Something told me getting results sober was a bad idea.

Once inside the café, I took a seat between Ian and Pyper and popped the cap on my Guinness. “Anyone?”

Pyper grabbed a bottle. Kane got up and poured himself coffee.

“Not yet.” Ian passed out a pile of graphs and charts to each of us. “Let me get through this first. Does everyone have this sheet?” He held up a color-coded chart.

We each nodded.

“Good. This graph here shows the level of assumed paranormal activity when Jade was in her apartment. Do you see how it spikes when she speaks?”

The graph peaked in several places. “All of these are only when I was talking?” I asked.

“Yes. Except for here at the end of the chart—it peaks higher than any of them. That happened right after you left the room to find Pyper.”

“When we were trapped in the apartment,” Kane said.

“Right.” Ian said.

“This just confirms my ghost was in my apartment and stayed there when I left.” I shrugged. This wasn’t anything we hadn’t already suspected.

“Yes it does. But what’s more interesting is this.” He pulled out a second graph. “This one is the readings from right after we found the two of you in Pyper’s apartment.”

The graph was similar to the first, but had about twice as many peaks as the first one.

“Each peak is when either Pyper or Jade spoke, but no one else.” Ian eyed my beer.

I held it up, offering, but he waved me off.

“So, the ghost is…what? Giving off energy when either Jade or I speak?” Pyper asked.

“Yes. He’s responding to your voice or energy. The only other time we see a spike is when he trapped us in the apartment.”

Ian held up another graph. “Now, check this out. This one is after you both left for the night. Not only are there no peaks, but there isn’t any paranormal activity at all.”

“This was from Pyper’s apartment?” I asked, looking it over.

“No, both. Your apartment too.”

“You’re saying he’s only present around either me or Pyper?”

“From what we have here, yes. But we can’t be totally sure. I wish we’d thought to get a reading of Pyper while we were getting that first reading with you. It would answer some questions.”

“What questions?” Kane asked.

“I’d like to get a reading on both Pyper and Jade at the same time, but in different areas of the building. We don’t have a clear idea how Pyper could be haunted in her dreams, while Jade is interacting with him at the same time. If I could get some more readings—”

“What would happen in these readings?” Pyper asked, cutting him off.

“Pretty much the same as what we did with Jade. We’d take readings and have each of you speak to him to see the response.”

“What exactly will that accomplish?”

“It’ll help us understand what’s going on,” Ian said.

“So?” Pyper asked.

Ian pursed his lips. “So, don’t you want to know what’s going on?”

“No.” Pyper stood up. “I want him to leave me alone. Will answering your questions make him stay away from me?”

“Uh…” Ian cleared his throat. “I can’t say, really. It might give us some insight on when and why he attacks.”

“Haven’t you been listening? He attacks me every time I sleep, with the exception of last night. If you don’t have a solution for getting rid of him permanently then I’m out.” Pyper grabbed her beer and stalked to the back room.

“Ian,” I said. “Do you know how to exorcise a ghost?”

He rolled his shoulders. “To be honest, I’ve never had a case this intense. Usually we just ask the spirit to back off and it does. Mostly I’ve been just recording information and trying to understand it.” He paused. “This case is really intriguing and I didn’t stop to think about how it’s affecting the two of you.”

Perfect. All this time, I’d been putting my trust in him as the experienced ghost hunter, and he didn’t have any better understanding about what to do than we did. “Last night I pretty much demanded he stop hurting Pyper, and he did. Do you think that did the trick? He did leave her alone last night.” I met Kane’s eyes when a mixture of worry and gratitude radiated from him.

“Maybe. Only time will tell.” Ian stood up, grabbing his papers. “In the meantime, I’ll try some of my contacts aboutwhat else can be done if need be.”

“Okay, thanks.”

He reached over and gave me a tight hug and left.

Jealousy rolled off Kane, but his face never changed. I hid a smile as I drank the rest of my beer.

“I’d like it if you and Pyper stayed at my place for a while,” Kane said.

“Are you thinking of a threesome? ‘Cause I got to say, I’m not into that sort of thing.”

“No.” He rolled his eyes. “I’d just feel better if you were both nearby where I could keep an eye on you.”

“The apartment here is close enough.” When he opened his mouth to speak again I cut him off. “Look, Kane, I appreciate the thought. Really, I do. But I’m not afraid of the ghost. After Pyper was attacked yesterday we realized he’s only attacked me when I’ve been close with you.” I paused. “Maybe it’s better if we have a little space and see what happens.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, then nodded.

“All right then. Beer?” I held one out.

“No thanks.” He got up and walked out.

Heaving a huge sigh, I picked up the remaining bottles and went to find Pyper.

“Hey. Want to come back to my place and get stupid drunk?”

Pyper straightened and grinned. “That’s the best invitation I’ve had all month.” She eyed the bottles. “But we’ll need more than what you’ve got there. Let’s make a stop in the club.”

Chapter 15

A rhythmic pounding entered my awareness. I rolled over, groaning. What the hell? I heard a muffled voice, shot up in bed and winced when I banged my elbow while fumbling with the light. Once fully awake, I realized someone was banging on my door.

“Jade? Jade? Open up.”

“Hold on. Just a sec.” Hastily wrapping my naked body in a short robe, I took the four steps to the door and opened it to find Pyper. Dark circles rimmed her red, puffy eyes on her pasty white face. “Are you all right?” I asked, pulling her in.

She clutched a thin cotton robe and in a small voice said, “He’s back.”

“Fuck.”

She nodded and curled up on my couch in a fetal position. “The last time I slept was here.”

I sat on the arm of the couch next to her, recalling when we’d swiped booze from the club and stayed up half the night giggling. “That was four days ago.”

She gave a small incoherent sound before closing her eyes. “It’s hot in here.”

“The air conditioner isn’t working.”

“You should tell Kane.” Her voice was weak, barely a whisper.

Pyper was right, of course, but since I was avoiding him I was suffering in the heat. Stupid, yes. But I was willing to wait it out a little longer. I got up and pointed my rotating fan toward her. Then, reaching for a pillow, I gently lifted her head and placed it under her. She snuggled into it and sighed. I stayed perched next to her until I heard the deep rhythmic breathing of sleep.

Standing next to my open balcony window, I gazed down at the moonlit courtyard. Why was he tormenting her? Since the day I had physically called him, Mr. Sexy had only appeared in my dreams to watch over me. In a comforting way though, not a creepy stalker way, as if he was protecting me. I think I should have been creeped out, but I wasn’t. I actually felt comforted and safe.

I checked on Pyper once more then pulled on a tank top and cotton bikinis and crawled back into bed. Too hot for covers, I stretched out on the top sheet and closed my eyes.

I woke to the smell of fresh coffee. “Yum. You can stay forever.”

“If I’d known it was that easy, I’d have made you breakfast in bed weeks ago.”

My eyes flew open. Kane stood next to me with a coffee mug. With a glance, I found my tank top had shimmied up, just barely covering my breasts. Crap. I jumped up, barely missed knocking the cup out of Kane’s hands, and put on my robe.

“I liked the other view better, but this is nice too.” He held the cup out to me.

“Did you say something about breakfast?” I took the coffee, avoiding eye contact.

“I brought bagels. It’s too hot to cook. Why didn’t you tell me the air wasn’t working?”

I shrugged and moved over to the counter. “Where’s Pyper?”

“She went down to the coffee shop. She asked me to bring you breakfast as a thank you.”

Noticing for the first time the bright sun shining through the window, I whirled around to look at my alarm clock. Seven a.m. “Oh, thank God. I still have an hour.”

“’Til what?”

“I have a class to teach. Thanks for coming by and for the breakfast, but I really need to get ready to go.” It wasn’t going to take me that long to shower and get dressed, but I didn’t want to be alone with him. I still needed time to sort out my emotions, which were running rampant at the moment.

So were his, but I was trying to block them out. It was overwhelming. While he was cool and calm on the outside, desire raged on the inside. And feeling it was having a profound effect on my willpower.

Not waiting for Kane to leave, I locked myself in the bathroom and turned the shower taps on high. When the cold water hit my body, I think steam actually radiated off me.

Ten minutes later I emerged, wrapped in my tiny robe. I kicked myself for not remembering to take clothes into the bathroom. There just wasn’t enough material, considering all the sparks flying around. Peeking around the corner, I found an empty room. Relief rushed over me as I realized Kane must have left. As I sat on my bed, a note on the nightstand caught my eye.

Jade, I will see about getting the air fixed or replaced today. You should have called as soon as it stopped working.

K.

I frowned, feeling slightly ashamed. I should’ve called. I should’ve been more gracious this morning as well. Vowing to behave better, I dressed quickly and grabbed the bagels on my way out the door.

Holly was busy taking orders, while Pyper handled three different coffee drinks at the same time. The line of customers snaked right out the front door. Grabbing an apron to help them out for a bit before my class, I jumped in next to Pyper and packed grounds into the espresso machine as fast as I could.

“Is it always this busy on Saturday?” I asked.

“Yes.” She gave me a grateful smile. I was happy to see the circles under her eyes were lighter, though not gone. One night of sleep wasn’t going to make up for missing days.

I smiled back and filled three cups full of ice to finish off the iced café au laits I was working on.

Within twenty minutes the line worked its way down to something manageable. I stepped into the back to hang up my apron and by the time I returned, Holly’s posture had relaxed and she was smiling at something Pyper had said.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Pyper was just telling me she spent the night with you last night.” She gave me a sly knowing smile. “I didn’t know it was like that.”

Huh? What was she talking about?

Pyper reached over and lightly smacked her on the back of the head. “No! I slept on her couch after waking her up in the middle of the night. Besides, she has a thing with Kane. Where have you been?”

“Kane?” She turned to me, wearing a startled expression. “Sorry” she said. “I didn’t know.” Turning on her heel, she walked purposefully into the back.

“What was that about?” I asked Pyper.

She shook her head. “No idea.”

“Feeling better this morning?” I wanted to ask about the events of the last four nights, but customers kept streaming through the door.

“Yes, better. I don’t usually need much sleep, but I do need some.” She bagged up a few muffins and passed them to a waiting customer.

“Uh, Pyper?” I edged my way closer to her. She looked up and I asked, “Do you think you should tell Ian he hasn’t left you alone?” I didn’t think he would have any answers, but I didn’t know what else to do.

Her shoulders slumped. “He’ll only want to do more readings.” Just then, two couples walked in the door. She stepped back to the register, ready for their order.

She had a point. Last I spoke with Ian, he still didn’t have a plan to help us exorcise the ghost. I’d have to call and light a fire under him. In the meantime, I’d ask Bea if she had any ideas. Any witch worth her salt would know something about ghosts.

I checked my watch. Eight o’clock. Time to get to the studio. I grabbed my purse and stopped next to Pyper, putting a hand on her arm. “You’re welcome at my place anytime.”

She nodded slightly and put on a bright smile for her patrons. “What can I get y’all today?”

My stop at the café left me with no time to spare. I arrived at the studio just as Bea and two other students strolled up. My master plan of speaking to Bea about the ghost would have to wait.

The class started out just as fun and easygoing as the previous ones, until my mind started to drift back to Pyper and the ghost. I’ve always been a good teacher since I can sense frustration, disappointment, satisfaction, and the like, which allows me to provide the feedback needed to fuel a student’s learning. But only if I’m paying attention.

“Damn it!”

I focused on Sandy, who was almost completely concealed in a haze of purple. I blinked. What the hell is that? She was surrounded by a bubble of gas-like substance, turning the color of eggplant. Frustration pulsed in time with the bubble, moving like a beating heart. Looking around, it was clear no one but me, and possibly Bea, saw it.

I glanced at Bea, who just smiled and nodded her head in Sandy’s direction. Abandoning my post at the other end of the table, I moved closer to the gas cloud. It parted and swirled like a fine mist when I walked up behind her. “How’s it going?”

“Argh! Terrible. I just can’t make this stringer of glass do what you showed us and now my bead is ruined.”

“Let’s see.” I took the metal mandrel out of her hand and inspected the bead. Green blobs of glass had been smeared haphazardly over one end. “Okay, here’s what we can do. Cover up this part with some more white.”

She took the mandrel back and started adding some glass to the end I’d indicated.

When she got the section covered, I said, “Now, melt it in nice and smoothe, and roll it out in a barrel shape.”

Intent on her task, Sandy did as I said. The gas faded, but not completely.

“But now the bead is bigger than the other one I made.”

“So? Just finish this one and make another smaller one, and you’ll have a pendant and an earring pair.”

“Oh! Cool.” She smiled and continued to shape the bead in the flame.

I watched as she rolled the warm glass on a graphite surface. “Next, take that green vine stringer.” I pointed to an extra-thin strip of glass. “Bring it as close to the flame as you can without melting it. Remember, it’s so thin it’ll melt before you actually put it in the flame.”

I waited for her to find the spot. When she did I added, “Get your base bead good and hot. Hot enough that it glows orange. That’s it. Get your stringer in that magic spot you just found. There you go, touch it to your base bead. Now move the bead, keeping your stringer in that sweet spot. See how the heat of the bead combined with the radiant torch heat melts the stringer? That’s what gives you control. Excellent! Nice job!”

The other four students clapped as Sandy held up her bead, with perfect scrolls of vines wrapped around it.

“Wonderful, Sandy!” Bea cheered.

The color around Sandy shifted to very pale lavender and then dissipated.

“Nice,” I said. “Now add some dots for flowers, and you’re all set.”

“Thanks, Jade.” Sandy picked up some pink glass, intent on completing her bead.

With the rest of the class happily melting away, I caught Bea’s eye. Her white light energy engulfed me, warming me to my toes and leaving me with the impression she’d just given me a mental hug. Cheered, I moved toward one of the other ladies to give more instruction.

When the clock struck twelve-thirty, everyone begged to stay a few more minutes. Feeling pleased and content with their progress, I obliged the request and sat down to finish the wire wrapping of last week’s beads.

Just as I finished, white light surrounded me. I looked up. “All done, Bea?”

“For today. Great lesson.”

“A little unusual, don’t you think?”

“Really? Looked pretty normal to me.” Bea watched the last of the students file out.

“Are you trying to tell me you didn’t see the purple gas cloud?”

“No. I saw it. I just wanted you to see it.”

I stood up. “Why?”

“I wanted to get your attention.” Bea took out her keys. “Will you join me for lunch today?”

“Yes.” I grabbed my purse and followed her to a sleek Toyota Prius. “Love your car.”

“Thanks.”

“Did you manufacture the purple gas, or…?”

Bea smiled. “No dear, I just fixed it so you could see it. It wasn’t gas, it was her aura.”

“And you did something to make me see it? How does that work?” I squinted as her white light grew brighter, making my eyes water. “Stop. I’m going blind over here.”

The light faded to more of a soft glow. “Auras feed off energy, and mine is pretty strong after all these years. I can enhance them. Only people with gifts like ours can see them. You just needed a little help.”

Gifts like ours. Maybe lunch wasn’t such a great idea.

Bea slowed in front of a large Greek revival home in the Garden District, complete with a black iron gate. She hit a remote attached to her visor, and the gates swung open.

“You live here?” I gaped.

She nodded and turned into the circular driveway, passed the main house and pulled up to what is known as a carriage house. In a previous life it would have housed horses and a carriage. She pointed. “This is where I live. The property is family-owned, and my cousins live in the house. I prefer a little privacy.”

Following her up the walkway, I breathed in the sweet fragrance from the lush gardens. “This is paradise.”

“As close as I’m going to get, I suspect.” She unlocked the door. “Come in.”

The inviting, pale yellow room had a garden stenciled on one wall and traditional antique furniture. A table sat off to the left, in front of a smallish kitchen painted bright white with glass cabinets.

“It’s gorgeous,” I said.

Thank you, I painted it myself.” She nodded toward the garden stencil. “Are you hungry?”

“Very. Let me help you.”

“No need. I have a salad made up. I just need to dish it out on plates. Why don’t you go outside and enjoy this lovely day on the porch?” She gestured to a door off the back of the kitchen. “I’ll be right out.”

The porch was screened in with three large ceiling fans, a must for the heavy summer heat. I sat admiring the small garden and smiled when I noticed a beautiful golden retriever curled up in a patch of shade.

In no time Bea emerged with a large tray of salads and freshly squeezed lemonade.

“This looks wonderful. Thank you,” I said.

“You’re welcome. Thanks for coming to visit. I have wanted to talk with you for a while now.” She took a slice of bread.

“What about?”

She forced a smile. “My brother.”

I furrowed my eyebrows together. “Your brother?”

She nodded, her smile still plastered on her face. “Yes. I wanted to know how he’s been treating you.”

Putting down my fork, I stared at her. “Who’s your brother?”

“Robert Wilson. Or Bobby is what I called him.” Bea’s smile faded into a sad wistful expression.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know a Robert or a Bobby.” I had no idea where she was going with this. Maybe she was confused.

“You do. You just didn’t know that’s his name.”

“Who are you talking about?”

She picked up her lemonade glass, took a long sip and carefully placed it on the table. “Have you ever known a ghost before, Jade?”

A shiver shook my body as her words sank in. “Known? No, but I’ve seen one.”

Bea nodded. She held her hand up indicating I should wait and then disappeared into her house. She returned, holding a silver picture frame. “Do you recognize this man?”

I gasped. “That’s my ghost.” I took the frame from her, studying it in detail. There he was. My Mr. Sexy, standing next to a much younger-looking Bea. “When was this taken?”

“Over thirty years ago.” Her eyes stayed on the picture. “That was just before he died.”

“Thirty years ago,” I said in a soft voice. I looked up. “How did you know?”

Her eyes rose to mine. “Bobby followed you out of The Herbal Connection that day you came in.”

Setting the frame on the table, I leaned back. “He followed me?” My eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“Yes. I knew right away you had a gift. I just wasn’t sure what it was.”

“You think ghosts are my gift?” Maybe she didn’t know about my other talent.

“Oh, it’s one of them, but not the main one.” Her smile returned, only this time it looked natural.

“And?”

Ignoring my question, she picked up the photo. “Is he treating you well?”

“Um, he’s been…interesting.” How could I tell her about what he did to Pyper? Or me, for that matter.

“Interesting?”

I shook my head. “Never mind. Why did he follow me?”

“Because of your energy, of course.” She said it as if talking to a simpleton.

Like that cleared things up. “Has he done this before?”

“No. For thirty years he’s been a presence in my life as a spirit. Mostly he hung out at the shop, as he seemed to enjoy the interaction with people. That day you walked in I knew you were special, but when Bobby followed you out…well, I just needed to find out more about you.”

“And that’s why you signed up for my class?” I asked, making the belated connection.

“Yes.”

“I thought it was a bit of a coincidence.” I glanced at the photo again. “Why me? I’ve never collected a ghost before.”

“Well,” Bea paused, “As I said your energy probably attracted him.”

“But—”

“And the way you look.”

“The way I look?” I frowned.

Bea got up. “I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into the house.

I set my fork down, pushed the plate away and got up to pace the garden. Why did the ghost choose me? Surely I wasn’t the only one with interesting energy to ever walk into The Herbal Connection. Was there something about my particular ability that attracted him? Rounding a corner, I eyed the large golden retriever bounding up to me.

“Hi, cutie pie.” I smiled and reached down to pet it. Just as I thought I would connect with its head, it vanished. “What the hell?” I jumped up, looking around.

“What is it?” Bea came around the hedge.

“Where did the dog go?”

“What dog?” Bea frowned.

“The golden retriever,” I said still searching.

“You saw a golden retriever?”

I nodded.

“Oh wow.” Bea grinned.

“Wow, what? What the hell is going on?” Agitation took over.

Bea waved me over. “Come back to the table. I have something to show you.”

As I reclaimed my seat she handed me another old photo in a silver frame. “Take a look at this.”

“Oh my God! Who is this?” I pointed to the strawberry-blond woman standing next to Bobby.

“It’s a remarkable likeness, isn’t it?”

I gaped.

“That was his wife,” Bea said.

“Was his wife? Is she—”

“She’s still living, but she moved up north years ago. After Bobby died, she couldn’t stand being here, so she moved to be closer to her family. I haven’t talked to her in years. But you look just like her.”

“I guess that explains why he attached himself to me.” I felt downright creepy now. Visions of our nightly encounters flashed through my mind. Ick. He thought I was someone else.

“Now look at this.” She handed me another photo. This one showed Bobby a few years younger and a dog. A golden retriever.

“No way.” I set the picture down.

“I’d say it has to be him. His name was Duke, and he belonged to Bobby.”

“Have you seen him lurking around?”

“No. Never.” She shrugged. “But they lived in the big house, not this one.”

I got up and moved around the hedge. The golden retriever was sitting exactly where I’d seen him before he vanished. “Heya, Duke.” The large golden dog lifted his head in response. “So it’s true.” How freaking odd! Just then my pants started to vibrate. I jumped, forgetting I’d set my phone on vibrate before class started. “Oh crap.” I laughed and pulled it out of my pocket. “Excuse me a moment.”

Bea nodded.

I strode across the lawn. “Hello.”

“Hey, girlfriend,” Kat said. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, yourself. Phone tag was getting old. Where are you?”

“Whole Foods, where are you?”

“At Bea Kelton’s house in the Garden District.”

“Who?” she asked.

“A student. She owns The Herbal Connection and asked me for lunch.”

“That’s, cool. I called because I wanted your help with something. What are you doing later?”

“I was planning a nice long soak in my tub.” I eyed Duke as he moseyed up to me.

“Do you think you can put it off? I need something special for an order, and I want to raid your bead stash.” Kat was a silversmith and periodically bought glass beads for her jewelry line.

“Sure. I don’t know when I’ll be home, though. I’ll need to get a ride from Bea.”

“You’re on my way. I can pick you up.”

“Perfect.” I walked back to Bea, relayed the address and sat down at the table. “My friend Kat is on her way. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course.”

I pushed the lettuce around on my plate and for the first time that afternoon I realized I wasn’t getting any of her emotions.

“Bea, what is it about this place? It’s…different.” I wasn’t sure what to say. I was seeing ghosts, and my emotional radar was out. Not that I minded. It was kind of nice to not be tuned in.

“It’s a protection ward. I like the silence.”

Uh, okay. A protection ward. She had to be a paranoid witch. I started to get really uncomfortable. I’d known plenty of witches, and they scared the crap out of me. And for good reason. They were the reason I’d lost my mom.

“What’s wrong?” Bea peered at me.

“Nothing. I just—wait, can you see Duke?” The retriever had moved and was currently sitting next to me.

“No. Is he here?” she asked, looking around.

“Yes.” I pointed to my feet, then looked up and swallowed. “And now Bobby is sitting next to you.” Did he follow me everywhere? This was too weird.

She turned to the empty chair and chanted something under her breath I didn’t understand. The warm air chilled, and Bea’s anxious excitement washed over me. Bobby’s outline grew stronger. The golden retriever bounded up to him, tongue wagging. He reached down to pet him with a grin on his face.

I jumped again when the phone started vibrating.

“Kat?”

“I’m out front. Are you ready?”

“Yes, I’ll be right there.” Flipping the phone closed, I turned to Bea. “My friend is here.”

Disappointment swirled around her, but her smile didn’t waiver. “Of course.”

I took a deep breath. “Before I go, there’s something I have to ask.”

She sat up and nodded.

“Does Bobby have any history of violence?”

Her brow creased. Defensiveness crept into her voice. “No. Not ever. Why would you ask that?”

Closing my eyes, I forced the words out. “He’s been hurting my friend, Pyper. It happens in her sleep unless she’s near me.”

Fierce denial engulfed me, squeezing until I sputtered, “Bea, stop. Please.”

Her energy vanished. Gooseflesh popped out on my bare arms. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice stiff. “I have trouble believing Bobby would ever hurt anyone.”

I stood on shaking legs. “Thank you for having me and telling me about him.”

She stared across the yard with unfocused eyes. After a moment she spoke in a detached eerie tone. “I sense the truthfulness of your words, though what you believe to be true doesn’t make it so.” She turned back to me. Her expression cleared. “Please ask your friend if we can meet. I’ll see what I can do.”

“I will. I’ll call you tonight. Thank you.” I gave her a tentative wave as I crossed the yard, making a beeline for Kat’s car.

“Thank God you’re here. That place was starting to freak me out,” I said, jumping into the passenger side.

“Why?” Kat put the car in gear and drove off.

“She’s a witch.”

“Really? Did she tell you that?” Kat glanced my way.

“Not in so many words, but she lifted a ward. I know she has some kind of special powers, but we didn’t talk about it.” I flipped the visor down to cut out the sun. My eye caught something in the rearview mirror. I groaned.

“What?” Kat asked.

“I just inherited a ghost dog.” Duke was in the back seat, his head hanging out the window.

“So, you’re saying Ms. Kelton’s dead golden retriever followed you home?” Kat sat cross-legged on the hardwood, pawing through my bead stash. Since I didn’t have a dining table, I’d spread out half a dozen trays right there on the floor. She set a few aside and cocked an eyebrow.

“Not exactly,” I said as Duke staked out a place on the couch.

“Not exactly? Do you mean you dognapped him?” The incredulous look on her face suggested she thought I was joking.

“No, he jumped in the car, and you drove him here. He followed us up the stairs.”

“Are you even allowed pets?” She laughed.

“Ha-ha. Very funny.” Frowning, I grabbed a beer and slammed the refrigerator door.

“Oh come on, it was a little funny. Do I get one of those?”

She tilted her head toward my Guinness.

I shrugged, stepped out onto my balcony and sat down. Leaning back in my chair, I sighed heavily.

Kat appeared with a beer in her hand. “What is it?” She pulled a chair next to mine.

My eyes filled. I tried to blink back the tears. Breathing deeply, the air came in ragged, short spurts. “Oh, Kat,” I whispered as tears streamed uncontrollably down my face.

She shifted and her reassuring hand closed over mine. “It’s okay, sweetie,” she murmured. “It’s going to be okay.”

“There’s just so much going on. I don’t think I can handle much more.” I sniffled loudly. “And, now I have a ghost dog!”

Kat squeezed my fingers. “It’ll be okay. Bea said she’d help. At least now you know who you’re dealing with and why he’s attached to you. And a ghost dog is really a great thing, the way I see it.”

“Huh?”

“Well, it’s a golden, and you love goldens. With a ghost dog, you don’t have to feed him, walk him, pick up his shit or even clean up all that hair. You get a companion, and you don’t have to worry about how long you leave it home alone, if it’ll chew your favorite shoes, track dirt in the house, drool on you or get sick. You don’t need a vet or need to register it. Plus, it could still be a guard dog, I suppose. At least, warn you when something isn’t right.”

My lips quirked as she went on. “Do you suppose he’ll still want play toys? What about treats? You know how much goldens like to eat. Maybe you could get plastic doggie treats. That way he can pretend, and you don’t have food out rotting. He’ll want a doggie bed too, I suppose.”

I chuckled. “He’s already made himself at home on the couch.”

“That didn’t take long, did it?” She turned, looking in the window. “Is he on the right side?”

“Nope, left.”

“Your couch is sagging then.”

“Of course it is. It’s used.”

She smiled. “You’re going to be okay. We’ll call Ian with the new info. He keeps saying if he knew why the ghost was here it would help. Maybe this is the piece of the puzzle he needs to finally get something done.”

I nodded. “I suppose I should tell Kane, too.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “Just seems like he should know.”

Kat got up. “I’m gonna use your bathroom, but when I get back I want the full scoop on Kane. You never gave me all the details.”

She went back inside while I dialed Ian and left a detailed message about Bobby and why he was stalking me. Afterward, I called Pyper and filled her in. To my relief she offered to relay the information to Kane.

Then I retrieved Bea’s number and was disappointed when her phone automatically when to voicemail. “Hello, Bea. I’ve talked to Pyper, and we’re both anxious to meet with you as soon as possible.” I left my number and as I put my phone down, Kat reappeared.

“All right, dish,” she said.

Obediently, I replayed the gory details of my short affair with Kane.

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Kat said. “You’re mad at him for invading your dreams?”

“Yes. Wouldn’t you be?”

“With the dreams you described?” She laughed. “No.”

I glared at her in exasperation. “It isn’t the content of the dreams so much as the invasion.”

“Kind of like how you read his emotions and don’t tell him?” She raised her brows.

She was right, of course. Hadn’t I already had this same debate with myself? Hearing her say it out loud only made me feel worse.

“You’re going to tell him, right?” She peered at me.

I slumped, dejected. “You know why I don’t tell people.”

“Probably some of the same reasons Kane isn’t eager to share the details of his gift.” Kat leaned back, fingering the top of her beer bottle. “You need to tell him.”

“But what if—”

“He’s not Dan. So stop the what-ifs right this instant. You can’t live your life around how Dan acted. Kane is his own person. You should give him the chance. You might be surprised.”

“But I—”

“No buts. I know Dan hurt you. But you have to at least accept that part of the blame was yours for not telling him sooner.”

“He cheated on me!” I said, automatically defaulting to my ingrained indignation of how I’d been wronged even though I knew she was right.

“He was hurt, Jade.” She took a deep breath. “I know it was wrong. Of course it was. But you kept your gift from him for seven years, if you count the time we were all friends in high school. You’ve known Kane for, what, two weeks? What if this had been happening for years and he never told you? How would you feel?”

The beer turned stale on my tongue. “Awful. Betrayed. Horrified.”

Kat reached her hand out and clasped mine again. “You made a mistake. It’s understandable, given your history, but don’t let your fears get in the way of a good thing with Kane. If he’s so easily scared away, he isn’t good enough for you.”

I gave her a sad smile. “I really like him.”

“I know, honey. That’s why you need to tell him.” We sat in silence for a long moment, until Kat said, “You’ll find a way.”

“I hope so.”

She grabbed my arm and pulled me back inside. “Enough. Let’s go in so I can keep rummaging through your beads.”

Hours later, after Kat had left, neither Ian nor Bea had returned my calls.

Chapter 16

A variety of Voodoo dolls lined the windows of The Herbal Connection. I did a double-take and checked the store sign.

“I thought you said this was a new-age shop?” Pyper stood next to me, a skeptical frown on her face.

I’d offered to conduct a cleansing ritual on Pyper to neutralize any negative energy. It was a long shot, but at this point we were ready to try anything. “It was the last time I was here.”

“Looks more like Marie Leveau’s.” The shop named for the famous Voodoo Priestess was located at the other end of Bourbon Street.

I shrugged. “They’re probably trying to cater to the tourists.”

The door jingled as we walked in, and my skin tingled with pleasure as I inhaled the strong fresh rain scent. Kane’s scent. But he was back at the club, which only meant one thing. The store’s ‘happy place’ charm had evoked it. Damn, I was in trouble.

“Do you think that cinnamon chocolate scent is a candle or incense?” Pyper asked.

“I’m sure you can get it in either.” If Bea could charm a whole shop, certainly she could do something as simple as a candle. Though I wasn’t sure why Pyper would need it. Clearly her happy scent was the café.

A woman at least half Bea’s age clad in a chic, stylish, bohemian tunic and leggings greeted us. Now this is the kind of person I expected to see in an herbal shop. Her energy had the same lightness as Bea’s, but as I tried to get a read on her emotions all I sensed was a cool void. Weird. I’d never had that happen before.

“Hi,” I said. “Is Bea around?”

“Sorry, she didn’t come in today. Can I help you?”

“Yes, we need a Desert Sage smudge stick.” I pulled a bill out of my wallet, but Pyper put her hand over mine.

“I got it.”

I smiled and turned toward the clerk. “I hope Bea isn’t sick.”

“I’m not really sure. She left me a note letting me know she wouldn’t be here, so she either came in last night or this morning. I can leave her a message if you like.”

“It’s all right, I have her number. Thanks though.”

“Anything else?” the clerk asked.

I shook my head.

As she finished the transaction, a small twinge of curiosity flowed from her. I reached deeper to find her emotions and was rewarded with a brilliant white light bouncing off the honey-colored hair piled on top of her head.

“Wow,” I said and stepped back.

“What?” Pyper asked.

“Oh, sorry. Nothing.” I bit my lip.

The clerk’s energy went from white to purple and back to white as she studied me. Realization seemed to dawn and she smiled. “An empath. That explains the bright purple pulsing around you. I can see auras and,” she waved her hand, “other things.”

I froze. Who was she?

She leaned in close to me. “Your friend has something attached to her. Something dark.”

“Dark?” I repeated. Did Bobby follow us everywhere?

“Really dark. The worst kind of dark. I’m not sure the smudge will work, but you can try.” She looked unconvinced.

“Can you tell what it is?” Pyper turned her head, checking over her shoulder.

“I don’t know. It’s just black, but it isn’t your aura. Yours is red, with tinges of yellow. Very dynamic.”

Pyper straightened and smiled. “Really? That’s so cool.” Apparently her aura trumped the dark thing following her.

“Anything else you’d suggest, besides the smudge?” I glanced around the shop, hoping something would jump out at me.

“You’d be better off asking Bea. If I see her, I’ll let her know you could use her advice.”

“Thanks.” I handed her a card. “I’m Jade, and this is Pyper.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Lailah. Come see me sometime, and I’ll read your auras more carefully.” She slid a card in the bag and handed it to Pyper.

I waved and tugged Pyper out of the store.

Pyper grabbed a piece of cheese pizza. “Auras, huh? Do you think that stuff is real?”

“Sure, don’t you?” I sipped my lemonade. It was just wrong to have pizza without beer, but I couldn’t drink and smudge and expect it to be effective.

She shrugged. “I guess I should be open to anything now. Dreamwalking, ghosts and now smudging. Why not auras?”

“Doesn’t all this freak you out?” If I hadn’t been exposed to all kinds of odd occurrences growing up, I’d be running for the psych ward right about then. Pyper’s ability to take everything in stride left me in awe.

“No. Not really.” She paused. “All right, the ghost shit does, but the other stuff, no. I think it’s kinda cool. It reinforces my belief of all of us being connected. Some of us just see it better than others.” Her calm energy floated in soothing waves toward me.

“How can you be so cool about it, with everything happening?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s an act.” She grinned.

“It’s not. I can see it isn’t.”

“You’re that good at reading people?”

“Yes. I am.” I saw no point in denying it.

“Interesting. Anything you want to share?” She peered at me.

“Like what?” I pretended deep interest in my veggie pizza slice.

“Like maybe you want to tell me what an empath is and what was going on back there?” Her eyes gleamed.

Shit. I’d been hoping with the whole aura thing, she’d forgotten that comment. Lailah pulled me out of the closet with one reading of my aura. I’d had my aura read once before and already knew it was purple. But that just means intuitive. It doesn’t mean empath. How did she know?

“Come on, Jade.” Pyper set her food down, giving me her undivided attention.

I took a deep breath. The last person I’d told about my gift was Dan. Look at how well that had turned out. “I guess Lailah can see people’s auras.”

“That part I got.”

“She also said she sees other things, and apparently she saw something dark attached to you.” I stalled.

“Right, I have a dark ghost following me. That isn’t news. That’s why I’m staying with you. What’s so special about you that makes him behave?” Her eyes bored into mine.

“There isn’t anything special about me!” Warped maybe. Or flawed. But not special. And certainly nothing that would keep evil ghosts away.

“That’s crap, and you know it. Hell, I knew it the first time I met you. Look at Kane and how he’s fallen for you. And Charlie, she’s friendly and outgoing, but she doesn’t respect a lot of people. And she respects and admires you, Jade Calhoun. There’s something very special about you, even if you don’t see it.” She stopped to catch her breath. “Now, what’s an empath, cause I didn’t forget.”

Stunned, I let her words sink in. For the first time in my life, I had a network of friends and hadn’t even realized it. Something unlocked in my heart, and the last of my resolve melted. “An empath is someone who feels other people’s emotions as they feel them.”

“Kind of like being around a happy person can make you happy? Infectious energy stuff?”

“Yeah.” I laughed humorlessly. “Only normal people get a small fraction of that transfer. Empaths, people like me, get a full force version whether we want to or not.”

Pyper leaned in, giving me her full attention. Curiosity bubbled up, replaced by empathy gliding off her and swirling around my center. “So when people near you are upset, you feel their pain?”

I nodded. “And for people I have a close relationship with, like Aunt Gwen, sometimes I feel her emotions no matter where she is.”

“Oh, Jade. You poor thing. Is there anything you can do to block it out?”

Her sympathy wrapped me in a blanket, and I let myself cherish the sensation. Not that I wanted to be pitied, but I’d never had someone understand that terrible part of my existence so quickly. I cleared the newly formed lump in my throat. “Yes, I can build defenses, but it’s draining. And sometimes if an emotion hits me too hard, I can’t block it out.”

She squeezed my fingers and let go. “But you also feel joy and happiness too, right?”

“Sure. Those are great, kind of like a natural high, but that wears me out, too. Too much outside emotional energy is exhausting. Then I can’t block anything, and that can be destructive.” I looked down at my half-eaten pizza and pushed it away, no longer hungry.

Pyper didn’t say anything and when I risked a peek, she met my eyes and said, “It’s a gift, Jade. But it isn’t what makes you special.”

One tear rolled silently down my face.

She moved her chair next to mine and used a napkin to catch it. “Honey, I don’t know what happened in your past to make you think this was something to be hidden or ashamed of—”

“I’m not ashamed.”

“Okay, guarded. How’s that?”

I nodded. “Guarded.”

“But you’re part of our family now. You must know we accept you for who or what you are, no matter what. There’s no need to hide from us. Kane, me, Charlie, even Holly.”

“Holly hates me.” I sniffed.

“Of course she doesn’t.”

I raised an eyebrow.

Pyper smiled. “Hate is a very strong word.”

“Right, but I don’t think she sees me as part of the family.”

“Well, maybe not, but she likes you better than you think.” Pyper stood up. “Come on, let’s get out of here and get this smudge thing done. I’m tired of my black shadow.”

Two days later I stood at the cash register of the café, stifling a huge yawn.

“You look like you’re ready to fall over,” Pyper said.

I nodded, wiping down the counter. I’d seen my reflection in the mirror. It wasn’t pretty. The smudge hadn’t worked, and Pyper had taken up residence, sleeping on my couch. She was no trouble, but the dog was constantly barking at her—or, more likely, her black shadow. I’d performed a ritual to ask the dog to move on, but it hadn’t worked. Without any other options, I’d been afraid Pyper would feel pressured to leave. So, I just didn’t tell her about it.

“Am I keeping you awake?” Pyper stepped close to me.

“No, no.” Another yawn took hold, causing my eyes to water.

“I don’t believe you. I should stay at my own place tonight.”

“No! That’s not an option.” We were stuck in a holding pattern. Bea and Ian were still MIA. We’d each called Ian, with no answer. I’d called Bea and left numerous messages. When she didn’t call back, I’d stopped by her house, but she hadn’t been home. Then I’d tried her shop again. Lailah didn’t know much. She’d gotten a message Bea was unavailable for a few days. In the meantime, I wouldn’t let Pyper out of my sight.

“It’s Kane, right? That’s what’s keeping you up. I know he hasn’t called you or stopped by. The ass.”

“No. It isn’t. I asked him for space.” It was true. I had asked him, and he was giving it to me. Be careful what you wish for. He hadn’t even shown up in my dreams. Though Bobby was still there, watching.

“But—”

“It’s the ghost dog.” I cut her off before she could work herself up further. “Duke, the ghost dog. He barks all the time while you’re there. He just won’t stop.”

“Oh.” She chuckled then sobered. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny.”

“It’s kinda funny, except I’m about to pass out.”

Pyper looked thoughtful. “Do you think it would help if we had separate bedrooms? I mean, if we stayed in my apartment, do you think I’d still be able to sleep? Maybe the dog will sleep in your room with you. Do ghosts sleep?”

“I don’t know about ghosts, but Duke certainly looks like he does. That dog lies around all the time.” I shrugged. “I’m up for trying it, if you are. You have a lot more to lose than I do.”

“It’s worth a shot.”

Later that night, while Pyper went to work at Wicked, I curled up in Kane’s bed once again and was rewarded with the faint whiff of his scent. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed him until that moment. A hollow ache formed deep in my heart.

I closed my eyes and did my best to put Kane out of my mind. Within moments Bobby’s soothing image stood before me. I don’t know how long I slept before the barking started. Damn dog. I got up and followed the noise to the living room.

“Hi, Pyper.” I waved.

“Did I wake you up?” Her worry seeped into my consciousness.

“No. It was the dog. I’ve come to collect him. Come on, Duke. Let’s go.” He trotted over to me and disappeared in thebedroom. “Want me to stay up until you go to sleep, just in case?”

Worry swirled around her, but stubbornness quickly took over. “No. I’ll wake up fast if it doesn’t work.”

Too tired to argue, I nodded. “Okay. Goodnight then.”

“Night.”

I fell right back to sleep. Bobby watched over me as usual, with Duke lying at his feet. The bliss seemed to last for hours, until the light around Bobby brightened to a reddish glow and the calm turned anxious. I rolled over, restless and knocked my head against something hard.

“Ouch. Damn it.”

“Hey,” a gruff voice said. “Are you all right?”

Kane’s distinct energy engulfed me. “Was that your head?” I asked.

“Yes.” He ran his hand lightly over my skull. “No large bumps. I think you’ll live.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and I snuggled in closer.

“Good.” I closed my eyes hoping for more sleep, but his intruding desire snapped me awake. “Wait, why are you here?”

“There’s a storm raging and rather than take a cab home, I decided this sounded much nicer.”

“But you’re avoiding me.”

“I was giving you space.”

“And now?” I sat up.

“Now I’m not giving you space.” He pulled me back down into his arms and crushed my lips with his.

Shocked, I didn’t move, but when I felt his tongue searching I kissed him back with just as much intensity. His heart pounded against my breast. I pressed closer as his desire overpowered all my other senses. That alone was enough to send my blood pumping.

Kane rolled me over, trapping me beneath him, hands everywhere. My thoughts jumbled, and I wanted nothing but him.

“God, Jade, I’ve missed you. I’ve been—”

A high-pitched screaming sounded through the wall.

Kane froze.

I pushed him off of me, jumped up, ran to the other room and yelled, “Pyper! Wake up, honey, wake up!”

Her screams stopped, and a second later her eyes fluttered open. “There you are.”

“Jade. What happened?”

“I don’t know, sweetie. You’d been sleeping for a while, but then you just started screaming. Can you tell me anything?”

Kane brushed my arm as he moved to sit next to Pyper.

“I don’t know. I was feeling peaceful, like I always do when I sleep at your place, then all of a sudden the calm disappeared and hell took over.” She clutched the covers to her chest. Kane reached out, running a hand over her leg.

I joined him on the edge of the bed. “I dreamt of Bobby and the dog and had the same peacefulness. Then right before I woke up it got tense and uneasy.”

“Right after I joined you in the bed?” Kane asked, his eyes crinkling with worry.

“How long had you been there?” I asked.

“I’d just gotten there when you knocked me on the head.” He turned to Pyper. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Pyper looked from Kane to me.

I slumped. “The ghost has a problem with me and Kane, ah, getting close.”

“Oh.” Realization dawned in her eyes.

“This has got to stop!” I jumped up and paced. “We can’t wait around until Bea and-or Ian shows up. We don’t even know if they can help.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Pyper said. “I wonder if Lailah might know someone or be able to do anything.”

“I don’t know. When we asked her about it she said our best bet was to ask Bea.” I flopped back onto the bed.

“It’s worth a try,” Pyper said.

“It is. In the meantime, why don’t the two of you stay here? I’ll take the other room.” Kane got up to leave.

“Won’t work. My ghost dog likes to bark at Pyper. He’s doing it right now. I won’t get any sleep.” I glared at the door where Duke stood.

“I guess it’s the couch for me then.” Kane kissed me on the forehead and left.

Back in Kane’s room alone, it took me a long while to go back to sleep.

The next morning, Pyper and I walked the short distance to The Herbal Connection.

“Hello,” Lailah sang from the back of the store. “Are you here to get your auras read?”

“Thanks, but not today. We’re here about something else,” I said.

“The black thing still following your friend?” Lailah frowned, studying Pyper.

“Yes,” Pyper said.

“We haven’t been able to get a hold of Bea, and things are getting out of hand. We were hoping you might have some suggestions for what to do, or know someone else who might be able to help us.”

Lailah focused on Pyper. Her white light energy took on a gray hue, and then shone bright white again when she looked back at me. She bit her lip. “I don’t know. That shadow is really strong, and it’s not going to be easy to get rid of. I know a way, but I’d feel a lot more confident if Bea were here to help me.”

“Do you know when she’s coming back?” I asked.

Lailah shook her head. “No. In fact I haven’t heard from her at all, which is really weird.”

Pyper stepped up next to me and put her hand on Lailah’s arm. “Please try?” A small twinge of desperation seeped from Pyper.

Then something odd happened. Lailah seemed to absorb it, change it somehow, and sent it back as a stream of calmness. She’d physically changed Pyper’s distinct energy. I could siphon energy, or send my own as a sort of suggestion, but I couldn’t change it.

“How did you do that?” I asked.

“You felt that, huh? Just one of my gifts. I’ll show you sometime. Right now I need to prepare for getting rid of this jackass tormenting Pyper here.”

“Yes!” Pyper pumped her fist in the air.

“Don’t get too excited. It won’t be pleasant. So be prepared.” Lailah turned to me. “I’ll perform the ritual, but we’ll need a fourth person. A female. Females have more power with this kind of thing. Do you have someone you trust?”

“Sure.” I knew Kat would come if I asked. “But she doesn’t have any powers.”

“If she’s female, it’s enough.” Lailah grabbed a note pad and started scribbling. “We need to do this as close to midnight as possible, and outside. Do you have a place we can meet for this?”

“Yes,” Pyper said. “We have a courtyard between Wicked and The Grind. You know where they are, right?”

Lailah nodded, still writing.

I handed her my cell phone number. “Give us a call when you’re out front, and one of us will come get you. Do we need to do anything special to prepare?”

“Nope. I’ll take care of everything.”

When we got back to our building, Pyper headed to her apartment and I went to mine. I called Kat and invited her to a girl’s night in, leaving out the part about needing her for a ritual. Okay, so I felt a little guilty, but I wanted to feel her emotions while I told her about it in person. If she had any hesitations, I’d have an easier time navigating how to convince her.

My heart sank. Talk about being a hypocrite.

Chapter 17

Kat showed up right before nine. “Where’s Pyper?”

“Working down in the club. She’ll be here before eleven.” I poured two glasses of wine. “Did you eat?”

“Yes, but snacks are expected on girlfriend night.” She took a glass. “So chop up the cheese and whip out the olives or whatever it is you have stashed aside.”

Laughing, I pulled out a cheese plate from the fridge. “I’m way ahead of you.”

“Gouda!” She put a piece in her mouth, closed her eyes and groaned in ecstasy. “Man, this is good.”

“Glad you like it. And here’s dessert.” I set another tray next to it.

“Oh my God! I want girlfriend night at least once a week. Dark chocolate, strawberries, and what are these?” She held up a small round chocolate ball.

“Chocolate-covered blueberries.”

“Damn, Jade. You’ll never get rid of me now.” Kat filled a plate and sat back.

“Good, cause I have an ulterior motive for bringing you here.”

The cheery contentment surrounding her faded to suspicion. “What? What are you gonna make me do?”

“Not me. Lailah.” I grabbed my wine glass and told her about the day I’d met Lailah, my confession to Pyper and the upcoming exorcism.

When I finished my speech, Kat cast a sideways glance as she popped a few chocolate covered blueberries in her mouth. “Now that Pyper knows you’re an empath, did you tell Kane?”

After everything I’d just told her, that’s what she focused on? “No.”

Kat washed down her chocolate with a gulp of wine. “You better do it soon before someone else does.”

“What? Are you going to tell him?”

“No. But word spreads. You know that.”

I frowned, knowing she was right. “Fine, I’ll tell him. Happy?”

“Yes. Now, what exactly have you signed me up for? An exorcism?” Her expression told me she thought I’d lost my mind.

“Lailah said she might be able to get rid of the ghost. She needs three other women to help with the ritual.” Feeling her questions rise, I raised my hand in a stop motion. “I don’t know what or how. She did say it wouldn’t be pleasant, so if you don’t want to do it, I need you to tell me.”

Her suspicion faded to weariness. “Is she a witch?”

“I really don’t know. What I do know is Pyper is willing to try just about anything to be free. Kat, it’s horrible. I can feel her pain when she gets attacked.” I shuddered and whispered, “It’s awful.”

Kat sighed, still filled with weariness, but she said, “All right. If it helps Pyper, I’ll do it.

I grabbed her and gave her a hug. “Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you on the phone.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She refilled her wine glass. “Let’s get down to the really important stuff. Like where exactly is tall, dark and yummy this evening?”

I smiled. “He’s working at the club. We can go down there if you want.”

“Uh, yeah! Let’s go.”

We ran into Charlie at the bottom of the stairs. When I told her we were headed into Wicked, she shuffled us through the employee entrance and led us through the crowd. Once we
reached the bar she waved a couple of dancers off the bar stools, making room for us.

“You didn’t have to get up,” I said to the tall, gorgeous, barely covered blonde in front of me.

She winked, smiling. “When the boss says move, you move. Enjoy yourself.” She turned and sat in the lap of a man sitting at a nearby table.

“You got promoted!” I stood on the bottom rung of the stool, leaned over the bar and wrapped my arms around Charlie.

“Yep, and a nice raise, too.” Charlie hugged me back, holding on a little longer than really necessary. Her eyes sparkled as she released me, and I laughed.

Kat reached over and gave Charlie a quick hug. “Congrats!”

Watching them, I jumped off the stool, lost my balance and stumbled backwards, crashing into someone. Mortified, I turned to apologize and stopped midsentence. Hate crept up my spine, shattering my defenses. I took a step back.

“Dan,” I said.

Kat whirled in surprise. “Hey! I thought it was poker night.” She put her arm around Dan’s waist and kissed his cheek.

His eyes went wide with shock and then he scowled. “What the hell are you doing here? I told you I didn’t want you hanging out with that freak.”

“Dan.” Kat warned and backed away. “Don’t talk about Jade that way.”

Ignoring her, Dan glared at me. “Why did you have to bring her to this slut palace? Again.”

“She wanted to come,” I said.

“Like hell. You talked her into it, you cheap bitch.”

Kat leaned in, poking Dan in the chest with her finger. “Do not call her that. And don’t you dare tell me who I can and can’t hang out with, Dan Pearson.” She took a few steps forward, forcing him back. Her anger, mixed with confusion, took over, pushing all of Dan’s hatred right out of my awareness. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Dan grabbed her wrists and yanked her aside. As he moved toward me, Kat regained her footing and jumped between us, stopping him.

“I’m warning you, Kat, get out of my way,” he said.

“Or what?”

“Or you’ll get what’s coming to you.” He grabbed her shoulder, trying to yank her sideways, but Kat swung her forearm up and knocked his arm away. Before he could say another word, she reached up and slapped him. Hard.

“Don’t ever touch me like that again,” she seethed.

“Excuse me. Is there a problem here?” Kane suddenly appeared next to me.

“It looks like Kat has it under control,” I said.

Kane glanced at Kat, and then focused on Dan. “That may be true, but I recall banning this individual from the premises.”

He stepped around Kat and dodged the swing Dan threw his way. “You’ll want to calm down now.”

“Fuck you. I won’t stand for a pimp telling me what to do,”

Dan yelled and lunged forward.

Kane sidestepped him and kicked. He caught Dan in the rear, sending him sprawling into a couple of stools. Dan crashed to the ground and groaned as he rolled to his side.

Kane signaled to one of the bouncers. When his backup appeared and hauled Dan to his feet, Kane leaned in and said, “I thought we had this conversation before, but let me inform you one more time. Stay away from these premises. Stay away from Jade, or I’ll find a way to have you arrested.”

“I never touched you. Good luck making that stick.” Dan winced when the bouncer yanked his arms back.

Kane shrugged. “True, but I have a bar full of witnesses who’ll say you attacked one of my girls. Now move.”

Kat turned to me, holding her wrist. Her face was etched in disbelief. “What just happened here? Who was that?”

My anger at Dan turned to sympathy for her. It was the first time she’d seen that side of him. Worse, it wasn’t just that she’d found out her boyfriend had turned into a first-class asshole, but he was also one of her closest friends. I knew exactly how she felt.

“I don’t know,” I said sadly. “But he behaved in much the same way the last time he showed up here. I tried to tell you.”

She furrowed her brow. “Damn, Jade. I’m so sorry. I was pretty drunk that night. I didn’t remember a lot of what happened, just that you and Dan were arguing and then he told me…well, it doesn’t matter what he said. He obviously lied about it.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. But thank you, Jesus! She’d finally seen Dan at his worst.

“You have no reason to be sorry. This is Dan’s problem. And now mine, obviously.”

“What are you going to do?”

She blinked back tears. “Tell him to move out, I guess.”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s hard.” I took her hand. “And I’m sorry we let him come between us.”

Kat pulled me into a hug. “I know, honey. So am I. Don’t worry. You won’t have to deal with him anymore.” She dabbed at her wet eyes and forced a smile. “What’s a girl got to do to get a drink around here?”

I smiled, gave her another hug and turned to Charlie. “This girl needs a drink. But better make it a diet Coke, minus the rum.” I flashed Kat an apologetic smile. “We can’t be drunk when Lailah shows up.”

“Anything for that bad-ass girl. I wouldn’t want to be on the other end of that stabbing finger and lecture.” Charlie winked at Kat and filled two glasses with ice.

Just as I pulled out a ten to leave on the bar, Kane appeared beside me. “You know,” he said in a husky voice, “there are perks to being the owner’s girlfriend.”

“Like what?” I held the bill out for Charlie to take it.

She glanced at Kane, hesitating.

“Like, free drinks.” He lowered my arm.

Leaning toward him, I lowered my voice. “I wasn’t aware I was your girlfriend.”

“You are if you want to be.” He watched me, maintaining a casual appearance. No one would have guessed the nervous hopefulness churning beneath his cool exterior.

I wanted more than anything to say yes. “Can we talk about it later? Tonight.” I’d told Kat I would tell him, and I meant it. I needed to have it all out on the table before we moved any further in this relationship.

He searched my eyes and smiled at whatever he saw there. “Sure. Come find me when you’re ready.”

I slipped the bill I still held into the tip jar. “Thanks for taking care of Dan. Again.”

He winked and took off into the crowd.

“Whoa. Is it suddenly hot in here or what?” Kat said, fanning herself.

“Shut up.” I laughed as we made our way to an empty table, drinks in hand.

Kat sat and took a sip of her drink. “Damn, this would be much better with a heavy dose of Bacardi.”

“Sorry. We already had a glass of wine. Drinking and messing with spells is a really bad idea.” I slide my chair next to her and held my glass up. “A toast to ridding Pyper of her black shadow, and to me finally coming clean with Kane.”

“Amen to that.” We clinked our glasses together. “I don’t know if there’s any hope for the ghost stuff, but judging by the sparks between you and that man, I’d say you don’t have much to worry about.”

I prayed she was right.

Kat turned her eyes to the stage. “Can you believe how in shape these girls are? Look at her climb that pole using just her hands.”

I watched along with her, until Kat plunked her drink down and started inspecting her wrists.

“You should keep icing them. It really helps,” I said.

“A margarita or two would numb the pain faster.” She smirked.

“Lush.” I chuckled and gazed around the room, searching for Kane. Instead, I found the creepy angry guy, still sitting alone in his corner with that unlit cigarette in his fingers. Deep satisfaction and anticipation reached me as my eyes locked on his. A shiver ran through my body, causing my hands to start shaking.

“Kat, I think we should go get Pyper now.”

“Already?” She tried to read her watch in the semi-dark room.

“Yes, now.” I stood up, leaving the unfinished diet coke behind and took off to find Pyper, pulling Kat behind me.

“Pyper?” I called, while walking into the office.

“She went upstairs to change.” Kane’s voice made me jump.

“Damn it, Kane. Don’t startle me like that.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to.” He stepped out from behind the open door. “I was putting some files away.”

I half-turned to face him.

“What’s wrong? Your face is pale. Did something happen?”

He started for the door.

“No, nothing. I just…one of the guys out there gave me the creeps.”

“Is that all?” Kane shrugged. “That’s what we get in the strip club business, a bunch of creeps. Like that ex of yours.”

“Right. Well, I better go get Pyper. Lailah will be here soon.”

“Okay, sure.” Kane searched my face. “Be careful. I’ll see you later.” He pulled me closer and whispered, “I’ve become rather fond of you.”

I took a breath and cleared my throat. “I will.”

His lips came down and brushed mine lightly before he let go.

I stumbled out of the office and stopped in front of Kat, who was patiently leaning against the wall.

“Holy shit, that man is hot. You better lay claim to him before someone else does.” She craned her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of him in the office.

“Stop it. Let’s go.” Together we made our way up to Pyper’s apartment.

At eleven thirty, Pyper strolled through my apartment door.

“Where is she?” I asked, looking behind her for Lailah. Pyper had left minutes earlier to let her in the building.

“Downstairs talking with Kane.”

“Kane? Do they know each other?”

Pyper avoided my glance and stared out the window. “Yeah. I should have made the connection before. Kane dated a girl named Lailah for a while, but I never met her.” She shrugged. “He said she had special talents, but you know I always assumed he meant in the bedroom.”

Kat let out a loud giggle, but stifled it when she caught the look I gave her.

“Great.” I sat heavily on the edge of my bed.

Kat got up from my desk and sat down next to me. “What’s up?”

“Just tired.”

She put her arm around my shoulders, giving me a small squeeze. Just then Kane and Lailah walked in. Their mutual affection reached me, stabbing me in the heart. She gazed up at him, smiling, while Kane chuckled at something she’d said. He sobered as his eyes found me, his face and emotions unreadable. How did he do that? I’d always been able to read his emotions before.

Standing up, I walked over to Lailah. “It’s pretty close to midnight. Don’t we need to get started?”

“Oh! Yes. Sorry. I got distracted.” She smiled at Kane. “We need to get to the courtyard. Kane, you stay here. We’ll be back.” She gestured to us and headed back through the door.

The three of us filed out after her with Pyper in the lead. When we reached the courtyard Pyper asked, “Why does Kane have to stay back?”

“The goddess will only speak to her daughters,” Lailah replied.

“We’re calling a goddess?” I asked.

Lailah ignored my question. Trepidation settled over me as I wondered what the hell we were getting ourselves into. I hoped she was speaking in symbolic terms. Literally calling a higher being meant opening pathways. And when that happened, you never knew what was coming.

“Over here, girls. We have a lot to do, so please do as I say,” Lailah said.

We nodded in unison.

Lailah’s easy smile was replaced by a fierce concentration. “Pyper, take all of the candles out of my bag and light each one. Jade, I need you to draw a pentagram with the chalk. You know how to do that?”

“Sure. How big?”

“Pretty big.” She walked in a large circle to show me. She stepped off to the side, and I went to work on the border, using the dim candlelight Pyper was busy creating.

“What can I do?” Kat asked.

“Help Jade. It doesn’t have to be perfect, just a five-point pentagram enclosed in a large circle.”

I hurried my motions as Kat knelt on the courtyard bricks opposite me, filling in the lines of the pentagram.

“So, Lailah, are you like a witch or something?” Kat asked.

“Or something,” Lailah said.

Both Kat and I looked up, staring at her. Oddly enough, Pyper kept her head down lighting candles.

“Pyper, after they’re done with the pentagram, put the white candles on the outer circle, then put the blue candles on the points where the pentagram intersects.” Lailah pulled various herbs from her bag.

Pyper nodded and continued with her work.

Kat glanced at me, and jerked her head toward Lailah. “Or something?”

“Kat,” I said in a low voice, not wanting to offend the one person who might be able to help.

“It’s all right.” Lailah sniffed one of her herbs. “I’m not a witch. I’m a low-level Angel. I sense things other people can’t, and I can utilize some Wiccan-type spells to my advantage.”

“A low-level Angel?” Kat said, each word rising.

Lailah flashed a genuine smile. “That’s the reaction I usually get. I’ll explain more later. Right now we have work to do.”

I sensed Kat having difficulty containing her curiosity, but she kept quiet until we finished the pentagram circle. “Low-level Angel?” she whispered to me.

I shrugged and whispered back, “That’s new to me, too.”

Pyper never once registered she heard the exchange between Kat and Lailah. She stood a small distance apart from the three of us, waiting.

Finally, after studying some notes, Lailah looked up. “I need the three of you to stand in the middle of the blue candles in a small circle with your hands linked.”

We each stepped carefully over the ring of lit blue candles and faced each other. I held my hands out and warmth spread to my center as I grasped the hands of my two friends. Suddenly everything felt right. Like we were supposed to be there together. I smiled, feeling for the first time this might actually work.

“Good. Just like that. The three of you stay linked until I tell you it’s time. Then each of you will need to move across the blue candle plane, into the space I’m in. Got it?”

We all nodded.

“Now, I just need to do this last thing before we start.” She stepped outside of the white candle circle and began to chant in a language I didn’t understand, while dropping a trail of crushed herbs. Once she’d completed three rotations around us, the chanting stopped, and she stepped back over the white candles into the circle.

“What should we expect?” I asked.

“I don’t really know. No spell is ever the same twice. I’m going to call on the goddess for help to dispel the spirit. It’ll be her will as to what happens after that. The idea is to trap the spirit in that circle you are in and to get the three of you out before he can hurt anyone.”

Panic radiated off Pyper.

I squeezed her hand in assurance. “I’m not letting go.”

She nodded and looked straight ahead, her eyes wide.

Lailah stood directly in my sightline and, for the first time that evening, I noticed she wore a deep plum velvet cloak with gold trim. How had I missed that? Then the vision of her gazing with dreamy eyes up at Kane filled my head. I scowled.

“It’s very important that each of you keep a positive attitude through this ritual, or else there could be severe consequences.” A twinge of irritation jabbed me right between the eyes.

Startled, I followed it to Lailah’s piercing stare. Damn. I hated that she could read me. I bit my lip, took a large intake of breath and willed my irritation away as I exhaled.

Pyper relaxed her hand in mine, and I noted the easing of the tension lines around her mouth. Gathering energy, I projected what I hoped was calm in her direction. A little help couldn’t hurt.

Kat squeezed my hand, getting my attention. Her posture wasn’t exactly relaxed, but she didn’t look like she wanted to run away either. I squeezed back, grateful for the support.

“This spell works primarily off of intentions. I need each of you to focus on trapping the spirit in the circle. Jade, your energy is the most suited for this type of thing, due to your empath abilities, so your intentions will carry more weight. You said you’ve seen the ghost?”

“Yes. Lots of times.”

“Good. Form a clear picture of him in your mind, and use all of your energy to bring him to the circle.”

“Isn’t he already here? Can’t you see Pyper’s dark shadow?” I asked.

“Yes, her shadow is there, but once we start the spell anything can happen. Just keep focused.”

I nodded and closed my eyes, concentrating.

“I’m going to start now.” Lailah’s light energy circled us as she walked the perimeter of the circle. “I need each of you to stay silent and focus. Expect anything from rain to sunlight to intense heat or extreme cold. Like I said before, I just never know what will happen.”

I looked up at the clear night sky, spotted the familiar yellow Louisiana moon and gave a little shudder at the unknown yet to come. I snapped my mind back to the mental picture of Bobby and focused on the brick closest to the center of our inner circle.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lailah reach up and untie her cloak. She tossed it outside the circle and stood barefoot in an almost transparent white gown. Her honey-streaked hair hung loose around her shoulders, and I couldn’t help but think she looked like an escaped mental patient.

Her disapproving glare landed on me. I shut my eyes tight, determined to focus.

I heard nothing but Lailah’s voice after that. “Selene, moon goddess of the night, hear me now, High Priestess of the Coven.” Her voice was clear and somehow blocked the dull background noise from the people walking Bourbon Street, just feet away. “Bless these women, your three daughters, with your presence. We call seeking wisdom, strength and, above all, the power to protect our sister from all who seek to harm.”

Mist tickled my arms. I opened my eyes to a thick blanket of fog. I could see nothing but the dim glow of the candles flickering low on the ground.

“Moon goddess, we ask you read our sisters’ intentions. We give our will to you freely and take nothing but yours in return. We want only to help our sister to be free of the bonds that bind her. Free of the spirit that haunts her. From one to three, and three to one, please let your will be done.”

Silence loomed. The foggy mist turned dense, soaking my shirt until it clung to my body. The candles, barely visible, flickered like a faulty light bulb. I held my breath and waited.

And waited.

Then, in a flash, the mist dissipated and the candles stopped flickering. The three of us looked at each other then at Lailah, standing as still as a statue, her eyes closed, head tilted up. I sent Pyper a questioning glance. She lifted one shoulder in a sad deflated shrug.

I let out a barely audible sigh and opened my mouth to speak but was shocked into silence as the blue candles lit and shot a wall of fire straight in the air, blocking us from Lailah and the rest of the courtyard. Kat jerked, trying to get free, but instinctively I held tighter, keeping the circle whole. The flames turned a brilliant sapphire blue before fading to a transparent white.

Through the wall Lailah gestured to me. “Now!”

I yanked Pyper and Kat through the wall without any warning. Instead of heat, sharp stabs of icy cold prickled my skin. The three of us toppled to the ground, and the flames turned brilliant blue once more. The radiant heat warmed the chill instantly.

I stayed still with my face pressed to the ground, breathing deeply. “Did it work?”

“I have no idea,” Kat mumbled beside me.

“Pyper?”

Her motionless body faced away from me, and she didn’t answer.

Too tired to move, my eyes flickered to Lailah. She stood like a statue, her face blank.

Crawling up on my knees, I tried to get my feet under me but froze when Lailah’s face glowed silver and her features changed, revealing long, white-blond hair and clear, pale blue eyes. Her full red lips moved into a grim line, and the voice that spoke was deep and husky.

“I have fulfilled your intentions. What comes next I cannot control. The events that unfold are up to you, my child.” She pointed at me. “Reach deep inside yourself to alter the course now set in motion.” The silver glow started to fade.

“Wait! Why me?” I asked in desperation.

“You are my daughter.” The image faded back to Lailah, now as pale as a ghost.

The blue wall of flames faded back to translucent white. Lailah turned to focus on the circle and yelped. “He isn’t Pyper’s black shadow!”

My head snapped to the circle. There stood Bobby, radiating frustration. I was more than a little surprised I could read his emotions.

“Yes it is. He’s the one who’s been tormenting her.”

“No! I know him. His energy is bright white, not black.” Lailah dropped to her knees, checking on Pyper still curled up at her feet. “Pyper. Wake up!”

I crawled to her side and cradled Pyper’s head in my lap. “Pyper?”

“Her black cloud is gone, but so is her energy.” Lailah’s voice rose in panic. “Oh my God! What have I done?” She slumped down next to Pyper.

I opened my mind and tried to get a read on Pyper’s energy. Nothing. “She’s just passed out. Do you have smelling salts in that bag of tricks?”

Lailah fished around and handed me a small jar. I quickly checked Pyper’s pulse and breathing. Both were a bit weak, but I let out the breath I’d been holding and put the smelling salts under her nose.

Nothing.

“Come on!”

“What happened?” A male voice, Kane’s voice, called in panic.

“She’s passed out.” I tried to sound calm.

“No. She isn’t in there. I can’t feel her.” Lailah crumpled into tears.

Kane’s eyes stared into mine for a brief agonizing moment.

Then I heard Kat say, “Yes! My friend has lost consciousness. Send an ambulance.”

Chapter 18

Time seemed to stand still as Pyper lay crumpled in my arms. If Bobby hadn’t been attached to Pyper, then what was? And where had it come from? A cold chill snaked its way through my body. She hadn’t been affected until after I’d moved in. Had Ian’s ghost hunting triggered it somehow?

And what about Bobby? How come Lailah hadn’t seen him attached to me? Even if he didn’t follow me everywhere, she’d been in my apartment earlier that evening. Surely she would have seen him then. Maybe she had been too caught up in Kane. I scowled and forced the petty thought out of my head.

The roar of the siren snapped my mind back to reality. I tore my tear-filled eyes from Pyper’s face and peered up at the gate, trying to mentally urge the paramedics to move faster.

“What are you doing?” Kat asked.

I turned to answer her, but she was staring at Lailah. The wall of flame had disappeared, and Bobby was gone from the circle.

“Closing the spell,” Lailah said in a barely audible whisper.

I cleared my throat. “Where did he go?”

“Bobby? I let him out. There was no reason to keep him.” Lailah gathered up her supplies and stuffed them in her paper bag.

I said nothing but wondered if that was true. I’d thought Bobby had been interfering with Kane and me every time we got close. But was it really Pyper’s black spirit, or something else entirely? Anything seemed possible now.

“Excuse me. You’re going to have to let her go,” a paramedic said, gently pushing me to the side.

Kat pulled me to my feet as the emergency workers loaded Pyper on the gurney. Kane stayed by her side, and the rest of us followed as the EMTs rushed her to the vehicle. An argument broke out when Kane was told only family was allowed in the ambulance. Lailah stepped forward, laid her hand on the paramedic’s arm and said something I couldn’t hear. After that, Kane climbed in, sat next to Pyper and took her hand.

We watched as they raced away.

“Lailah, what did you say to him?” I asked.

“Nothing significant. I just bent his will a little bit with my energy.” She looked at her feet. “It was the least I could do.”

“Come on. I’ll drive.” Kat pulled out her keys and led us to her car.

The antiseptic smell burned my nose as I made my way to the nurses’ station. Kat and Lailah trailed behind me.

“I doubt they know anything yet,” Kat said.

“Probably not, but we need to know where she is.” Plus, I needed to see Kane. My eyes burned with unshed tears as I thought of the anguish on his face before the ambulance took off.

Kat grabbed my arm. “Have a seat. I’ll get the information.”

I shook my head. “It’s okay. I’ll go.” I left them in the back of the full emergency room and returned thirty minutes later, after insisting the nurse personally check on Pyper.

“She’s here, but there’s no change. They’re running tests. As far as I can tell, Kane is still with her.” The nurse had said a family member was with her. It could only be Kane. I sat next to Kat, with Lailah on her other side.

“Here.” Kat handed me a Styrofoam cup. “Coffee.”

“Thanks.” I held the cup, warming my chilled fingers, even though the night was thick with humid summer air.

“What happened back there?” Kat asked in a low voice.

I turned and saw her peering at Lailah.

“Which part?” Lailah focused on the white wall in front of us.

Kat glanced at me and raised her eyebrows.

I cleared my throat. “Let’s start at the beginning. You were trying to trap the black spirit attached to Pyper, but instead you trapped Bobby. How is that possible? I thought they were the same being. Bobby is the only one I ever saw.”

“I already told you, Bobby has white energy. He’s Bea’s brother.”

“I know. That’s why we were trying to get in touch with her. I didn’t know you knew him. You’ve seen him before, I take it.”

She nodded. “A few times with Bea. When we were working on some spells together.”

“Okay.” What kind of spells? I shook my head trying to focus. “But you said before you could see things. You saw the black spirit, so why didn’t you see Bobby’s energy?”

“Because of you, I guess. Your aura is purple, but surrounding that is brilliant white energy, like all intuitives have. If he was near you, it would have been hard for me to see him.”

“Oh.” I sat back staring at the admittance door, wishing Kane would appear.

“So because Jade was focusing on Bobby, he got trapped in the circle and not Pyper’s ghost. We are talking about two ghosts here, right?” Kat asked.

The people next to us turned and openly stared after hearing her statement. She stared back until they turned away. In spite of myself, I smiled.

“At least two,” Lailah said.

“At least!” I sat up straight.

“I don’t know!” Lailah finally met my eyes. “I have totally fucked up. I don’t know anything anymore.”

“Calm down,” Kat said in a hushed tone. “No one is blaming you.”

I suppressed a grunt of disagreement. Kat must have heard me, judging by the elbow she nudged in my rib.

“We’re just trying to figure out what happened. Tell us about the vision we saw,” I said.

“The vision?” Lailah furrowed her eyebrows. “What vision?”

“The one where you turned into another person and told me I was the one who would have to fix this mess.” I jumped out of my chair and stood in front of the two of them.

Lailah’s eyes went wide as her head turned from me to Kat.

“She came…”

“Who? Who came?” Kat asked.

“The goddess. It had to be.” She sat up straight. The remorse faded, replaced by an excited glow.

Kat and I stared at her in silence. She looked around, as if aware for the first time where we were. Standing, she grabbed a hand from each of us. “We need to talk a little more privately.”

I glanced back at the admittance door, while Lailah dragged us outside. Still no Kane.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” Lailah demanded when we were safely out of hearing distance from the emergency room door.

“I…” I turned to Kat. Suddenly I was overwhelmed into silence.

She gave me a small smile and replayed the scene for Lailah.

“It’s for you to alter the course now…” Lailah trailed off, deep in thought.

“What did she mean, ‘I am hers’?” I asked.

“You are her daughter. In a cosmic sense. I’d guess your powers are deeper than you ever thought. A white witch, maybe. A natural-born witch.” She shrugged. “Hard to say until you explore your powers.”

“So the goddess Selene, whoever that is, thinks I have some extra powers?”

“Pretty much.” Lailah paced in a circle. “Damn it. I wish Bea was here.”

I gritted my teeth and walked back to the entrance, scanning for Kane. I didn’t want to hear about extra powers. All I cared about was Pyper’s condition. I turned back to them. “I’m going back in.”

“Wait.” Kat held up her hand. “Just one more thing. What the hell is a low-level angel?”

Lailah stopped pacing. “It means I’m a mortal angel. A messenger from God, but in mortal form. It’s why I can do some Wiccan magic, but it all comes naturally for me. I don’t have to practice or do special rituals. I can just make it happen. I do have to take precautions to keep evil out, which is what the herbs, candles and circle was about. Though I could have made that all happen without it. Unfortunately, I failed.”

“A messenger from God?” Kat asked with a heavy dose of skepticism.

“We come in all forms.” Lailah closed her eyes, as if her burden was too heavy to bear. “I still do not know my purpose. I try to do good, but as you can see I’m not always successful.”

Too overwhelmed by the night’s events, I said nothing and returned to the waiting room.

Soon Kat joined me. “She went home.”

I nodded, and we sat in silence until finally Kane emerged.

My heart swelled simultaneously with joy and pain at the sight of him. He held his face taut with his lips in a grim line. Our eyes met as I stood, and his pain ripped through me, almost making my knees buckle. I grabbed him and held on with my face buried in his shoulder.

“She’s still the same,” he whispered in my ear. “Coma.”

“No.” I felt him nod and I looked up. “I’m so sorry.” Silent tears streamed down my face.

He hugged me tighter and brought one hand up to wipe my tears. “I don’t know what happened, but I know whatever it was, it isn’t your fault.”

His tenderness brought on a fresh bout of emotion, but I steadied myself and willed the tears back. He guided me toward the doors.

“You should go get some sleep,” he said.

“And you. You’ll stay here?”

“I have to. Let Kat take you home. I’ll call if I hear anything.”

The last thing I wanted to do was leave him, but I could see by the stubborn tilt of his chin he wasn’t taking no for an answer. “Promise to call with any news, at any time.”

“I promise.” He steered me out the double doors.

I turned to him, my heart aching as I looked into his tired eyes. “We’ll get her through this. I promise.” I didn’t know how, but I knew in my heart, I’d do whatever it took to save her.

He nodded absently and gave me a gentle push toward Kat. But I stepped closer, took his face in my hands and kissed him. All of my anguish and suppressed emotions poured out of me into that one kiss, desperate to show him how much he meant to me, even if I couldn’t say it.

Grief, longing, and fear surrounded me as he kissed me back in a slow, bittersweet manner. When our lips parted, he hugged me tight. “Get some rest.” And then he was gone, back through the double doors of the hospital.

“Let’s go, sweetie.” Kat said, pulling me to the car. “You’ll see him tomorrow.”

I didn’t say anything until we were safely in her Mini. “Do you think Lailah is crazy?”

“Definitely.”

The bed shifted as Kat lay down next to me. She didn’t want to go home, so I offered her the other side of my bed.

“He talks about you all the time, you know.”

“Who? Ian?” Jolted out of my thoughts about what just transpired with Kane, I rolled over to face her.

“No. Dan.”

“What? You’re kidding. Why?”

“I’m starting to think he’s obsessed with you.” Kat laid back and stared at the ceiling.

“That’s crazy,” I said, realizing the night’s events had hit her harder than I’d thought.

“No it isn’t. He’s the one who told me about the job opening at the glass school. Told me I should call you. Said it would be good for me to have you here.”

I stared as I digested her statement.

“He kept hounding me about when you were coming, and talking about double-dating. I’m so stupid. I should have seen it for what it was.”

“What?” I whispered.

“He’s still in love with you.”

I let out a bark of laughter. “That’s insane. He has nothing but hatred for me.”

Kat propped herself up on her elbows and turned toward me. “I think maybe it’s a love-hate thing. He still loves you, but you clearly can’t stand him. So his frustration manifests into schoolyard bullying.”

“Are you saying this is my fault?” I narrowed my eyes, feeling the pain coursing through her heart.

“Of course not.” She lay back down and turned her back to me.

Irritated, I flopped down on my side of the bed. My eyes felt like sandpaper, but I knew I’d never sleep until I asked the question I’d been holding in for weeks. “Kat?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you do it? Date Dan, I mean.”

She sighed. “I don’t know. He just showed up out of nowhere. He didn’t even tell me he was moving here, and one thing led to another…”

Her voice sounded so small and dejected, I couldn’t help but feel bad for her. “It’s okay.” I reached for her hand and squeezed.

“No it isn’t, but thanks for saying so.” She squeezed back.

She was right. It really wasn’t okay. She’d known how much Dan had hurt me and yet, she still chose to not only date him, but to move in with him. I’d been lying to myself, saying it was fine, it didn’t bother me. But it did. And we both knew it.

“I’m kicking him out tomorrow,” she said.

“Are you sure? He clearly needs help. Maybe you can help him get it.”

“After he assaulted me? I don’t think so. Besides, he’s not over you. I deserve better in a relationship. If he wants help, I’ll be there, but not as his girlfriend.”

I reached over and hugged her. “I love you, you know that, right?”

“Yes. I love you too.”

Chapter 19

A dull headache threatened as the florescent lighting glared off the stark-white walls of the hospital. The fact that I hadn’t slept more than six hours in the two days since Pyper had been admitted didn’t help. I popped two aspirin and washed them down with a large gulp of lukewarm coffee. Food and sleep would have been a better prescription, but I’d take what I could get.

The receptionist waved, and I nodded as I made my way down the corridor. The staff had suspected everything from a drug overdose to a brain aneurism. But after an endless series of clean MRI’s, CAT scans and blood tests, the official diagnosis was an unexplained coma.

Entering Pyper’s room, I was relieved to see she was alone. Kane had been holding a vigil by her side, and I hoped he’d finally gone home for some much-needed sleep.

I sat down next to her and took her hand.

Closing my eyes, I let my barriers down and sent my awareness toward her. It was tough to sift through the raw energy of the other hospital patients, but with strained effort I managed to keep their signatures in the background. I’d been trying each time I visited her, searching for her distinct energy, but each time I had the same result. Nothing. Frustrated, I sent my energy out with more force. Her emotional energy was still vacant, but with her hand still clasped in mine I felt her body twitch.

My eyes popped open. She was lying there just as she’d been
before.

“Pyper? Pyper, honey, wake up. I know you felt me. I felt you flinch from my mental probe. Come on now, we all miss you. Wake up.”

“Mental probe?”

I jumped, and dropped her hand. Kane, with damp hair and wearing a clean T-shirt and jeans, stood at the door.

“I was trying to reach her, and she flinched.”

“Reach her? How?” Kane tilted his head in thought and then focused on me with wide eyes. “Wait, she flinched?”

“I think it was more like a reflex,” I said ignoring his first questions. I got up and wandered to the window, as Kane moved to sit next to her.

Kane spoke in a low voice, trying to coax Pyper awake. When nothing happened, I moved to stand next to him.

“What did you say to get her to move?” he asked.

“Uh…” I sat down on the edge of the bed, faced him and took a deep breath. “Nothing, I just held her hand and tried to get a sense of her energy.” How could I tell him about my ability now? But how could I not, especially if I could help Pyper?

“Oh. I see. Did you get anything?” Kane put Pyper’s hand in mine.

“Huh?” That wasn’t the response I’d been expecting.

“Did you get any reading on her emotional energy?”

Wait. He knew? “You know about my ability?” Had Pyper told him? I’d never told her it was a secret, though I’d thought that was obvious. I should’ve realized she’d tell him. They were best friends, after all.

His eyes held steady on mine. “Yes. I know about that. I tried to tell you once before, but you didn’t want to talk about it, so I let it drop.”

“But—”

“Jade,” he stroked my arm. “Can we do this later? I’d like it if you tried to reach Pyper again.”

I bit down hard on my lip. He knew. He’d known for a while, apparently, and he hadn’t run. In fact, I’d pushed him away. Idiot. I took a deep breath. “All right.”

“Thank you.”

“I can’t promise anything.”

He nodded.

“Okay.” I shut my eyes and tried to center myself. After a few deep breaths I relaxed and focused first on Kane. His anxiousness came through loud and clear, with also a bit of relief. That surprised me. I was relieved he knew my secret, but why was he relieved? I put the question aside and mentally shoved Kane’s emotions to the back of my awareness, ready to focus on Pyper.

As before, I couldn’t find one thread of her energy. I gathered as much force as I could muster and sent my probe deep into her psyche. My head started to spin as my vision narrowed to only Pyper’s face, and suddenly my body spasmed. Pain slashed my flesh.

I jerked, trying to break the connection, but the pain was too much to bear. Everything faded to black.

“Jade?”

“Wha…?”

“Here, lie back.” Kane’s face came into focus.

“What happened? Did I pass out?”

“Yes, right after Pyper opened her eyes.”

“She opened her eyes?” I sat up, and the world spun again. Kane’s arms came around my shoulders, steadying me, and my head cleared.

“Whoa. Take it easy. They just fluttered open and then closed again. No words, no other movement. What did you feel?” He pressed the buzzer, calling for a nurse.

I clasped Pyper’s limp hand and whispered, “Pain. I felt pain.”

Kane’s face hardened into granite. “Pyper’s in pain?”

I nodded as a nurse bustled in and immediately went to inspect a printout from one of the beeping machines. “Looks like a bit of activity here. Did you see any movement?”

“She opened her eyes but closed them immediately,” Kane said.

“That could be a good sign. Let me take a look.” The nurse checked her eyes with a light, took her blood pressure and checked a few more readouts. “It could have been a reflex, but I’ll let the doctor know. It happens sometimes. We just have to wait and see.” She gave us an apologetic smile and left.

Kane turned to me. “Pain, you said?”

“Yes.” My voice trembled slightly. I took a shaky breath. “I felt it. That’s what made me pass out. We have to help her.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing these last few days?” He stood up and paced. “Hell, the last year of my life? I’ve done nothing but try to help her. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

I reached for his hand and pulled him to sit beside me. His words held an edge of anger that could be interpreted as resentment, but his emotions portrayed nothing but general frustration. He was at his wit’s end.

“She’s the only family I have left, since my grandmother died a few years ago.” He turned to me. “Don’t you think I would do anything to help her?”

“Of course. I know you would. We just need to figure out our next move.” I traced his palm with my fingers. “Your only family? What about your parents?”

He hunched and waved a hand, signaling the subject wasn’t important. “They’re off exploring the world. I never know how to reach them or even where they are in a given month. Last I heard, they were living in the Cook Islands. They’re kind of flaky.” He gave me a small smile. “I grew up with Gram. She was my family.”

My heart squeezed at his words. “I can relate. I lost my mom when I was fifteen. I have no idea where my dad is. I haven’t seen him for ten years. Besides my Aunt Gwen, Kat is my only family.”

“I’m sorry. That’s a terrible age to lose a mother. How did she die?”

I swallowed. “I don’t know. She just…disappeared.”

“Abducted?” Kane grabbed my hand and squeezed. “No trace or anything?”

“No traces.” I pursed my lips together. I really didn’t want to talk about this. “It’s been a long time. Like I said, Kat is my family now.”

“That’s why you moved here?”

“Mostly.”

He raised his hand to my face and leaned in brushing my lips with his. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

I gave him a sad smile and looked back at Pyper. “I’ve been wondering about something.”

He raised an eyebrow and waited.

“Have you tried dreamwalking her?” I asked softly.

Kane’s face softened as he took in what I said. “I hadn’t thought of that. Do you think it would work for a coma patient?”

“No idea, but I’m not so sure she’s in a coma. At least, the way the doctors define one. This is something different. I don’t know what, though.”

“I haven’t really slept much since this happened. But I suppose it’s worth a try.” He turned back to Pyper, clasped both hands around her right one and rested his chin on top of his knuckles. “I’ll see you soon, love,” he said to her.

I suddenly felt like an intruder and quietly let myself out of the room. On the way to the nurses’ station I ran into Holly. “Hey.”

Holly’s eyes sagged with lack of sleep, and their redness indicated she’d been crying again. “Any change?” She sniffed.

“No, not really. Kane’s with her now. Do you want to join me for coffee?”

“I don’t think I could drink one more cup.” She held her hands up. “See how jittery they are? Way too much caffeine.”

“I think tomorrow after the first pot we should switch you to decaf.” I guided her toward the vending machine and bought her a package of crackers. “Maybe these will soak it up a little.”

We sat on the hard plastic chairs in the sterile waiting room.

“Thank you.” Holly stared at the package.

“It’s really not a big deal. Don’t worry about it.”

She looked up at me. “Not the crackers. I meant for all you’re doing to help Pyper with the café and the club. She doesn’t have a lot of people to count on, you know.”

Her statement startled me into momentary silence. I’d been rotating duties with Holly and Charlie at both The Grind and Wicked, to cover for Pyper and Kane. I blinked and said. “You’re welcome, but she does have people. You, Charlie and Kane come to mind pretty quickly. That’s more than a lot of people I know.”

She fiddled with the plastic wrapper on her crackers before answering. “I haven’t been very friendly toward you.”

I continued to watch her. The statement was true. I didn’t know what to say.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” With her face set in determination, she met my gaze. “I was jealous. I have no excuse.”

“Oh. I sort of thought it had to do with Kane. It’s okay, I understand.”

“Kane?” She laughed. “Oh no, not because of him.” Her laugh turned into a schoolgirl giggle. “Because of the time you were spending with Pyper.”

“Pyper? Why?” Did Holly have a crush on Pyper? That made no sense. She was giddy when she’d mistaken us for a couple.

She shrugged one shoulder. “Pyper’s my closest friend. The closest one I’ve ever had actually, and when you two started spending so much time together I just assumed you were becoming a couple. She doesn’t get close to people easily. But when…”

“When you realized Pyper and I were just friends, you were afraid I’d take her away from you?” I finished for her.

“Yes,” she said. “It’s stupid I know. I don’t have a lot of experience with female friendships.”

Apparently today was the day for confessions. I put on what I hoped was a reassuring smile and peered into her eyes. “We all have insecurities. I understand, but I think you should give Pyper more credit than that. She has room in her heart for more than just one person.”

She smiled back at me. “I know. And I see what a great friend you’ve been to her. I hope one day you and I can be good friends too.”

Movement in the corridor caught my attention. I stood. “I think we’re already on our way. Here comes Kane. Why don’t you go see Pyper now?”

Kane reached my side just as Holly waved and took off down the corridor.

“What were you two chatting about?” he asked.

“Just clearing up a few things. Ready?”

He nodded and took my hand as we left the building.

I propped my feet on the coffee table in Pyper’s apartment. We’d decided it would be better to be in her space when Kane tried to connect with her.

“We could order some takeout.” I said, closing my eyes and relaxing into the overstuffed cushions. Kane hadn’t eaten anything but cafeteria food in days, and I certainly didn’t have the energy to cook.

“That’s a good plan.” A moment later I heard him order a pizza. Worked for me. “It’ll be here in thirty minutes,” he said.

“Thanks.” I opened my eyes and smiled when I saw him sitting exactly as I was in the chair beside me. “Mind if I borrow your shower?”

He opened one eye and his lips quirked up in a half smile. “Want some company?”

My smile blossomed into a grin. “Someone needs to wait for the pizza.”

“Damn.”

I left him with a mournful expression on his face and took my time in the water, letting the hot stream soothe my aching muscles. When the water turned tepid, I reluctantly turned off the tap and reached for the oversized bath sheet. That’s when my phone started to ring. I wrapped my dripping hair in the towel before making my way to the bedroom, where my phone lay on Kane’s dresser.

“Yeah?”

“Oh good, I caught you,” Kat said. “I just got off the phone with Ian.”

“Finally. Where the hell has he been?”

“With his aunt. Apparently they went to consult a paranormal expert and got caught in a ghost hunt. All of the electronic equipment went haywire, including his cell phone. He hasn’t been able to reach anyone for five days. He just got our messages. He says he’ll be back in town late tonight.”

“Okay. I’m not sure what good he’ll be to us now. But at least we don’t have to worry about him.” I wrapped my free arm around my bare body, chilled from the air conditioner.

“He feels terrible and says he might be able to help. Apparently he learned some new tricks.” Kat chuckled. “He sounds like a boy at Christmas.”

“Boys. All right, then. Kane’s going to try to dreamwalk Pyper tonight. We’re hoping it might help us understand what’s going on.”

“That’s a great idea. I’ll get Ian to come by in the morning.”

“Sounds good.” A door clicked shut in the other room. “Dinner is here. I better go.”

“Later.”

I flipped the phone shut and as I started to make my way back into the bathroom, the bedroom door opened.

Kane filled the doorway and froze. His gaze roamed the entire length of my bare body. Twice. Then his eyes met mine. “Sorry. I thought you’d be in the bathroom.”

I stood still, like a deer caught in headlights.

He walked into the room, never taking his eyes off mine. “Dinner’s ready.”

I gulped as his eyes turned from cinnamon-speckled mocha to molten chocolate. “All right,” I said, my voice barely audible.

He choked out an oath, his voice as rough as his hands when he grabbed my hips, yanking me to his solid frame. Our lips met in a crush of impatience. Need clutched at my heart as it pumped rapidly, threatening to jump out of my chest. I wanted this. I wanted him like I’d never wanted anyone before.

My impatient hands found their way under his shirt as he pushed me up against the wall. I pressed the length of my body closer, desperately trying to fuse with his.

“I’m at a disadvantage here,” I whispered against his lips.

I felt his slow wry smile just before he kissed me again and moved my hand to the fly of his jeans. “Do something about it.”

I rose to the challenge, flipping the button open with my thumb and forefinger. He stilled as I undid the zipper. With one stroke of my hand over his silky shaft, he groaned. Heat shot to my center. I placed both hands on his hips and yanked down, stripping him of his jeans.

I consciously did everything I could to keep his emotions from merging with mine. Once that happened I’d be lost at sea, overwhelmed by the tide of his desire. I wanted to feel his strong hands and muscular body, to get lost in all the delicious little details of his exploration. Like right now, the way he gently held my nipple in his teeth while the tip of his tongue teased.

I pressed my back to the wall, arching my hips against his full erection. A deep, satisfied chuckle rumbled in his throat. Humorous, was it? We’d see about that. His lips trailed a line of kisses up my collarbone. I shifted, making space between us, then placed one hand around his neck and the other around the base of his cock. His lips froze mid-kiss. I stroked the length of him until his hips moved in rhythm with me.

It was my turn to chuckle. Not so funny now.

His kisses resumed, more savage than before, and my body lit like crackling fire. A moment later he produced a condom from the nearby dresser.

Thank heaven for the prepared.

His hands moved to my ass, boosting me up, and I wrapped my legs around his hips. The tip of him pressed at my opening. Our eyes met for two long beats. The intensity broke though my defenses and as his unrelenting desire flooded my core, he rocked his hips and entered me.

A cry of pleasure ripped from me as I came almost instantly. I held on, letting myself ride Kane’s desire as he pounded into me, over and over, bringing me once again to the edge. Until this time we shuddered together.

“Lord, help me.” His lips were pressed against my neck, muffling his voice.

“I think it’s too late for that.”

He pulled back and grinned. “I’m going to need some for the next round.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Greedy.”

“Yes.” He set me back on my feet and stepped backward, pulling me with him. “I need to lie down.”

I stopped, rooted to the floor, and stared over his shoulder.

Slowly he turned toward the direction of my gaze.

“Do you see that?” I asked.

“Yes.”

Chapter 20

Kane moved, shielding me from the ghost as I grabbed the discarded towel. I covered up and peered over his shoulder. A red/orange rage illuminated from Bobby, gripping my interior like a vice.

I stumbled forward and held onto Kane’s shoulder with one hand, trying to stay conscious. He tensed. Protectiveness flowed from him, easing Bobby’s emotional hold on me. Sighing in relief, I moved to Kane’s side. He radiated disapproval. I squeezed his arm. “It’s all right. Just stay next to me. Your emotions help.”

Uncertainty flashed over his face, but he nodded.

The energy around Bobby turned a deeper red as his rage grew out of control. I clutched Kane’s arm as a tremor of terror ran up my spine. Determined, I took a small step and stared into Bobby’s eyes.

In a quiet voice, I spoke. “Bobby, stop this. I am not your wife. I know I look like her, but I do not belong to you. I belong with Kane.”

Kane’s pleasure seeped through the fierce protective vibe he had going on, strengthening my resolve.

The rage stronghold had begun to fade, but as Bobby turned to Kane, a fresh wave of angry possessiveness lashed out, making my knees buckle.

“Stop it!” I yelled. “Even if I was who you think I am, is this how you’d treat your wife? Is this how you treat someone you love?” I hugged my arms to myself, trying to see past the pain searing though my chest. “Please, just let me have my life.”

Kane’s arms wrapped around me, and a fresh wave of his affection circled me in a gentle caress. Bobby’s hold on me vanished. I reached around Kane’s torso and stared at him with wide eyes. “How did you do that?”

“What?”

“Your energy replaced his. He isn’t affecting me right now.”

His eyes searched mine. “It must be because you belong with me.” He tilted his head, tightened his hold and gave me a slow lingering kiss that made my toes curl in pleasure. I leaned into him, cherishing the tenderness of the moment. When we broke apart I let out a soft sigh and leaned my head on his chest. Kane stroked my hair and whispered, “He’s gone.”

“I know.”

“Come on. You need to eat.” Kane took a few steps back, deeper into the bedroom.

“But the pizza is out there.” I pointed toward the door.

“Yes, but I really need a shower first, and I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

I laughed. “I knew you’d find a way to get me in the shower.”

He grinned and pulled me along after him.

After a second round of lovemaking, we finally emerged flushed and smelling of the rainforest.

“I’m starving,” I said as I placed a full plate of pizza in the microwave.

Kane picked up a cold piece and ate half of it while pulling two beers from the refrigerator.

“Yuck. I love pizza, but cold pizza is just not right.”

“What? You can’t be serious. Besides, I can’t wait. Someone used up all my reserves.”

I chuckled when he leaned in to nuzzle my neck. “Stop. Go into the living room. I’ll meet you there with warm pizza in hand.”

The microwave dinged, and I switched the plates.

“You go. I’ll be right behind you.” Kane handed me the beer bottle and gave me a tiny shove.

With the pizza in one hand and a Guinness in the other, I curled my feet under me and sank into the couch. I’d finished two pieces by the time Kane appeared. He lifted an eyebrow. “Must have had a good workout.”

“Something like that,” I said between bites.

We ate in companionable silence. When the last slice of pizza was gone, I grabbed both plates and took them to the kitchen. It didn’t take long to load the dishwasher and clean the counters, but desperate to avoid the upcoming conversation I moved on to scrubbing the sink. By the time Kane came to find me, I’d cleaned the stovetop, wiped down the appliances and had moved on to sweeping the floor.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Just a little cleanup.”

“A little?” His eyebrows rose as he looked around at the sparkling kitchen. “Are you cleaning out the refrigerator next?”

“Uh…no.” I put the broom back in the closet.

Kane smiled and took my hand. “Thank you, but that wasn’t necessary.”

I shrugged and let him lead me to the living room.

“All right, what is it you don’t want to talk about?” he asked after pulling me down on the sofa next to him.

I shook my head. “I can’t keep any secrets from you.” How did he do that? It must be some kind of special gift. Only, not a weird psychic or dreamwalker gift. Just a natural gift of perception.

“It’s hard to hide from the people who love you.” He wrapped his arm around me and pulled my head to his shoulder.

Love. There it was. I knew he loved me. I could feel it just as I felt the love growing in my heart for him. A lump clogged my throat and I took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry I hid my ability from you.”

“It’s all right. I understand.”

I sat up, unwrapping myself from his embrace. “It’s really not okay. I wasn’t honest with you, and considering how hard I was on you after you told me about the dreamwalking, I can’t understand why you aren’t more upset.”

“Maybe it’s because I knew about your ability. You didn’t tell me, but I felt it and knew what I was getting into. Plus, you weren’t influencing the way I felt about you.”

“But you weren’t upset when I wasn’t honest with you. Why?”

“Is it so hard for you to understand?” He tilted my head to look in my eyes. “I know what it feels like to have people run from me due to my ability. I already knew why you didn’t tell me.”

My heart squeezed. He’d known his share of rejection, just as I had, due to something neither of us could control. And what did I do right after he told me about his gift? I ran. “I’m so sorry.” I tore my gaze away and focused on our clasped hands. “I hurt you.”

“I deserved it.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “But you should know I really didn’t dreamwalk you on purpose. My subconscious took me there and was in charge in my dreams…at least at first. So everything that happened, well, I didn’t control it. It’s just what I secretly wanted.” He paused and his voice hitched. “And my emotions…those were real.”

I lifted my gaze to really study him. “You were never trying to manipulate me.” It wasn’t a question, but he answered with a shake of his head.

“I love you, Jade.” His hand tightened on mine. “I want you as my partner, my friend, my lover. But I only want you if you want me the same way. I wouldn’t try to trick you into anything, or expect you to be anything other than who and what you are. That isn’t who I am.”

“I know,” I said with intensity. “I know that isn’t who you are.”

He pulled me into his lap and held me close. “So what do you say?”

Joy spread and filled all the empty corners of my being. “I love you, too.”

Kane’s arms tightened around me, while his lips brushed mine. I leaned into him, hugging tight and sank into the kiss. When I pulled back, the softness of his eyes matched the tenderness escaping from his being.

I snuggled back into his chest and rested my head on his shoulder. “We need to talk about Pyper.”

“All right.”

“I feel guilty being happy about us when she needs help.” I buried my head deeper, as if to hide from myself.

“Don’t. I know Pyper and she’ll be thrilled for us, no matter how or when this came about.” He stroked my back.

“I know. It’s not that. It’s because I don’t know how to help her. At the calling Lailah did,” I cringed at the use of her name, “the vision of the so-called ‘goddess’ said I needed to change things. That I held the power to alter the course now set. I don’t know what that means. I don’t know what I can do, other than try to reach her emotional energy. And that isn’t working.”

Kane sat silent for so long, I finally glanced up to catch his eye. “What?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I really don’t. And as far as Lailah is concerned, I’d just as soon not have you involved in any more of her brand of magic.”

I sat up. “I’m not too keen on it either, but I feel like I have to do something.”

“Okay, we’ll try to figure it out, but not right now. Both of us need sleep. Will you stay with me while I try to dreamwalk Pyper?”

I nodded, got to my feet and held out my hand. “Come on. Let’s go.” I couldn’t help my lips from curling into a small smile.

Ten minutes later we climbed into Kane’s bed. I stared at his chest, my eyes lingering. I reached out and ran a hand the length of his torso. “I wanted to do that since the first time I woke up next to you.”

Kane caught my hand and kissed it. “If I hadn’t thought you had a concussion, I don’t think I could have kept my hands off you.”

I scooted closer and snuggled up next to him. “There wouldn’t have been much of a fight.”

He groaned. “Now you tell me.”

“I think you’ll live.” I lifted my head. “Will you take me with you in the dream?”

“I already planned on it.”

Pressing my head to his chest, I relaxed. “Thanks. I want to try to reach her mentally before we go.”

“You can do that from here?”

“Maybe. The closer I am emotionally to someone, the easier it is. And the fact we’re in her apartment helps. Plus, you’re her best friend. If we’re connected I might reach her.”

“It’s worth a try.” Kane reached over and flipped off the light.

“Okay, I’m going to read you first. I need to lock in your emotions so I can differentiate and concentrate on Pyper,” I said.

“All right.”

Because Kane and I were now connected emotionally and physically, reading him became as effortless as breathing. His energy flowed through me as if it were my own. I didn’t think I could block him now even if I tried. His pleasure warmed my skin, and I lightly trailed my fingers over his as I paused to enjoy the moment. But soon the weariness and worry for Pyper intruded.

In my mind I conjured up Pyper’s distinct energy. It wasn’t long before I entered the void I’d been experiencing at the hospital the last few days. I was close. As I had earlier, I forced my essence deeper. Instantly, pain rippled down both my arms and legs. Through the haze I barely heard Kane gasp in alarm. Instinctively, I stiffened, trying to hold as still as possible and the stabbing jabs eased to a dull ache.

“Pyper,” I whispered. “We’re here. I can feel you. Please, tell us where you are.”

Anger and despair filled the void, masking hopelessness.

“It’s not hopeless. Kane and I are coming for you. Tell us where to look.”

Pyper, I’m here. We both are. Don’t give up. We’re coming for you. Kane’s voice rang in my head.

I jerked, momentarily startled. How did he do that? My focus waned, and I felt Pyper slipping. “No,” I said in a raised voice and concentrated. “Where are you?”

Pain pierced my hands, and I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out. Kane’s arms tightened around me with fierce protectiveness.

Roy. Kane, Roy has me. Help. Pyper’s faint voice barely registered in my mind. A white-hot bolt of terror punched me in the stomach, and the connection was lost.

Kane shot straight up as I rolled away and vomited right there on the bed.

“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God,” I said over and over. “I’m sorry.”

Kane grabbed the quilt and carried it out of the room. In no time he was back. “Are you all right?”

Barely holding back my gag reflex, I shook my head and wobbled my way into the bathroom. When I was sure I could hold down the rest of my dinner, I reemerged and found Kane hovering by the door.

“Jade.” He rubbed my back as I padded back to the bed. “Are you okay?”

I nodded and sat with my back against the headboard. “All of that pain was Pyper’s”

“What pain?”

“Oh, you didn’t feel it?” When he shook his head, I continued. “Her hands are in awful pain, like she’s been stabbed or something. I got sick because I experienced a sucker-punch of some sort. Only it wasn’t me, it was her.”

Kane’s eyes darkened to almost black, a shade I had never seen in my vast experience of analyzing his eye color. Fury and hatred engulfed me.

“I know. I feel the same way.” I ran my hand up his arm. “Why did you gasp? What did you feel?”

“Your energy changed. It went from a light airy feel to heavy and somehow foreboding. I knew something wasn’t right.”

“That’s when I felt all the pain.” I rubbed my palm. “Who is Roy?”

“I only know one Roy. He was the previous owner of the club.” Kane paused. “He died six months ago.”

“A ghost,” I whispered.

Chapter 21

The turbulence coursing through Kane was like nothing I’d experienced before. Hatred, compounded with a fierce possessiveness, overwhelmed his other protective instincts. I imagined a wolf protecting his den while he simultaneously stalked his prey.

“Kane?”

He turned, and his emotions surged through me, zapping my remaining energy.

“I know you’re upset. You have every right to be, but I need you to calm down. Please.”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Sorry.”

I pulled him down in the covers and cuddled up close. “Just focus on me for a while, okay?”

He kissed the top of my head. “I’ll try.” The intensity of his emotions faded, but the anger didn’t disappear.

“I’m going to try to relax and sleep. I’ll be waiting for you when you’re ready.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he said.

I closed my eyes and stretched my aching limbs. Kane felt good, too good in my arms, and it didn’t take long for me to drift off. Immediately Bobby appeared at the foot of the bed, shining in his bright light. All the red anger he’d displayed earlier in the night was gone, replaced by a peaceful acceptance. I dozed in his presence until finally, after what seemed like hours, Kane joined me.

Bobby came and stood next to the bed, his light washing over both of us. I looked from him to Kane and back again. Bobby nodded, turned his lips up in a sad smile and faded into the night, his light going with him.

That was weird. I stared at the spot Bobby had vanished from.

Focus, Jade. I need to take you to Pyper. Kane’s voice rang clear in my head.

My eyes found him. His determination and sense of urgency snapped me back into the moment. With our hands clasped, our bodies rose together in a transparent image of ourselves. We floated through the walls and floors, ending up next to the stage in the middle of Wicked.

The club pulsed with activity. One of the strippers crawled across the stage toward an eager front-row participant. I spotted Charlie, busy at the bar handling a line of bachelor party shots. The room was half-full with tourists, party goers and, of course, the regular at the table in the corner, sitting the same as always, with a cigarette and a bottle of beer on the table. He stared across the room at something. I followed his gaze.

A platform in the back of the club levitated above the velvet couches lining the wall. I pointed and floated off toward it. As I got nearer, someone’s anger engulfed me, muffling my senses. The emotional imprint seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I spotted Kane just behind me, horror etched on his face. A twinge of desperation and panic I recognized as Kane’s pushed its way through the anger surrounding me. I sent my energy out to him, trying to link us together, but his emotions were far away and barely reachable. Disoriented, I turned back to the platform and floated up above it.

A piercing cry rang from my lips, and my own terror pushed out all other emotions.

On the platform, Pyper lay encased in a silver-outlined clear box. Stripped naked, she’d been pinned down, spread-eagle with nails through her palms and feet. Barbed wire wrapped around her limbs, causing her to lie still or suffer more puncture wounds. Her eyes, pleading, moved from me to Kane and back again. Her lips moved, but no sound was audible.

The foreign, angry energy mixed with my own desperation, and I raised my arms over my head, ready to strike. Using all of my force I slammed my hands down, intending to shatter the silver-lined box. I barely felt anything as my hands bounced off the structure, propelling me backwards. Reminding myself my body was back in Kane’s bed and this was just my dream self, I changed tactics. Turning in a circle, I sent my energy out searching for the unwelcome visitor still crowding my awareness.

Kane hovered above Pyper trying to communicate with her, his mouth working and hands waving. Charlie was oblivious to the action, as was everyone else in the club, except for one man; the quiet, creepy regular with the beer bottle and unlit cigarette whom I’d seen every night I’d ever been in the bar. He sat in his regular corner staring right at me, hatred ripping holes in my senses as it radiated off him.

Our eyes locked, and in that moment I knew he wasn’t alive. A ghost. This had to be Roy. How had I missed it? Digging deep, I sent all of my awareness toward him and was engulfed into blackness so dark it was as if I’d gone blind. I floated back to Kane, reining in my energy.

“There he is. It’s Roy, isn’t it?” I pointed to the ghost across the room.

Kane turned, following my direction. “Son of a bitch!” He flew across the room, fists raised in challenge. Just as Kane came to a stop in front of the man, Roy’s hatred heightened, slashing at my very essence, and then disappeared as the ghost vanished. Kane whipped around, back and forth, and then glided back to me.

I sent my awareness back out in search of him and felt a small tug. Then my energy was grabbed with such force, I felt as if it would be ripped from my being. Frantically, I tried to merge with Kane as I had earlier in the evening when Bobby had invaded my senses. But I couldn’t reach him. A thread of Pyper’s desperation reached me and I opened to it, merging with her instead.

All at once, Pyper’s pain vanished, along with her restraints. I hovered near the case and melded my energy closer to hers. Pyper rose from the case and floated next to me. Seconds ticked by, and then I faded into nothing.

I woke with slashes of pain radiating throughout my limbs. My eyes blurred with unshed tears and when I tried to move my arm, a ragged cry burst from my throat as sharp barbs pricked my flesh. The tears ran down the side of my face, and Kane’s face came into focus.

I could see his mouth forming the word “Jade” over and over again, but I could hear nothing. Worse, I could no longer feel his energy. I was trapped in a void.

You freed her—I needed someone to take her place, a sinister voice said in my head.

“Why?” I asked in desperation.

To punish you, of course. To punish them.

I focused on the glare above me. I was now trapped in the case with my limbs wrapped tight in the barbed wire. Pain pulsed from my hands and feet, and I knew nails held them down. There wasn’t anything I could do to get free. I stared at Kane, looking as helpless as I felt, and cried out in anguish as he disappeared from my sight.

He’s left to be with her, you know.

“No!” I cried. “He’ll be back for me.”

He’s always loved her best. There will never be room for you in his life.

“Lies. You’re an evil, lying bastard.”

Roy chuckled, and his laughter rang in my mind. Call me whatever you like. You’re mine now.

“I’ll never be yours.” My voice was flat to my own ears. Where had Kane gone? I couldn’t believe he’d left me here like this.

That’s right, Jade. He left you. Really, what did you think he would do?”

“Stop it! Just stop it!” In my rational mind I knew Roy was playing off my fears, but I was powerless to stop him.

Roy continued to spew his brand of hate at me for what seemed like hours. Tired and worn down, I turned inward, pulling my guards up. Suddenly I couldn’t hear him anymore. The pain in my limbs dissipated to a dull ache. Why hadn’t I tried that before?

This isn’t real, I told myself. Of course it wasn’t. Pyper had been in a coma in the hospital with no visible marks at all. Roy had stolen just her conscious self. Now, I’d traded places with her. All the pain was an illusion in my mind.

I tried to lift my arms, but all I felt was weight holding me down. There wasn’t the sharp stabbing pain as before, but I couldn’t lift my arms or legs. Still trapped. Damn it!

With nothing else at my disposal, I decided to try merging with his emotional energy again. It was the only thing I could think of to do. After taking a few deep breaths, I let my guards down. My arms throbbed in pain from where I’d tried to lift them against the barb wire. I pressed my arms down on the platform, trying to get as far away from the prickling metal as possible.

That won’t help you, Roy said.

“Shut up, you bastard.” I glared up into his twisted face.

He gave the mechanical laugh of someone destined for a padded cell. His image floated above me, and I sent my energy toward him.

Stop trying to invade my soul, you witch! I’ll kill you if you keep it up.

His venomous thoughts spurred my determination. I pressed harder, seeking to merge my energy with his. The hatred crawled up my spine, making me squirm and cry in pain as wire stabbed my limbs. I stilled and fought to keep a hold on his emotions. As I pressed deeper I sensed a twinge of his panic, but his toxic, determined energy took over as he loomed over me, staring into my eyes.

I stared back, determined to break his hold on me. Sweat broke out on my face. I struggled to keep connected with him. His hateful emotions wore me down faster than I anticipated and before I could build up my walls, he lashed out with his mind. Wielding an imaginary whip, he slashed at my torso, leaving raised welts. My cries of terror mixed with hot tears as I struggled to shut him out, but the pain and fear took over.

After half a dozen strokes, he stopped to peer at me in the box. Are you going to behave, or do you need to be punished some more?

I turned my head so I wouldn’t have to look at him, using the moment to build my guards. I vaguely felt the imaginary whip come down a few more times, but when I didn’t flinch or respond, Roy retreated.

That plan didn’t go well. My earlier panic had faded, and I was left feeling only despair. Where was Kane? I couldn’t believe he’d left me alone. He had to be coming back. Somehow I knew if he was here, we could fight this together. I hoped Pyper had woken, and he’d gone to see her.

Time became nonexistent as Roy hovered, waiting for my resistance to fail and doing his best to taunt me and break me down. But no matter how tired I got, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Eventually I started to fade into an unconscious sleep state. Something familiar reached out to me. Something comforting and pleasant. I reached for it with my mind, and then Kane spoke. Jade, there you are.

Kane, where are you?

I’m with you, next to the case you’re trapped in. I have been for hours. But your guards are up, and I couldn’t reach you.

Is this a dream? Confused I tried to look around, but saw only darkness.

I’m speaking to you in your dream state. It’s the only way I could reach you.

I don’t understand. Nothing made sense to me. I hadn’t seen Kane or felt him since I’d freed Pyper and became trapped in the box.

Your guards are up. I assume it’s helping you keep Roy away, but it’s also shutting me out.

Oh. Is Pyper safe?

A rush of gratitude and love streamed from him. Yes, love. She’s fine. You, however, have now taken her place at the hospital.

Great. I mentally groaned. Kane…I don’t know how to get out of this.

That’s why I’m here. We’re coming for you. Me, Bea, Ian, Lailah, Kat, Holly and Charlie. All of us. Be prepared to let your guards down. It’s the only way we can help you.

How?

I don’t have all the details. Just be ready. Bea says you’ll know.

Okay. I’m ready now.

Kane gave a sad chuckle. Me, too, love.

His energy started to fade. I mentally reached out to hold on to it. Don’t go!

I’ll stay as long as you need me.

Forever. I need you forever. But for now, just until I feel strong again. I don’t know why, but Kane’s energy fed me. Already the weariness of holding Roy off waned.

I’m here. I’ll stay, he said.

Just until I’m strong again. Then come back and kick that bastard’s ass.

My pleasure.

Chapter 22

Kane faded from my consciousness and as I lay there, staring through the top of my prison, boredom set in. My barriers were firmly in place and all the pain had subsided. I had nothing to do but wait.

Roy kept his distance, and I suspected he knew I was stronger. I contemplated letting my guards down to see if I could best him in another energy match. But I didn’t want to risk wearing myself down for when the group showed up. Whenever that was.

Some time later, Roy edged closer to my case, as if to test the safety of coming nearer. I wanted to laugh. What exactly could I do in my position? Clearly, he still had the upper hand, considering I was trapped, even if he couldn’t cause me physical pain.

Roy floated above me, back and forth from the box to his corner. The cigarette hung unlit from his lips. Was he doomed to roam forever in his ghost state, always wanting to light that cigarette? A small twinge of satisfaction rolled through me at the thought of him in permanent nicotine withdrawal.

“Serves you right,” I said.

Roy appeared above me, peering in.

I lifted my eyebrows and watched him. It was nice not having to feel his foulness. Maybe after my friends freed me from this hellish box, my new connection with Kane would help me keep other people’s emotions out of my awareness.

Roy’s face contorted into a scowl as his mouth worked overtime. He was yelling at me, but I couldn’t hear him.

My indifference seemed to fuel his hostility. Fascinated, I studied the increasing animation of his face as he ranted. His scowl deepened, and his eyes bugged as he did an excellent impression of a demon possession. Suddenly, he launched himself and ended up lying flat, facedown on top of my box.

I narrowed my eyes. “You have nothing on me, you sick, demented bastard.”

His face turned beet red, and he roared. The case shook, but I still couldn’t hear it. It was weird how a ghost’s skin tone could change with anger. Although, this was an alternate reality, so I guess anything was possible.

I don’t know how much time went by as Roy continued his temper tantrum. Periodically I’d say some snide, colorful remark just to satisfy my own perverse need to get under his skin. It probably wasn’t wise, but I had nothing else to do to entertain myself.

Eventually Roy moved from my sight. Bored out of my mind, I closed my eyes and faded in and out of a semi-conscious state for what seemed like eternity. In my weakened state, my barriers started to collapse as someone pushed at my walls. I imagined armor forming around me, determined to not let Roy push his way into my emotional field.

No! A chorus of voices rang in my mind.

My eyes popped open wide, and I turned my head back and forth, searching for my friends. A faint outline hovered above me, and I smiled in relief at the sight of Kane. I let the armor fall but still kept my emotional barriers in place.

There you are, I said, again with my mind.

And I’m not leaving without you. Kane turned his head toward the center of the club where Bea sat in an old tattered chair, surrounded by Ian, Holly, Charlie, Lailah and Kat.

Where’s Pyper? I asked.

Sitting at the hospital with you. She wanted to come help, but I refused.

I nodded. Good call. Roy’s fixation on her is too dangerous.

Exactly.

I turned my attention to the others. Although I still couldn’t hear, they appeared to be chanting. As they did, Roy got even more agitated (if that were possible) and flew around the room. His image moved so fast I had trouble following him.

Kane hovered closer. Be ready, Jade.

For what? I couldn’t get over the weirdness of communicating in our heads. Though I suppose it wasn’t any weirder than being held prisoner in another dimension by a ghost.

To leave that case. It’s almost time.

I waited with growing impatience. Testing my restraints, I tried to lift my arms. Pain jabbed at my wrists.

Not yet. I’ll tell you.

Okay, so Roy couldn’t get in my mind, but the barbs still stung. And I wasn’t asleep, at least not in this reality, and Kane was talking to me in my head. Color me confused.

I shook my head to clear the thoughts and tried to focus. All of the people who normally worked at Wicked were absent. Either it was daytime, or Kane had closed the place down for this event. To me, it didn’t matter much. They couldn’t see this anyway. Too bad. It would have been a show-stopper.

As Bea chanted, the bright white light surrounding her started to dissipate, fading into a foggy mist. She stood out, vibrant and full of life. For the first time, I realized the other five people appeared to be slightly translucent, and so did Kane. They had to be in their dream states. But what about Bea? Was this a witch thing?

Kane, did you dreamwalk all of them here?

Everyone but Bea. She came on her own.

Is she dreamwalking me?

No. She’s awake.

Impressive. In all of my dreams when Kane dreamwalked me, had we been translucent? I couldn’t remember, but I supposed I’d been too preoccupied to care.

He floated over my case, smiling down at me. You haven’t seen anything yet.

Since I couldn’t do anything else, I laid there staring up at my boyfriend. Yep, that’s right. My boyfriend. My smile widened as I explored every inch of his body with my eyes. What I wouldn’t give to have another night wrapped in his arms, leisurely kissing every inch of his tender flesh. My mind wandered to the events that took place in his shower, just before I’d replaced Pyper in the box. In spite of my current situation, my body started to tingle.

Jade!

Huh?

Stop it. You’re distracting me.

Oops. I guess in this state you’re a mind reader.

Kane put his hand up, signaling for me to be quiet, while he watched our group of friends. I couldn’t really tell what was happening. After a moment he turned back to me. I can’t read your mind unless you direct your thoughts to me. What I can do is sense your emotions. I can’t believe you’re getting turned on right now.

I was staring at you, I replied in defense.

A hint of humor mixed with satisfaction escaped from him into my awareness, and I chuckled.

Get a hold of yourself. Bea is chanting now. In a moment it will be time for you to join me, Kane said.

Okay. I waited, suddenly tense and feeling totally unprepared. They obviously had a plan. Unfortunately, I had no idea what it was.

Out of nowhere, Roy appeared right above me, his eyes bloodshot and a crazed expression on his face. We stared each other down, neither one of us willing to look away.

“You can’t keep me, you bastard,” I said with venom.

He raised a fist and opened his mouth but before he could speak, some invisible force flung him backward.

Now, Kane said with a fierce nod.

With my heart racing and fear curling in my belly, I stared into Kane’s eyes and gathered as much courage as I could. Come on Jade, I told myself. Get on with it.

It’s all right. I’m here, Kane said.

At the sound of his voice, I lowered my guards. Roy’s fury reached me like a flash of lightning, and I struggled to keep my defenses down.

“Stay with me.” This time, Kane wasn’t speaking in my head. The sound jolted me. I lurched forward. My hands and feet came free, and my body rose to float next to Kane.

“Thank God it worked.” Kane pulled me to him, his solid arms wrapping around me.

“This is just weird,” I whispered into his ear.

Kane pulled away, holding me at arm’s length. “You’re just now coming to that conclusion?”

I shook my head. “No. Not this.” I waved toward our friends standing in a circle in the middle of the club. “This—” I pointed at him, and then back to me, “—you and me, hugging in shadow form.”

Kane shook his head, looking exasperated. What can I say? I’d gone so far past my fear threshold, I’d completely given up on being afraid.

“What now?” I asked.

He started to answer but was drowned out by a sudden howling wind. Hot air swirled through the club, scattering advertisements and a few chairs. I pushed the hair out of my face. Lailah stood outside of the circle, arms raised. She appeared to be chanting, but I couldn’t hear over the roar.

Roy twisted as if in agony, suspended directly above Bea. She sat still as a statue, staring up at him, her eyes never wavering. The other four, Kat, Charlie, Ian and Holly, stood circled around Bea, their hands clasped.

I couldn’t help but be worried for Lailah. She wasn’t part of the circle anymore. Who was protecting her? If anything went wrong with whatever piece of magic she was wielding, there could be serious consequences. It dawned on me Kane and I were outside of the circle as well, but for some reason I had no fear for my safety anymore. I had to help.

I forced my way through the roaring wind down toward Lailah and pressed my senses toward her. Determination, mixed with a thread of frustration, met my inquiry. Frustration. Maybe the spell wasn’t working properly. I glanced back at Bea, still rigid in the chair. No help there.

Kane flew to my side and gripped my arm. “Keep your energy with me.”

“I can’t. I have to do this!” I shouted. We’d never be free of Roy if we didn’t finish it now.

“No! You will not merge with him again. I won’t let you.” Kane’s fear penetrated my mind.

“Not him. Lailah.”

Kane’s face relaxed, but I knew it was a conscious effort. Tension radiated from him like a beacon. He held his hands up as if to say wait. “Can you take me with you?”

Could I? I had no idea. Usually I focus on one person and can tune everyone else out. I didn’t know if it would work with two. “I’ll try.”

Standing together, next to the struggling Lailah, I took turns focusing on each person in the room and systematically shutting them out. Everyone except Roy. Then I turned to Kane. Connecting with him took no effort. I sensed his relief at being merged with me. I sent him a small smile and turned my focus toward Lailah.

She frantically strained to complete something. I didn’t know what she was doing exactly, but it was clear she was struggling. I gathered Kane’s spirit to me and sent everything we had in her direction. She straightened and stood taller. With a renewed air of confidence she tilted her head back, chanting words I didn’t understand.

Kane and I stood next to her, our arms around each other, and waited. Everything turned pitch-black. My fingers tightened in his until triumph flowed from Lailah. Then a circle of light formed in front of us, radiating orange and red, and the wind stopped. The room took on an eerie glow.

Curiosity lured me toward the light.

Kane’s arms tightened around me. “No, Jade. It’s a portal.”

“A what?”

“It’s where we’re sending him.” Kane pointed toward Roy.

My eyes went wide as I watched Bea stand. The other four broke away, giving her room to move. Even though they weren’t touching anymore, they stayed in a circle formation.

Roy still floated above Bea, contorting as if in pain. She moved slowly, carefully, never taking her eyes off him. We stood transfixed, all of us, watching.

The closer Bea and Roy got to the portal and to me, the harder it was to block Roy from my awareness. I took a few steps back and felt Lailah cling to our connection.

“No, Jade. I need you close. You’re the one making me strong enough to hold the portal open,” Lailah said.

I took a deep breath and moved closer to her, bringing Kane with me. We formed a barrier on the edge of the portal and waited for Bea to reach the other side.

Even with Kane’s and Lailah’s strength, Roy slowly worked his vitriol into my being. Hatred and despair wedged its way into my soul, sending small stabs of pain through my body. I clenched my hands tighter around Kane’s and Lailah’s, trying to block it out. A trickle of her airy essence pressed on my skin, but Roy overpowered it. Then, in a gut-wrenching slash, Roy’s energy severed my connection to Kane. Struggling, I sent my own energy out in a panic, desperately trying to hold on to Kane’s strength, but nothing worked. Eventually the pain became sharp daggers.

Roy started to seize me.

My eyes blurred as I fought for control. If we could just get him in the portal. I looked up, barely making out the images of Bea, now at the far edge of the portal, and Roy, centered above it.

“Do it now! I can’t take it anymore,” I screamed through the spasms of pain.

“No!” Lailah yelled. “He’ll take her with him.”

Kane wrapped his arms around me, as if to shield me from harm. “I’ve got you. I won’t let anyone take you.”

I shook my head, with silent tears rolling down my cheeks. “He’ll never let me go.”

“Yes, he will,” a translucent Pyper said from Bea’s side.

“Pyper? How did you get here?” Kane’s voice rose with panic.

“Not now,” she said and turned toward Roy. “Let her go, you sick fuck. It’s me you want.”

“No!” I yelled and wrenched out of Kane’s arms before running around the portal to Pyper’s side.

Roy’s energy vanished from my awareness just as Pyper’s eyes rolled up in the back of her head. I lunged and caught her just before she fell forward into the red light.

“I won’t let you have her!” I yelled at Roy.

He still floated above the light, trapped by Bea, but his sick satisfaction flowed straight to Pyper. It crawled over my arms, making me want to release her. I clutched her tighter, painfully aware she’d slipped back into the coma. If we sent him through, she’d be lost.

“Damn it!” I reached a hand out to Kane, who now stood beside us. “Help me.”

He took Pyper from my arms and held her propped up against his side.

I focused on Lailah and with her energy mixed with mine, I sent it all into Pyper, determined to either free her or take her place. She didn’t have any defenses against him. I did.

Pyper’s energy was not void, like it had been in the hospital. It was just hidden. I now understood what Lailah meant when she said she could see things other people couldn’t. Her ability helped me focus on the parts that were Pyper and the parts that weren’t. Specifically, the areas Roy was infecting.

Her energy was thick, like mental sludge. No, not her energy. Roy’s. The realization hit me and I focused harder, mentally battling the sludge. I forced it all together. Roy fought back, but with Lailah’s strength merging with mine he didn’t have a chance.

Together, Lailah and I mentally grabbed hold of Roy and ripped him from Pyper. He screamed in anger and lashed out, trying to invade me.

“Now!” Lailah yelled.

Roy spiraled toward the portal. Then something changed. My emotional radar was cut off, and I drifted into a hazy fog.

Chapter 23

A steady stream of beep, beep, beep entered my consciousness. It took me a moment to realize the sound wasn’t an alarm clock. It was the monitors in the hospital. All at once the scene at Wicked flashed through my mind. I jerked up but was stopped by something gripping my hand. Through blurry eyes I traced the source of my entrapment. Pyper sat next to me, both of her hands clasped over my right one.

“Hey,” I said, my voice cracking from lack of use.

“Hey yourself,” she said with a huge grin. “How are you doing?”

“Water?”

She held out a paper cup.

I sipped the liquid through the straw and cleared my throat. “It’s over?”

Pyper nodded.

“It was all real, right?”

“Yes.” Tears filled her eyes and she gripped my hand harder. “Thank you,” she whispered.

My eyes filled, and I reached out to her. We held each other for a long moment.

“Where is everyone?” I asked. Then panic flared. “They’re all okay, right?”

“Everyone is fine. They’re at my apartment. That’s where they were meeting to sleep, so Kane could bring them to you. Except Bea. She was physically in the club.”

Relief flooded through me. “I figured that last part out. Was that Roy’s chair?”

“Yes.” Her fingers twitched, and a small spark of her surprise tickled my hand. “How did you know?”

“I sat in it once while I was in the storage room. Some of his residual energy clung to it. It’s awful. I made the connection when I saw her in it. I assume that’s how she tapped into his energy.”

“You’re good.” Pyper said, her eyes wide and eyebrows raised.

I smiled and tried to sit up. “Oh, God. How long have I been here?”

“A week.”

“What?” No wonder I could barely move. “It didn’t seem that long.”

“I know,” Pyper said quietly. “I suppose that’s a good thing, considering all the pain he put us through.”

“Oh, Pyper. I’m so sorry we didn’t think of a way to get to you sooner.”

“Huh? You got to me after two days. We took a week to get you out.” She frowned, and shame seeped from her straight into my heart. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I wanted to come. I wanted to go right back, but Kane wouldn’t take me.”

“Good!” I sat up straight and waited for my spinning head to clear. “I wasn’t in pain. I have the ability to block him out. Didn’t Kane tell you that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. He might have tried, but I got angry and stopped speaking to him for a few days.”

“Pyper…” I wanted so badly to take away her guilt and shame, but I knew I wasn’t strong enough. Instead, I gathered all my appreciation and pushed it toward her.

The tension in her face eased. “I know that didn’t help, but I was the only one who knew how bad it really was. It drove me insane, knowing Roy had you.” Her eyes clouded. “I wanted to rip his eyes out.”

I smiled at that. “Thank you. But I think sending him to hell was a better choice.”

“Is that where Lailah sent him?”

“I think so. If not, it was close to it. That portal had some seriously bad juju vibes coming from it.” I shivered. “Plus, she told me and Kat that she’s some sort of angel.”

Pyper jerked back. “Angel? That seems sort of crazy, don’t you think?”

“That’s what I said. But who knows? Look at what we just went through. It could be true.”

“I guess you’re right.”

I shifted my body, trying to swing my legs out of the bed, and caused an alarm to go off.

Pyper laughed.

“Crap.”

The door opened, and a nurse bustled in. “You’re awake!” She clapped her hands. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. I need to get up and move. My body aches.”

“In due time. First the doctor needs to check on you.” She pushed me back down, and checked my temperature and blood pressure. After asking my name and other identifying questions she seemed satisfied and said, “Looking good. I’ll send the doctor right in.”

The nurse left, and I returned my attention to Pyper. She held her phone out to me. “You have a message.”

I read the text. Tell Jade I love her and not to move an inch. I’ll be right there. Kane.

I laid back and closed my eyes, imagining the feel of his arms around me, and then sat straight up. I’d been lying here a week. “Give me a mirror!”

“I told him you’d be fine when you woke up.” She held out a brush and mirror for me. “I was the same way. As if I’d only been asleep for an extended amount of time.”

I went to work, trying to tame my hair. Someone had braided it in one long plait to the side. I undid it, gently combed it out, and fixed it up into a relaxed bun.

“You look pretty like that,” Pyper said.

“Ugh, if I wasn’t so pasty white.”

She handed me a compact and some lip gloss. “This will help.”

A few minutes later I surveyed myself in the mirror. Better. At least I didn’t look like death. “Thank you.” I handed everything back to Pyper and patted the bed for her to sit down and wait with me.

“So, have you been sleeping okay this week?” I asked.

“Not really.” She caught my panicked expression and continued. “Just because I was worried about you, not because I was being tortured. That’s over. But I did see someone else in my dreams. A fair-haired man and a golden retriever. Anyone you know?”

“Did they have white light shining around them?”

“Yes.” She smiled.

“Crap. Why are they bugging you?”

“They aren’t. They appeared the first time I slept after I woke from the coma. The man waved and walked off. I think he said goodbye.”

“Weird.”

“A little, but it doesn’t bother me. They seemed harmless.”

“To you, maybe,” I mumbled. Then, to change the subject, I asked, “Do you know why Roy was after you?”

“Yeah. He thought it was my fault he died.” She frowned.

“What? Why?”

“You know he got all that money from selling Kane the club.”

I nodded.

“Well, he took it all to the casinos and started hanging with the wrong crowd. Seems he gambled most of it away and ended up crashing at some dope dealer’s house. There was an altercation, and he got caught in the crossfire. That’s how he died.”

“And this is your fault why?” I didn’t see the connection.

“Because we forced him to sell out. If we hadn’t, he’d still be here, running the club.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I know. But he’d hated me for a long time now. Ever since I rejected him.”

“Ick.” A shudder ran through my body at the thought of Roy asking her out.

“Yeah.” Her shudder mimicked mine, and we both laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Kane stood just inside the door.

My eyes found his. My heart swelled at the emotion I saw there.

Pyper cleared her throat. “Nothing. It’s about time you got here. What took you so long?”

“It only took me ten minutes.” He shook his head and rounded on her. “What the hell do you think you were doing, showing up in my dream?”

Pyper stiffened. “Stop it. You didn’t see her.” She nodded to me. “Her body started flinching, and I felt what she was feeling.”

“You did?” I asked, more than a little shocked.

Pyper turned to me. “Yes. I felt him mentally attacking you. I couldn’t let it happen. So I curled up next to you and willed myself to Kane’s dream. It wasn’t hard. I’d been there before.”

I clutched her hand and mulled over what she said. “Can you sense anything about me now?”

She chuckled. “Just that you want some time with Kane.” She squeezed my hand and let go. “And no, it isn’t a psychic thing. It’s just obvious. I’ll see you two later.”

She disappeared and Kane sat next to me. “Are you all right?”

I nodded and pulled him closer.

He planted a kiss on my forehead and hugged me tight. “I thought I might have lost you.”

I shook my head, too afraid to speak.

He shifted and looked into my eyes. I didn’t need to explore his energy to feel the love flowing from him.

“Just hold me a while,” I choked out.

“I’ll hold you forever.” He lay down next to me and wrapped me in his arms. I snuggled in and rested my head on his shoulder. After a moment he undid my bun and spent a long time running his fingers though my hair.

Later that day, the doctor had just left when Charlie and Holly came to visit. They brought flowers and sat with me for a while. I asked about the café and the club, and they filled me in on the craziness of being short-handed. Charlie talked about a new girl she had her eye on, and Holly told me she signed up for my glass beadmaking class.

“You did?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes. I just knew they’d find a way to bring you back. I figured planning a future with you in it could only help. You know, positive cosmic energy and all that.” She tilted her head, hiding her face with a sheet of long, blond hair.

“Yes, that does help. Thank you.” I tapped her arm. “But did you really want to learn?”

She looked up with a huge grin. “Absolutely. I’ve wanted to since I met you. It just looks so cool.”

We chatted for a few minutes more until Kat showed up.

“We’ve got to go. See you soon,” Charlie said and grabbed Holly’s arm to escort her out.

“Bye.” Holly waved.

I watched them go and turned to Kat. “What took you so long?”

She sat down next to me. “I had to call Gwen back. She’s been frantic ever since she felt you disappear.”

“Oh my God, Gwen!” I reached over and picked up the phone. After leaving a short message, I turned back to Kat. “What did she say? Is she all right?” Damn it. That must have been hell for her.

“She’s fine. She felt you come back to the land of the living. But I think she’s planning a visit soon, so prepare yourself.”

My heart swelled. “I’d love to see her. But—” I stared at the door as if she would walk in any minute, “—crap, I won’t have any secrets after she gets here.”

Kat laughed. “True. That woman can’t keep anything behind those bright red lips of hers.”

I groaned, but was still smiling. “Have you seen Bea? I want to thank her.”

Kat’s smile faded. “Yeah. I just came from her house. She nearly collapsed with exhaustion after holding Roy in a binding spell for so long.”

“Oh, no. Is she okay?” I inched up on the pillows.

“I think she will be. Ian’s going to stay with her until she feels better.”

“Ian’s staying with her? I didn’t know they even knew each other.” Then something hit me. “Bea is Ian’s aunt, isn’t she?”

Kat nodded. “Yes. I didn’t know either until this week. They were together at some ghost hunt. That’s why we couldn’t reach either of them.”

“Ian could have told us he was leaving,” I said, slightly annoyed.

“They’d only planned to be gone one day, but things got a little wild, and they got stuck. Anyway, I’ll let him tell you all about it later.”

“Is he coming by?”

“No. He said to tell you he’d call. He doesn’t want to leave Bea alone.”

“That’s good.” My heart filled with gratitude at what everyone had done to help me. I reached out to Kat and grabbed her arm. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. I’m not letting you go that easily.” Her tone was light, but relief mixed with residual fear pressed at my consciousness.

“Help me up,” I swung my legs off the side of the bed. “I need to get out of this bed and into a shower.” I’d been up a couple of times already. Once to use the bathroom and once to take a short walk. After lying down for a week, it wasn’t easy.

Kat helped me shower and to my delight had a bag full of fresh clothes and toiletries waiting for me. “You’re an angel,” I said.

She laughed. “That’s Lailah’s thing. I’m just a good friend.”

“The best,” I agreed.

The doctors kept me one more night for observation and by the next morning I was ready to leave. I’d taken to pacing the halls just to get out of bed and move my muscles. When they couldn’t find anything after poking and prodding me, they released me into Kane’s care with strict instructions to take it easy.

I eyed Kane and chuckled.

“Stop that,” he said.

“What?” I asked innocently as I imagined getting him naked.

“Never mind. Behave.”

I muffled another laugh as he pushed my wheelchair down the hall.

Kane drove me home in Pyper’s Mini Cooper.

“You don’t have a car?” I asked.

“Nope,” he said. “I used to have a jeep, but a few months back a buddy of mine totaled it. I haven’t replaced it yet. I walk almost everywhere I go and when I need a car, I just borrow Pyper’s.”

“That makes two of us without wheels.”

“I know.” Kane pulled up in front of the club. I spotted the sign I’d read the first night I’d moved in. Hundreds of Beautiful Women, and Three Ugly ones.

“Kane, what’s with the sign?”

He glanced at it then back to me. “What?”

“The sign, what’s the story behind it?”

He laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“I can’t believe after all of this, you didn’t know.” He moved his hands around indicating us, the club, and all that had happened.

“Come on, who are the three ugly women?”

“You’re gonna love this.” He smiled. “They’re ghosts, of course.”

“Ghosts!” I shouted. “What? Who? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“You never asked. Besides, it’s common knowledge. Most likely everyone thought you knew.” He shrugged.

“Why haven’t I seen them?” I wondered aloud.

“You will,” he replied.

“How do you know?”

“You’ll see.”

He got out of the car and came around to my side to help me out.

“Kane–”

He put a finger to my lips. “Shhh. Right now I have other things on my mind.” He walked me to the side door of the building, pulled me inside and pressed me up against the wall. His eyes darkened to deep pools of melted chocolate and seconds after his lips and body touched mine, all other thoughts and questions vanished.

When he finally pulled away my heart hammered, and my legs had turned to jelly.

“C’mon,” he said, pulling me up my stairwell behind him. When we reached the top, I was panting.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes. Just out of shape after my week-long hiatus.” I smiled and opened my door. “Now, what was it that was on your mind?”

His eyes clouded over and his desire mixed with concern reached me.

“Stop worrying. I’m perfectly fine.” I maneuvered closer to him.

He put his arms around me and turned his head toward the bed. “I’ve been imagining getting you into that thing ever since I brought it up here.”

“That’s odd. I’ve been imagining it ever since I saw the headboard in storage.”

He pulled me closer. “My grandmother would be so pleased to know that bed is now in the possession of the woman I love.”

“It’s your grandmother’s? You said you were going to give it to a restoration place.” I jabbed him in the shoulder.

He shrugged. “I wanted you to have it. I knew you’d take care of it. And I knew you’d never take it otherwise. It’s my curse to love headstrong women. Grandmother would be proud.”

I shook my head and tried not to laugh at the triumphant look on his face.

“Forget my grandmother.” He pulled me down onto the bed, and for the next two hours I focused on all things Kane and the pleasure we gave each other.

When we finally drifted off to sleep, Bobby appeared, highlighted in a warm, pale glow. I watched as he smiled down at me. After a moment he waved, and the light faded into darkness. Still dreaming, Kane appeared and wrapped me in his arms. Bobby was gone, and finally it was just the two of us.

Acknowledgments

A huge thank you to my first readers: Susan, Angie, Kaye, Fay, and Suzanne. Without your encouragement and enthusiasm for more chapters this book may never have come to completion.

A special thanks to Jenn, my hard working critique partner; Angie, my diligent proofreader; Rhonda, my editor; and Lisa, my book designer. Your hard work and support has helped turn my dream into reality.

To Greg, my husband, thank you for being you.

About the Author

Deanna is a native Californian, transplanted to the slower paced lifestyle of southeastern Louisiana. When she isn’t writing, she is often goofing off with her husband in New Orleans, playing with her two shih tzu dogs, making glass beads, or out hawking her wares at various bead shows across the country. For more information and updates on newest releases visit her website at www.deannachase.com.

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JUMP TO...

NEW REVELATIONS by HEATHER TOPHAM WOOD

ARMAND by APRIL AASHEIM

TUESDAY’S CHILD by DALE MAYER

JUST A LITTLE NUDGE by JESI LEA RYAN

HAUNTED ON BOURBON STREET by DEANNA CHASE

SPIRITS AMONG US by MORGAN HANNAH MACDONAND

LONDON by JC ANDRIJESKI

AMONG THE LIVING by JORDAN CASTILLO PRICE

VAMPIRE VACATION by C.J. ELLISSON

TOUCHED by HAZEL HUNTER

SPIRITS AMONG US

BY MORGAN HANNAH MACDONALD

WHAT HE SEES WOULD SCARE YOU TO DEATH

Jon-Luc Boudreaux is in Paris hunting a serial killer. That's nothing new, neither is being haunted by the victims,  but watching the murders through the killer’s eyes, now that's something new entirely.

After she's blacklisted by the fashion industry in New York, Angela Henderson moves to Paris, France. Designing clothes is in her blood and she'll stop at nothing to realize her dream.

HE WILL FIND YOU

Cajun bad boy Jon-Luc Boudreaux is an ex-FBI profiler with a secret. He sees the souls of the recently departed. They can't communicate with him in words. Instead, they point to clues he must decipher on his own. That's how he's achieved the highest rate of solved cases in FBI history. A fact that did not win favor among his superiors or fellow colleagues. After years of enduring questions, rumors, and innuendo, Jon-Luc has left the FBI.

WHEN YOU LEAST

In an effort to determine his next course of action, Jon-Luc heads to Paris to visit an old friend. The moment he arrives, he's asked to assist with a case. It’s Fashion Week and the bodies of mutilated models are being discovered all over the city.

EXPECT IT

Now Jon-Luc is on the hunt for the most diabolical killer he's ever encountered, and Angie's next on the killer's list.

Heat Level: 4

1

Jon-Luc Boudreaux stared at the woman standing before him. Some might call her beautiful, if you liked your women emaciated, which he did not. The naked woman's clavicles, ribs, and hip bones protruded. He preferred his women with curves. Her sleek, jet-black hair cascaded over her shoulder, hiding one breast.

He had to admit, her deep green eyes and high cheekbones were a lethal combination. This exotic looking creature had long gashes running down each arm. Blood oozed from the wounds dripping down her hands, landing on the floor.

The puddles spread wider as each drop splashed as if in slow motion. By Jon-Luc’s calculations, half her body’s blood had pooled at her feet. She stared at him, her expression grim. His eyes locked on hers as tears of blood began dripping down her cheeks.

Ruby lips parted as if to speak.

“Monsieur. Monsieur.”

Her lips hadn’t moved with the words.

“Monsieur.”

Jon-Luc blinked and the vision disappeared.

“Please, monsieur!”

When his eyes focused, he found himself being manhandled by a distressed looking airline stewardess.

“Huh? What?” He blinked again, then remembered where he was.

“We are here, in Paris. The plane is disembarking. You go now, oui?” The moment his eyes met hers, the pretty blonde's face relaxed and she smiled.

Jon-Luc searched the cabin and noticed he was the only one left in first class. A few passengers still filed out the door of the plane.

“Oui, merci.” Jon-Luc stood, opened the overhead compartment, then grabbed his laptop and carry-on. The pretty blonde walked him to the door, still smiling. She had the greatest dimples.

“You will ring me for supper, oui?” Her cute little eyebrows raised.

“Oui.” Jon-Luc patted the pocket where he'd stashed her phone number, then glanced at her name tag. “Oui, Jeanette. I will definitely ring you.” With that he was out the door.

2

Jon-Luc walked through the terminal at Charles De Gaulle Airport in Paris until he spotted his old friend, Inspector Claude Rousseau. At 6’2” with a shiny bald pate, he was hard to miss. Jon-Luc had met Claude when they trained together at Quantico over ten years ago.

Since then Claude had moved up the ranks at 36 Quai des Orfèvres, the criminal division which investigated cases as small as drug trafficking on up to complex homicides and serial killers.

The friends hugged and Claude started in right away. “Your timing is not so good, my friend. I’m needed across town.” His words were rushed as he ushered Jon-Luc through the crowd.

“Don’t worry about it.

I can take a cab.”

“No, no, I would like you with me. If you do not mind, you will come, yes?”

“Sure, no problem.”

“Do you have any luggage to pick up?”

“No, I’m good.” Jon-Luc always packed light. Everything in his carry-on was black, which made traveling a lot easier.

“Good, then we are on our way. I have my car parked right outside. I received the call on my way to pick you up. They are waiting for me before they to move the body.”

Jon-Luc set his suitcase and laptop in the back seat, then climbed into the front of the Peugeot 607, the French equivalent of an undercover car. Claude took off before Jon-Luc had closed his door. Immediately he felt the speed as he flew back into his seat. He fumbled with the seat belt while staring at Claude's intense expression.

“It’s nice to see you too, buddy,” Jon-Luc said sarcastically.

“Yes, yes, long time, dude,” Claude said.

Jon-Luc laughed. “Dude? Where the hell did you come up with that one?”

“I’ve been watching many American movies to pick up the slang. I want to be as cool as you.”

“Buddy, you are cool. You don’t have to try so hard.”

“Simple for you. Everything comes to you so easy.” Claude swerved in and out of traffic, the police siren wailing. The metallic light affixed to the roof flashed.

“Where the hell did you get that idea?” Jon-Luc braced his hands on the dashboard as he watched a pedestrian jump back up on the curb in time to prevent himself from being plowed over. He turned back toward his friend. “Where are we going anyway?”

“Not so good neighborhood, you would say. This killer dumps his victims in the river Seine. The pressure to close this case is great, as you might guess. The Maire de Paris, or as you say, the mayor, is breathing down the neck of the Générale de la Police Nationale, and so in turn, he is breathing down mine.”

Claude glanced at Jon-Luc. “The crap it rolls down the river. This is the saying, no? Not so good for tourist business.”

“It’s shit actually.”

“Yes, it is.”

Jon-Luc laughed. “No, the saying is shit flows downstream.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I catch your drift, it’s the same everywhere." He stared out his side window at the trees along the Seine; October was a great time to visit Paris. The foliage had changed, the vivid colors of autumn splashed against the azure blue backdrop of the sky. He turned back to his friend and said, "You seem to be in pretty good spirits despite the stress you’re under. What is it, you have a new lady friend?”

“I do actually, yes. But I have not had the time to spend in her company lately. This case has me very busy. Her name is Mimi.”

“Is she a stripper?” Jon-Luc grinned.

The car filled with silence. Claude wouldn’t look at him.

“Holy shit, she is a stripper?”

Claude scowled. “She’s prefers exotic dancer.”

“Oh, man.” Jon-Luc ran a hand through his black hair. “Sorry, I was only kidding. I’m sure she’s great.”

Claude looked at him, then a slow smile spread across his face. “So am I.”

“You son-of-a-bitch, you really had me going there.” Jon-Luc slapped him on the shoulder.

Claude laughed. “Actually, she is a doctor of psychiatry and works for the Police Nationale. We have been seeing each other for six months now. You’ve got to meet her, she’s very special.”

“I’m really happy for you. I’d love to meet her.”

The smile slipped from Claude’s face and he turned toward Jon-Luc. “Sorry to hear about Frank.”

“Thanks. Losing him has been a real blow.” Jon-Luc glanced out the window, afraid his feelings would show on his face. The wound was still too fresh.

“I know he was like a father to you. It is good you took the time off for yourself. How long are you here for?”

“I don’t know. I left the FBI.”

“What made you decide to do that? I thought you loved your work?”

“I do love my work, but not all the bureaucratic bullshit and politics that went along with it. Frank had been trying to get me to quit for awhile now. I guess it took him dying for me to realize he was right.”

“What will you do now?” Claude asked.

“I was toying with the idea of doing my own private investigating, and since Frank left everything to me, I can afford to help those who can’t hire someone themselves.”

“He must have been very well off, that home of his is amazing. I have not seen anything like it.”

“It’s been in his family for generations. It dates back before the Civil War. I think it’s the most beautiful estate in the Garden District, but I may be prejudiced.”

“Will you move back in and live there now?”

“It’s the only place I call home, so I won’t be selling it. Maybe someday I will have children to leave it to.”

“What about your real family? Have you been in touch with them?”

“Not since the day I left. They are dead to me.” Jon-Luc’s tone was harsh even to his own ears. He kept his face turned away. The memories hurt too much even to this day.

Suddenly he was transported back in time to that stairwell where he’d overheard his parents arguing in the kitchen. His mother had betrayed his trust and told his father about Jon-Luc’s secret. His father had wanted to put him away in a nuthouse.

Frightened, he’d sat on the third step and listened while they decided his fate.

“Dammit, Marlene, he gets this crazy shit from your side of the family! My parents warned me not to marry you! Insanity is inherited. I should have listened. Everyone knows those two aunts of yours are nuttier than fruitcakes. Claiming they see ghosts.”

“Please, Bill, remember your blood pressure.”

“You should have thought about that before you told me this crap! No son of mine is going to be the town loony. It would make me the laughing stock of the firm. No, we have to get him out of here before it’s too late.”

“Oh, Bill, can’t we think of something else? Maybe he could just talk to someone.”

“Like that helped with your wacky aunts? No. We’ll take him to a sanitarium in Baton Rouge. No one knows us there.”

“Please, Bill, be reasonable.” She’d burst into tears.

“He’s going and that’s final. I just hope to God that baby in you will be okay. That this insanity doesn’t touch him and he has a chance at a normal life.”

His mother’s sobs had reached record proportions, then he’d heard his father’s heavy footfalls on the hardwood floor coming his way. Jon-Luc had jumped up and run to his room.

That night he’d put some clothes in his backpack and ran away. He’d been only thirteen years old. For the next three years he’d lived on the streets of New Orleans. Fell in with a bad crowd and never told anyone his secret again. To survive he became a thief, and to dull the visions, he turned to drugs.

The first few years, he’d visited his old neighborhood and spied on the house. He’d watched his baby brother go from being pushed in his pram, to a toddler being swung around in his mother's arms and smothered with kisses. It was painful to witness all the love he was missing, so he’d finally said goodbye to his old life once and for all.

Then one night, when he was sixteen, he and his gang were robbing one of the mansions in the Garden District when the owner came home. His friends made it out in time, but he wasn’t so lucky. Or at least that’s the way he saw it at the time. The man latched onto Jon-Luc’s shirt and pulled him back into the house. He gestured for him to sit on the couch in the parlor.

The big man said, “My name is Frank Thibodaux, and this is my house. And who might you be?”

“None of your business.” No way was Jon-Luc going to give this guy the time of day.

“Now, that’s where you’re wrong. I don’t remember inviting you into my home, yet here you are. So that makes it very much my business, Jon-Luc Boudreaux.” The man smiled.

Jon-Luc shivered. “How did you know my name?”

“I know a lot about you, son.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not anybody’s son!”

The man sat down in a chair opposite Jon-Luc.

“What do you think you know about me, old man?”

“I know that at the rate you’re going you will be dead or in prison by the time you're eighteen, if you don’t let me help you.” The man sat back and crossed one leg over the other as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

“There’s nothing mysterious about that. You’re going to call the cops, and then I’ll go to jail. So what? Least then I get three hots and a cot. That’s not so bad.” He jutted his chin out to show he didn’t care one bit.

“Oh, so you’ve been there before?” The man’s brows rose.

Jon-Luc shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Why the hell didn’t this guy just call the cops and get it over with? Did he mean to hurt him instead? He seemed pretty sure of himself. Jon-Luc could have a gun, and this guy didn’t know that he didn’t. He did have a pocket knife, though. If he needed to, he could defend himself.

“No, but I have friends that have and they say it’s not so bad. So why don’t you just call them already?” Jon-Luc’s hands started to tremble, so he slid them into his pockets before the guy noticed.

“Is that what you want? You want me to call the police to come get you?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. You’re gonna anyway. Aren’t you?”

“Well, that’s up to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I could help you with those visions. You aren’t crazy, Jon-Luc, no matter what your father said.”

Jon-Luc jumped to his feet. “You know my father? I’m not going. I’m not going to no loony bin. I’d rather die first!” He yelled the last sentence and felt his eyes tear up. He swatted at his face before he started crying like a girl in front of this stranger.

“Calm down, son. Just sit. I’m not going to let anyone take you to a mental hospital.”

“I told you not to call me that!”

“Fine. Your friends call you Luc. Can I call you that?”

Jon-Luc lowered his head. “I suppose.” Then his head shot back up. “Wait, how do you know what my friends call me? I don’t know you.” He looked around for a means to escape. He wondered if he was faster than this man. The guy’s legs were pretty long. So were his arms for that matter, which gave him a long reach. Could he get past him in time?

“Let’s just say we have something in common. Now sit back down. You have no need to be afraid of me. I want to help you.”

“Yeah, right.”

“You know, Luc, there are some people in this world you can trust.”

“Like you?” He laughed sarcastically. “Why should I trust you?”

“To prove my point, I’m not going to call the police.”

Luc looked at him warily. “You’re not?”

“No, I’m not.”

“What are you going to do to me instead?” Then a thought occurred to him and he started backing away. “Huh uh, no way. I’m not no fucking fagot.”

The man’s head tipped back and he roared with laughter. Luc stared at the guy. He laughed so hard his face turned red.

“Hey.” But the man didn’t hear him. “Hey!” Luc yelled. “Don’t you laugh at me. I’ll knock you into next Sunday.”

Luc was getting more pissed by the second. “Screw you, I’m outta here.” He turned toward the door.

Finally the man’s laughter died down. “No, Luc, please. I’m sorry. It’s just that you took me by surprise. The last thing on my mind was making you my sex slave.”

Luc put his hands on his hips and stared at the man. He’d been on the streets long enough to be propositioned by both men and women. He wasn’t stupid. Nothing in this world was free.

“Yeah? Then what do you want from me?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay, I’ll be on my way then.” He turned toward the front door and opened it.

“Wait!” The man jumped out of the chair and Luc took a step back, then got into a fighting stance.

The man stepped back and put his hands up. “Look, I’m serious. I really do want to help you. I know what it’s like to have visions and not have anyone to talk to about them. I learned a long time ago that there are things you can do to block them out without the use of drugs or alcohol. Luc, you don’t have to be alone with this.”

Luc relaxed a bit and stared at the guy. He seemed to be telling the truth. How else did he know all that stuff about him? “What do I have to do?”

“Just come by tomorrow afternoon and I’ll show you a few tricks to block the images so you can have a more productive life. That’s all.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll think about it.” With that, Luc had disappeared through the door without looking back. He had no intention of returning. He’d been getting along just fine by himself all these years. Then again, how did that Frank guy know all that stuff about him?

He hadn’t told anyone. He hadn’t told anyone anything about himself since the day he’d been betrayed by his own mother. That hurt more than the fact that his father had wanted him put away. He’d already known his father didn’t care about him, but his mother? That really hurt. Cut him to the bone. The one person who should give you unconditional love was your mother, and if you can’t trust her, who can you trust?

A week had passed since that night, but not once did Luc forget about his conversation with Frank. The man said he could help Luc, but what if it was a trap? What if he showed up and the police were waiting for him? Or he wanted him to join some crazy cult? No, he’d be better off alone.

Then one night while he slept in an abandoned shack, he awoke to a man standing over him. It took a couple of seconds for his brain to register the image before him. The only light came from the full moon shining through the empty window.

The man’s throat had been slit, and a wide gaping wound smiled back at him. Blood gushed like a river down the front of his shirt. So much blood. Luc had never seen that much blood in his life. The man’s mouth worked, but no words came out.

Luc leapt to his feet in a panic. He reached his hand up to clamp over the wound and stanch the blood, but the man disappeared before Luc made contact. His body shook, his teeth rattled in his head. Suddenly he had to get away, so he ran. He ran like his life depended on it, with no destination in mind, he just had to get away.

When he finally stopped, he found himself outside the Thibodeaux home. It was three in the morning. He didn’t know where else to go. Maybe he’d be safe here. Maybe this Frank guy really could help him. Luc snuck into in the house and curled up on a sofa in the parlor. His heart still beat a heavy tattoo in his chest. It took some time, but he finally succumbed to sleep.

Frank Thibodeaux became the father Luc had dreamed about. He’d made him feel special about his gift, not like a freak and certainly not insane. He’d helped him deal with the fear and confusion he’d felt all his life. Not only did Luc respect him, but he loved him more than anyone he’d ever met. And now he was gone. The ache in his heart knew no end.

Luc had been pulled from his reverie when he noticed the car had gone quiet and noticed Claude staring at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Will you only take cases in New Orleans?”

“I really haven't figured it all out yet. The idea only began to form on the plane ride over here.”

“Well, if there is anything I can do, just let me know.”

“Thanks, buddy. I’ll do that.”

3

When the car came to a screeching halt, Jon-Luc was glad he’d put his seat belt on. Otherwise his body would have undoubtedly been thrown through the windshield.

“Your driving sucks, Claude.”

Claude stared at Jon-Luc and shrugged. “You are still in one piece, no?” He turned and exited the vehicle. Jon-Luc followed. It was well after midnight and the streets were littered with the dregs of society.

Prostitutes, gangbangers, and the homeless lined the railing overlooking the river. Jon-Luc followed Claude as he pushed his way through the crowd to the top of the stairs where a uniformed police officer held up the crime scene tape until they passed under it. Then they descended the stairs to a ledge that ran along the Seine.

As they neared the body, policemen and crime scene techs moved out of their way. In a hushed tone someone said something in French, but all he could make out was the name Genevieve Lamont. The moment Jon-Luc set eyes on the body, he recognized the victim.

The woman from the plane.

Her naked body lay face up on the cold cement, and long gashes ran the length of her arms surrounded by blood. But that’s where his vision took a dramatic turn. This woman stared up at him with vacant holes, her mouth frozen in a silent scream. Blood caked her mouth and chin. Jon-Luc stared into the black void. The killer had not only taken her eyes, but her tongue as well.

Claude crouched down next to the body. “This perp is escalating. The first two girls were dumped in the river as if they’d committed suicide. Only their wrists were cut.”

“Any idea why he'd change his MO?” Jon-Luc asked, standing behind him.

Claude stood and addressed his friend. “Oui. After the second girl was found, the press knew we had a killer on our hands. Maybe this guy has decided the cat is out of the bag, yes?”

“Someone said the name, Genevieve Lamont. Was she famous?”

“All the girls have been mannequins, yes.”

Jon-Luc stared at Claude, “They’re what?”

“Models, they are referred to as mannequins, no?”

“If you say so.” Jon-Luc was stymied.

Suddenly something strange happened to Jon-Luc. He was no longer seeing his friend in front of him, but looking down on the scene from the railing above. He could see himself talking to Claude, but couldn’t hear what was being said. It was as if he was seeing the scene through someone else’s eyes. This was something new. It had never happened before and Jon-Luc didn’t know how to stop it.

Unable to see from his own eyes, he blinked several times in an effort to clear his vision, but that didn't work. He tilted his head back and watched himself do it. He knew he must be staring directly at the person, yet couldn’t see him. He began to panic.

Someone touched his arm and he jumped.

“Are you okay, my friend?”

Jon-Luc blinked again, his eyes finally focused on Claude. “Uh.” His gaze flew back up to the railing, but he had no way of knowing who it was he was looking for. Several pair of eyes stared back. He gulped and looked back at his friend.

“Yeah, sorry. Were you saying something?”

“I said perhaps there is something about this woman that made her murder more personal, more passionate, so to speak.”

“What did the other murder scenes look like? Were they similar to this?”

“Actually, we have not found them yet. The women were dumped in the river. We searched the banks for the actual murder sites, but the river is 43 miles long and we have not had any luck. I have a man calculating the currents and times from which the bodies were found to try to zero in on where the bodies actually went into the water, but I’m afraid this killer is keeping us all on our feet.”

“You mean, on your toes?"

"Yes, yes, this is the saying."

"When did you find the first body?”

"Let me see." Claude thought a moment. “The first girl was found about two months ago. But at the time, it was classified as a suicide. Many people jump into the river to end their life.”

Jon-Luc raised his eyebrows. “With their wrists cut?”

“Well, no, that was new. I am told they assumed she was very serious. The body was found in a part of the city that is not my jurisdiction. I read her story in the newspaper, then promptly forgot all about it. When the second girl was discovered, it was Mimi who remembered the article. Since the case was mine, I had the records brought to me immediately, but of course, too much time had lapsed to do much good.”

Jon-Luc nodded. “So when and how was the second vic discovered?”

“She was floating face down. A boat full of tourists noticed her and the captain called it in. So you see, not good for tourism, oui? That was one month ago.”

Jon-Luc thought about that. “So you have roughly four weeks to stop this guy, if he sticks to his current timetable.”

“Oui. Luc, I know you are on holiday, but if you do not mind, would you go over the files for me? Perhaps you might find something I may have missed, yes?”

Jon-Luc clapped his hand on his friends shoulder. “Sure, buddy, no problem.” Then he stared at the body. “So this woman is well known?”

“I do not keep up on such things. But now that I think about it, the face is familiar, no?”

Jon-Luc shook his head. "Not by me, no." He hadn’t recognized her when he saw her earlier on the plane.

“Excuse me, Inspector?” A young police officer in uniform caught their attention.

“Oui?”

“She is the face of that new perfume, Tres Unique. You’ve seen the advertisement on the side of buses and in magazines. My girlfriend made me buy her a bottle for her birthday.”

Claude nodded. “Ah, oui, I knew I had seen her before.”

The sun was well into the sky when they drove back through the city. Jon-Luc stared out the window at the commuter traffic. Both men were silent a good ten minutes until Jon-Luc turned to his friend. “You have a problem on your hands, Claude.”

“Yes. I do not wish to impose, but I am grateful you have agreed to assist me.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“You are too modest, my friend. You hold the unofficial title of the most closed cases within your FBI. You are legendary even over here. I swear you must be psychic or something, oui?” Claude said.

“Or something,” Jon-Luc answered, quietly, then turned toward the window once again in an attempt to hide his emotions.

They were almost to his hotel when Jon-Luc spotted a Starbucks and asked Claude to drop him off. He retrieved his bags from the back seat and stood talking to his friend through the open window.

“Maybe you can get a couple hours of sleep. I will have a messenger bring those files to you. I will ring you this evening and perhaps we can share a fine meal and catch up.”

“Sounds great.” Jon-Luc stepped back, slapped the top of the car twice and watched as Claude sped off. He was exhausted. He had already been up twenty-four hours. He needed a shave and shower badly. He hoped the line inside wasn’t long. No such luck.

4

Angela Henderson was having a particularly bad morning: she’d overslept. The people living above her had an extremely loud night. First it was an argument; yelling, screaming, and breaking things, it went on for hours. Next the make-up sex, which was just as noisy. In all aspects of their lives, they were a very vocal couple. In other words, they were French.

It must have been somewhere around dawn when she’d finally fallen asleep. That would explain the alarm clock on the other side of the room.

The heat wasn’t working, again. She swore she could see her breath. She’d bought a down comforter weeks ago because this was a constant problem at this flea-bitten hotel. The idea of climbing out of the warm, albeit lumpy, bed sent shivers through her body just thinking about it.

She threw back the covers, then searched the floor for her slippers before taking a step. She never knew if a cockroach was lurking somewhere just waiting to crawl over her feet.

Because she went to bed wearing layers of clothes, there was no need to dress. So Angie gathered up her toiletries and towel, then trudged down the hall to the communal bathroom. It took a few minutes of testing the water before she realized there was no hot water left.

"Shit! No shower again? That's twice this week!"

Angie stomped over to the sink and brushed her teeth, then washed her face in the chilly water. A knock sounded on the door.

"Just a minute!" she yelled.

She freed her body from the many layers until she stood there naked, all but for her slippers. No way would she let her bare feet touch the icy, disease ridden, tile. She wet her washcloth.

Someone began banging on the door.

"It's occupied!" Dammit, can't a girl get some peace around here?

She rubbed some soap on her washcloth and cleansed her stinky parts while she endured the insufferable racket. After she toweled herself off, she quickly dressed. The constant pounding was giving her an unbearable headache.

Angie unlocked the door and swung it open dramatically. The act caught the person on the other side mid-knock and he almost clobbered her in the chin.

"Watch it," she warned.

The old man's back was hunched, so his head only reached Angie's chest. Of course, being taller than most men was not new to her. At almost six feet, she often towered above a crowd. The old man's gnarled hands began waving about as rapid French spewed forth.

Nonplussed, Angie strode past him, then said, "Same to you, buddy," over her shoulder without missing a beat. She had no idea what he'd said. But she did know he wasn't telling her to have a nice day.

Although her high school French had greatly improved since moving here from Washington, she still stumbled over her words at times. And when a native spoke as fast as that man, she caught maybe every fourth word.

By the time she'd arrived downstairs in the lobby, all the coffee was gone. Granted, it wasn’t the best coffee in Paris, but today of all days, she needed her caffeine fix immediately. Now she would have to wait until she exited the train.

It was standing room only as the train sped through the underground tunnel. Angie was thinking about her crappy living arrangements. They sucked big time, but for now, it was all she could afford, and it was only a short fifteen minute walk to the Metro. Other than that, she was having a hard time finding anything else to add to the plus column.

It was better than living on the street? Okay, that made two. The bottom line, she was an artist, and all great artists had to suffer for their art. The most important thing in the world was she was an assistant fashion designer again. And for that, she could endure almost anything. That made her smile.

The small burst of happiness was short-lived when Angie found herself standing in line at Starbucks. Waiting, waiting, and waiting some more. Her mood did not improve with time.

The matronly woman in line before her was definitely a tourist. And not just any tourist, but one who had to look up every word in her little English to French dictionary to place her order. Angie tapped her foot in frustration. Finally, she butted in. “Daniel speaks very good English. Maybe you should try that!”

The woman turned around and stared up at Angie.

“Oh, excuse me.” Her voice trembled, and suddenly Angie felt bad. She really didn't mean to scare the poor lady, she just needed her caffeine fix. Now!

The woman turned back to the barista, who naturally wore an angry expression and ordered a coffee with cream.

Daniel yelled over his shoulder, "Café au lait!"

Angie all but screamed inside her head. The least the woman could have done was order something complicated. Instead, five minutes of diction lessons and that’s what she comes up with? Jeez!

When Angie finally reached Daniel, he handed over her usual triple shot of espresso and croissant. Angie paid him, thanked him, then promptly swung around and—smack!

“Dammit!” Her liquid gold had just decorated the idiot behind her. The one standing so close he could have been her Siamese twin. “What the hell is wrong with you? Give a girl some breathing room, why don’t you!” Angie grabbed a bunch of napkins and shoved them at him.

“Oh, excuse me for getting in your way. For some reason I thought you would step to the left like everyone else.” The man took the offered napkins and deftly blotted at his shirt. “I don’t know what you’re so peeved about, I’m the one wearing hot coffee! I probably have third degree burns thanks to you. The least you could do is apologize.”

“Okay, I’m sorry you got in my way and I have to order another espresso.” Angie turned back to Daniel who was obviously enjoying himself at her expense. “And what are you smirking at?”

“Looks like you are having a bad day, no?” Smiling, Daniel yelled over his shoulder for another triple espresso. When he turned back, the man was standing there.

“Make that two.” The man rifled through a handful of Euros.

Daniel raised his brows. “Oui, monsieur. Deux.”

The man looked back at Angie. “The least I could do is buy you another cup.” Amusement danced along his features.

She stared at the man as if seeing him for the first time. He was tall, around 6’5”. His black hair was on the long side, with layers that feathered back away from his face. His eyes were a light gold surrounded by long dark, lashes. That really pissed Angie off. Hell, without mascara, her own blonde lashes were nearly invisible.

He had a heavy five o’clock shadow going on and it was only eight in the morning. He either had a very serious beard, or he’d been up all night. Angie was certain it was the latter.

As her eyes drank him in, her mind was reeling. He was sexy in that rough, dangerous kind of way. If you went for that sort of thing, which Angie did. Not. Not anymore. No way. She was never going there again. All she’d ever gotten from those bad boy types were tire tracks across her heart as they drove over her on their way out of town.

He was wearing black from head to toe, including his well-worn leather jacket. Who the hell did he think he was? All he needed to complete the fantasy was, uh oh, he was wearing black biker boots. Damn, she had a particular fondness for men in biker boots and, oh hell, tight jeans.

The guy wore his shirt open at the collar and what a teaser he was sporting. A tuft of curly dark hair sprang out with a hint of a thin gold chain. Whatever hung at the end of that chain was hidden by his shirt. Mix that with his broad shoulders and she found herself wondering what he looked like without his shirt. This was sooo not good.

He was paying for their coffees when Angie hazarded a look at his butt, and oh, my, God, he was sporting a fine one at that. It was probably more the mere fact that Angie had not been with a man for going on two years now. Yes, that must be it.

Why else would she be all but salivating over him? She brushed at her mouth to make sure she wasn’t actually drooling. That’s all she would need him to see. It would play nicely with the oversized ego she was certain he had.

A man like this could have his pick of Parisian beauties and probably had. He wasn’t French, but did have a sexy accent that she couldn’t quite place. The low timbre of his voice reminded her of that actor, Sam Elliot. It gave her goose bumps. She had to mentally shake her head because he was now facing her and holding out a cup.

“Try and drink this one, will you?”

Angie wanted to smack that grin right off his face, but instead she turned to stare out the front window.

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

“Your Harley,” Angie answered as if it was a given.

“My Harley’s at home.” He cocked his head. “What made you say that?”

“Great, just great.” Angie snatched her coffee and headed toward the door. She could hardly believe her luck.

Just as she reached out for the handle, she heard his voice behind her. “Wait, I thought we were going to have coffee!”

“We just did!” Without turning around, she dashed through the door.

Run as fast as you can. Get some distance from him. Don’t look back. Angie repeated those words in her mind like a mantra as she rushed down the street weaving in and out of pedestrians.

Jon-Luc stood there perplexed. What had just happened? The woman was like a whirling dervish; she flew into the shop and disrupted everything in her path. She was intriguing, a 180 from anyone he'd ever met. She’d definitely gotten his attention. Then he realized he was standing in everyone's way, staring at the door like an idiot.

Crap, I didn’t get her name!

He ran out the door after her. Once on the sidewalk he surveyed the crowd. Too late, she was already gone.

“Dammit!” A woman walking by gave him a dirty look.

"Sorry," he said, and cringed.

He pictured the woman in his mind’s eye. She reminded him of a pixie, although she wasn’t petite. In fact, he gauged her height about 5’ ll”, maybe even six feet. Her close-cropped hair was spiked on top. The color a pale blonde, the ends tipped in black. She kept her make-up to a minimum. Her aqua-blue eyes were amazing.

She had been wearing a pair of painted on jeans with a black cut-off Moulin Rouge T-shirt that cropped just below her very ample bosom. A piece of silver filigree jewelry pierced her belly button and brought one’s eye to admire her flat stomach. Over this she’d worn a black leather jacket which zigzagged with numerous zippers. Around her neck a black lacy scarf hung down with shredded ends. What topped the look off was a pair of black leather thigh high boots. In other words, she was beyond hot.

Luc finally ventured a taste of his coffee, then yanked the cup from his mouth. “Shit!” He’d burned his tongue and forgotten what he was doing, but it didn’t matter anyway. The most amazing woman he had ever met was gone and he would never see her again.       “Good going.” Luc headed down the street toward his hotel.

Jon-Luc was sitting at the bar, and Genevieve Lamont was rubbing her breasts against his arm. The blouse she wore left little to the imagination. Her stiff nipples poked at the silky green material, just begging him to take them into his mouth.

Clearly, she was intoxicated, or well on her way. Her hand slid up his thigh; he stopped it just before it hit his crotch. He was rock hard, and finding it more and more difficult to resist her. She was dammed gorgeous and obviously ready. So why was he holding back? He knew there was a reason, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what it was.

She hiked up her skirt and slipped onto his lap. Jon-Luc’s head whipped around to see if anyone had noticed, but everyone in the bar seemed oblivious to her actions. He knew the French had a more laid back approach to sex, but this was pushing it, even for them. She rubbed her crotch over the bulge in his pants and he groaned. She wasn’t wearing any panties. She began to fumble with his zipper and he decided to help her along. What the hell? Whatever it was he forgot, it was probably not that important anyway.

His cock sprang free and she eased herself down on him expertly. Oh yeah, she was ready all right. Genevieve began to rock back and forth, slowly. Luc could only give in and go along for the ride. Big sacrifice. He stared into her emerald green eyes and she smiled, as if to say she’d won. Yeah, well, it wasn’t like he’d put up much of a fight.

He placed his hands on her hips as she picked up the pace. She moaned and leaned her head back. He closed his eyes and did the same. She rode him hard. He was just starting to come when he felt her lips on his mouth. He tried to kiss her back, but she wouldn’t let him. He felt the orgasm rip through him and hers along with it. He opened his eyes as he yelled his release.

Genevieve’s head was tipped back, her eyes closed. Then her head came up, her mouth and eyes opened at the same time as a blood curdling scream ripped though the night. Sightless black holes stared back at Jon-Luc. He yelled and pushed at her with all his strength. She fixed him with that vacant stare and laughed.

Now he remembered what niggled at the back of his mind. She was dead!

“Shit. Fuck.” Jon-Luc sat straight up and found himself tangled in the sheets. He kicked and pulled. He had to get away. Finally free, he jumped out of bed and looked around. He was alone. Of course he was alone. It was just a dream. He staggered into the bathroom, his breathing labored. He splashed his face with cold water several times before cupping his hand under the faucet to take a drink.

He stared at himself in the mirror. He looked like shit. Well, yeah, what did he expect? He’d just fucked a corpse.

5

That night, Angie was hunched over the sewing machine, busy making last minute adjustments to one of madame’s designs. Her shoulders were killing her. She looked at her watch; it was almost nine. Needing a break, she stretched and nearly groaned when her neck popped. Wearily, she rubbed her burning eyes.

When she stood, a wave of dizziness hit her and her hands braced against the table. She hadn’t eaten a thing since her croissant that morning. Her blood sugar must be low. She remembered the bowl of fruit at the back of the conference room they were using in the hotel.

She grabbed an apple and took a big bite before she snagged a banana for later. At the last second, she also picked up a bottle of water and put the last two items in her hobo bag. Overcome with exhaustion, she decided it was time to call it a day. Angie hung up the dress she’d been working on, then began to pack up her belongings: her sketch book, fabric book, and madame’s design book for the show. Although the room would be locked, she couldn't take the chance they might be stolen.

Arms full, Angie awkwardly made her way toward the front of the hotel. Her mind was going a million miles a minute with all the things that still needed to be done before Fashion Week started.

Distracted by her thoughts, she ran smack into a gentleman in the lobby. The books scattered across the floor in all directions.

“Oh, my, gosh, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me,” she sputtered as she scrambled around the floor trying to round up the errant items.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were stalking me.”

Shocked by the sound of his voice, Angie’s head shot up and she found herself staring into those amazing eyes from this morning. Yup, Mr. I’m-too-sexy-for-my pants was squatting next to her with an amused look on his face. Oh Hell, what in the world did I ever do to deserve this?

She jumped to her feet, and her hands flew to her hips. “Oh, right, like I have nothing better to do than search all over Paris for the likes of you. And how could I have mastered such a feat? I don’t even know your name!” Great Ang, like that’s going make matters better.

Mr. I’m-too-sexy-for-my-pants shifted the pile of books under his arm and shoved his right hand out to Angie. “Jon-Luc Boudreaux at your service, but my friends call me Luc.”

Angie stared at the outstretched hand and deliberated.

After a moment, she clasped it and shook it once before breaking contact. “Mr. Boudreaux. May I have my books back?” She hated the twinkle in his eyes and more than anything, she wanted to wipe that stupid grin off his face.

Let all the other women in Paris fall at this guy’s feet. She was no fool. She would make sure this guy knew she was way too smart to give in to his smoldering hot looks and easy charm. She stood there with her arms held out, waiting for him to hand over her belongings, but he seemed to be holding them hostage.  For what, she had no idea.

“You haven’t told me your name.”

“And for good reason. How do I know you’re not stalking me?” she answered defiantly.

“Have dinner with me, then you’ll be able to make an informed decision regarding my character.” His smile almost made Angie melt. Almost.

Angie looked around, seeking help. She caught the eye of the doorman, who wandered over.

“Is everything all right, mademoiselle?”

“This gentleman was just helping me gather my belongings." Angie gave Luc the dirtiest look she could muster. "Right?”

“Of course.” His smile widened as he relinquished her books. “So, is that a no for dinner?” he asked.

“You’ve got that right.” Angie turned on her heel and stomped off toward the hotel doors.

“I guess I’ll be seeing you around then,” Luc called after her.

Angie shouted without turning around. “Not if I see you first!” Then she rushed out into the night. Mentally, she slapped her forehead and cringed. She couldn’t believe she'd just said that. What was she, in the fifth grade? The guy oozed sensuality and made her so nervous she could hardly think straight.

God, she prayed she never ran into him again. She refused to turn her head to see if he was watching her, but the moment the hotel doors closed, she hazarded a glance. Sure enough, Mr. Jon-Luc, but-my-friends-call-me-Luc, was standing there in the lobby of the St. James grinning from ear to ear. She was such a dork.

Angie rushed toward the Metro station. Finally she was far enough away that she could no longer see the man laughing at her. She slowed and took a deep breath, then walked on at a more relaxed gait. After a couple of blocks, the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. She felt as if she were being watched. She stopped and surveyed the sidewalk behind her, but caught no one’s eye. She picked up her pace anyway.

Angie made it to her room a little after ten, and dumped her load on the table by the door. Her arms ached and she was beyond exhausted. The room smelled as if the sewer had backed up. “Great.”

She grabbed her bag of toiletries and made it down the hall.

When she returned, her face was scrubbed and her teeth brushed. She climbed into bed, and stretched out her long legs and screamed. She jumped out of the bed and threw back the covers. “Shit!” The stench was good and strong now. There, between the sheets at the foot of the bed, was a large pile of dog excrement.

Angie’s feet were covered in it. She pulled the blankets off and tossed them aside, then yanked hard on the top sheet to clean off her feet and the floor before she took another step.

“Who would do such a thing?” She ran over to the window, and cranked it open hoping to air out the room while she stripped the bed.

Then it struck her. She carried the soiled linens downstairs to the lobby and dumped them on the counter. Her finger banged the bell on the desk until the cretin who ran the hotel came out from his room.

“What is this?” Angie yelled.

The man looked at the pile, then back at her. “Mademoiselle?” Then his hand went up to his nose.

“Tormenting me is not the way to convince me to sleep with you!”

“I do not know what you are speaking about. I do not need you for sex. There are plenty of women who find me irresistible.” The short, round man with the greasy hair and a nose covered in blackheads stared back at her indignantly.

Just then, a woman’s head popped out from the door behind him. Her bleached, straw-like hair a mess, she held a towel around her naked body while she gave Angie the hairy eyeball. Yeah, I see the type of woman that finds you irresistible, douche bag. How much are you paying her? “Right. Just give me a clean set of sheets and I’ll be on my way.”

The man disappeared behind the door and was back almost immediately. He tossed the sheets on the desk. “I will have to charge you for laundering.”

“Like hell you will!” Angie snatched up the pile and huffed off.

She returned to her room and found it cold as ice. She ran to shut the window. The odor had dissipated. She made the bed, showered, then crawled in again. Warily. Recalling how her day had begun, she felt that the shitty ending was apropos.

Angie tried to calm herself by breathing deeply and concentrated on relaxing her body. Her mind had almost cleared when an unexpected thought crept into her consciousness. Was someone really following her tonight, or was that just a figment of her imagination brought on by stress?

6

Jon-Luc sat across from Claude in the hotel restaurant. He’d ordered a shot of Jack Daniels and a beer, which he had yet to touch. Claude was drinking scotch on the rocks.

Claude picked up a file. “I just got the results from toxicology on the first two women.” Claude flipped to the first page. “Victim number one, Sasha Gusarov, her blood alcohol level .08.”

“Maybe the perp picked her up in a bar and that’s how he got her to go with him?” Jon-Luc suggested.

“Perhaps." Claude turned another page. "Victim number two, Danielle Abney, her blood alcohol level was .10.”

"If Danielle had that high of a concentration of alcohol in her system, he had to have helped her walk, maybe even carried her.”

“Witnesses,” Claude guessed.

“Exactly. Start canvassing clubs with the girls’ pictures. They’re stunning, they'll stand out.”

“There are many clubs and bars in the city. That’s a lot of manpower.” Claude looked worried.

“Start with the most exclusive. Girls like this won’t be found in dive bars. They want to be seen. They could get in anywhere, so they’ll pick clubs where only the rich and famous go.”

“Got it.” Claude scribbled something in his notebook.

“Which also means this guy is either rich, famous, or distinctive looking enough to gain entrance himself. It’s even harder for men to gain entrance to—”

Jon-Luc stopped mid-sentence. He noticed a man standing across the room staring at him. He was fifty-ish, with a military cut, and quite pale. The man turned around and walked away. The entire back of his head was missing, and only a bloody mass of tissue remained. It had been blown away as if the man had swallowed his gun.

Jon-Luc grabbed at the St. Michael pendant he wore under his shirt. It was still there. He closed his eyes, then looked back. The man had disappeared. He downed the shot of Jack Daniels and chased it with half his beer.

What the hell was happening? First the incident along the river, now this? It could be he’d let his guard down. After all, he was still mourning Frank. Losing him was a big blow.

That must be it. Seeing the vic was normal; he’d always allowed them to come through when working a case. He never knew what clues he could glean from his visions, but the incident by the Seine still rattled him. That was definitely a first, and he hoped the last time something like that happened. It had scared the shit out of him.

When he refocused on Claude, he found him staring, pen poised, expression expectant. “You were saying?”

“Uh, where was I?” Jon-Luc blinked.

Claude read his notes. “The killer must be rich, famous or at least distinctive.”

“Right. The guys guarding the doors at these clubs are very selective about who they let in. So our UNSUB must stand out in some way, or be well-known himself. If this guy is famous, say an actor the girls are familiar with, that could explain why they're willing to go with him."

“Good thinking.” Claude scratched another note.

“I barely had time to scan the files you sent over. The only thing these women had in common was their profession, but I’ll continue to review them and see if there's an overlap somewhere. I’d like to be there when you interview the friends and colleagues of this latest vic, Genevieve Lamont.”

“That would be much appreciated, my friend,” Claude said.

Just then the waiter arrived with their meals. Luc stared at his filet mignon, his mouth salivating. Everything else flew from his mind as he dug in.

The following afternoon Angie was on the floor pinning the hem on a dress for the show.

“Ouch! Claira, keep still.” She put her finger in her mouth to stanch the bleeding.

“Aren’t you done yet? This is taking too long,” Claira whined in her heavy South African accent.

“That’s because you keep fidgeting,” Angie mumbled.

“I only fidget because you take too long. I need a break.” The woman pulled the dress from Angie’s fingers and stomped off.

Angie rocked back on her heels and swore under her breath. At six-foot-one, Claira Raines was the tallest runway model they had, and the most famous. She also had the worst disposition. At one time she'd been one of the most sought after models in the industry. She’d worked for Chanel, Versace, Stella McCartney, and Emmanuelle Stone.

But her difficult ways had caught up with her and the job offers dried up. That’s how she found herself working for a small vanity design house, and come to think of it, why Angie was there herself. Madame Beauchamp had a kind heart and a willingness to give people the benefit of the doubt. She didn’t listen to idle gossip. In Claira’s case, they weren't rumors. The woman was a bitch with a capital B.

Angie herself was also an undesirable in the fashion world. Her story dated back five years. Fresh out of The Art Institute of New York City with her BA in Fashion Design, she’d landed a position at the famed design house, Emmanuelle Stone, after her internship. The designers were right up her alley, edgy stuff, sort of like Alexander McQueen meets Gwen Stefani.

She’d assisted Lillianna Stone, who along with partner Daphne Emmanuelle, had branched out on their own in 2001 to rave reviews. Angie was having the time of her life, going to fashion shows and scouting out all the latest trends to take back to her new boss.

She’d met and married famed British fashion photographer, Stephan Reese, after a whirlwind courtship. Her life was perfect. At only twenty-three she was living her dream. Lillianna had been a wonderful mentor, even asking to see Angie’s sketches. She had borrowed Angie's portfolio and promised to talk to Daphne to see if they could use any of her designs.

Days turned into weeks, while Angie patiently waited for an answer. After a month and a half, six excruciatingly long weeks, Angie decided it was time to confront Lillianna about their decision. When she did, her boss apologized, said she didn’t want her to give up hope. That she really did like her designs, but her partner didn’t think they fit the direction their line was going in at the moment.

She urged Angie to continue sketching her designs and when she had some new ideas, to bring them straight to her and she would see what she could do. Angie choked back her tears and thanked her boss for her support. In the next few months, Angie worked all her off hours on entirely new designs.

After work one Friday night, she stopped by Stephan’s studio to pick him up for dinner. They had reservations at a restaurant in SoHo with friends. She let herself in the back door and stood quietly while she watched him work. He was shooting someone’s spring line for Vogue. He’d been working late every night that week so the photo's would be in by deadline.

The man was a genius, a true artist, and her heart filled with admiration as she watched him. By stroking the egos of the most difficult models, he was able to glean the most fantastic shots. That’s how he’d made a name for himself in the highly competitive field. He must have felt her presence, because he stopped and turned toward her. A big smile broke his serious expression, then he walked over and kissed her. “Hey, love, almost done here.”

“Good, it's almost eight and we'll have to hurry.”

He saluted her. “Yes, ma’am.” Then he turned back and addressed the model. “Okay, love, let’s give it another go. Drop your chin. Little more. Perfect!” Click. Click.

Angie wandered over toward the dressing room and began going through the dresses hanging on the rack. Something wasn’t right. She stared at one of the garments. Finally she pulled it out and hung it facing her to get the full effect. “No.” It was one of hers, even down to the black leather straps and the satin fishnet across the décolletage.

Frantically she began pulling out dress after dress and holding it up. “No, no. No!”

"Ang, what's wrong?" Stephan grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.

“These are my designs!"

"Don’t be ridiculous, you said they didn’t want them."

"Look, Stephan, just look." She held the dress up for him to inspect. He looked at her, then back at the dress.

"It does resemble one of your sketches."

"Resemble? It’s exact, right down to the red and black piping!” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Come on, now, love.” He wrapped her in his arms. “There must be an excellent explanation. Maybe they were going to surprise you.”

“Stephan. Stephan!” The model yelled across the room.

“Shite, I forgot about Claira,” he mumbled, then turned around.

“This is all very touching, but I’m tired and want to go. I have plans tonight and you’re making me late with all this.” She waved her hands around.

“Right. Okay, I think I have enough. You were great, love. You can go.”

The woman stomped off toward the dressing room.

The minute the door closed behind her, Angie said, “Claira Raines is such a bitch. How can you be so nice to her?”

“It’s the job, love.” He kissed her forehead. “Now let’s get going. Zack and Nathan are waiting for us. Don’t worry, I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

But as the evening wore on, Angie’s anger mounted. No matter how much wine she drank, or her husband’s calming words, she couldn’t escape that scene in Lilliana’s office. She’d told her that her designs weren’t good enough and Angie had actually thanked her!

After Stephan had fallen asleep that night, she slipped out of bed and rifled through the pockets of his pants until she found the keys to his studio. She slipped out of the apartment and hailed a cab. She just wanted to look at the designs one more time to be sure. Maybe he was right and she was mistaken.

Wrong. They were her designs. She stomped into the darkroom and found Stephan’s scotch. She needed some liquid fortitude to help her think. What could be a simple explanation for her designs being stolen? There was none. She poured herself two fingers and downed it. Sitting on his stool she stared straight ahead. What was she going to do?

Her eyes came to rest on a pair of scissors. She snatched them up along with the bottle of scotch. The next morning she awoke to a hysterical Stephan standing over her.

“What have you done, you’ve fucking ruined me!” He snatched the scissors out of her hand.

“Huh?” Angie looked around. She was lying on top of a pile of shredded material, the empty scotch bottle next to her. She didn’t remember shredding the garments, but apparently she had. The scissors were in her hand. “Shit.”

“Shit? That’s all you have to say? When news of this gets out, who is going to trust me with their designs? Tell me, who?”

She rubbed her temples, she had a splitting headache and her husband’s yelling wasn’t helping one bit. “They were mine and they stole them.” Angie couldn’t muster up enough energy to yell back.

“No, idiot, they were not yours.”

Angie tried to get up and failed the first time. Holding onto the wall she made it on her third try, then faced her husband. “You know damn well those were my designs. You’ve seen them in my sketchbook!”

“You stupid little girl. Any lawyer with half a brain is going to say you drew those on company time, therefore the company owns those designs. I told you I would take care of it, but like usual you didn’t listen. You went off half-cocked and did what you wanted anyway. Well, I’m done. I am so done with you, you spoiled little brat.” He threw the scissors down on the concrete floor and stomped toward the exit. “That’s what I get for marrying a child. Shite!”

“Wait, Stephan, where are you going?” Angie called after him.

“I’m going to see if my career is salvageable. After this I'll be lucky to do dog food ads.” The heavy door slammed behind him and Angie fell back to the floor in tears.

Of course he was right. Luckily, she was only fired and the company didn’t file charges against her. When news got around of what she’d done, she couldn’t get a job in the fashion industry if her life depended on it. Stephan filed for divorce and she ran home to Isabelle Island, Washington with her tail between her legs. Washed up at twenty-three.

For the next four years she lived in her mother’s home and worked in the family hardware store. She also drank, a lot. Then she met a woman who changed everything. Maddy Anderson became her new best friend. Maddy gave Angie the courage to try again, but this time in France.

So Angie took out her savings and packed a bag. She was almost out of cash and her hopes completely dashed when finally she was hired for The House of Beauchamp. Madame believed in second chances and in Angie’s talent. In fact, after only a year, she had several of her own designs being featured in the new line for fall.

Angie couldn’t help but think of that fateful night when everything had gone so terribly wrong now that she was working with the Queen B, Claira Raines. Oh how the mighty have fallen.

The moment Claira was hired at House de Beauchamp, she walked through the front door and eyed Angela. Immediately she ran to Madame to rat her out. Of course, Madame knew all about Angie's past. In fact, she told Claira that if she wanted to work for her, she would not make trouble for anyone. She did not abide gossip. Angie overheard the exchange and inwardly smiled.

Of course, it didn’t keep the model from being a major pain in the ass where Angie was concerned. But she had learned to let it roll off her back. She couldn’t help but remember what Stephan had said, it’s just the job. Now that she was older and wiser, she understood. She'd found a way to keep her temper at bay. When it counted. Well, most of the time.

7

When Claira finally returned from her break, she took her spot on the riser and Angie knelt before her, ready to resume pinning the hem of her dress. Angie jumped back up.

“Claira, what have you done?” she yelled, then fisted her hands on her hips.

“What?” The mock expression of innocence didn’t fool Angie.

“You know damn well what I am talking about. You are not to smoke when wearing one of Madame’s designs.”

“It’s not like I burned a hole in it. Besides, I needed a break. What am I supposed to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know, go to the bathroom, put your feet up, maybe grab a water or some fruit.”

“I do not eat,” she said defiantly.

“Of course you don’t.”

“Excuse me, I’m looking for—”

At the sound of the man's voice Angie swung around. She couldn’t believe her eyes.

“You!” he finished.

It was him, Luc-to-his-friends. Mr. Man-in-black. Mr. I’m-too-sexy-for-my-pants. Flummoxed, Angie couldn’t speak. There he stood, a mere foot away. How did he find her? Why was he looking?

When she found her voice, it didn’t hold the power she intended. “You were looking for me?”

“No. Actually I was looking for. . .well maybe.”

“Yes, no, maybe?” He seemed just as surprised to see her as she him, but how could that be? He’d sought her out.

He cleared his throat. “Actually, we.” He motioned to the man behind him, who now stepped forward. The one Angie had just noticed.

“We are looking for friends and known associates of Genevieve Lamont. Would you be one of those?” he said in a more professional manner.

“I met her at a show last year, but I'm neither a friend nor an associate,” Angie said, perplexed.

“Genevieve is a friend of mine.” Claira raised her head, lifted the hem of the gown and stepped off the riser. They all watched in silence. Angie had actually forgotten she was in the room.

“Who wants to know?” Claira’s air of superiority was so thick one could cut it with a knife. Her beauty didn’t seem to affect the men, which surprised Angie. Most men became stuttering idiots in Claira’s presence.

“Inspector Claude Rousseau.” He flashed a badge. “And this is my associate, Jon-Luc Boudreaux. We would like to ask you a few questions."

The moment she was introduced to Jon-Luc, Claira’s hungry gaze slowly raked every inch of his body, then she wet her lips with her tongue as she closed the gap between them. Irritation flamed through Angie. Not that he was hers, or that she’d seen him first, even though she had. She didn't want him for herself, did she?

It didn’t matter now. No red-blooded man with a pulse could resist Claira Raines, with her thick blonde wavy hair that reached all the way to her butt, those big hazel eyes, and that sexy accent. Angie didn’t stand a chance, even if she wanted one. Which she didn’t. It was just nice to have a man like that interested in her. Right, that was it.

Claira took another step closer to Jon-Luc. Was she actually batting her lashes at him? Oh, please, just shoot me now.

“Of course, I would be more than happy to answer any questions you may have.” Her voice had dropped an octave, her accent more pronounced. She looked like a praying mantis about to devour a lover.

Jon-Luc turned toward the inspector. “Actually, Claude, why don’t you take mademoiselle . . .” He looked back at Claira who was standing impossibly close. Any closer and she’d be in his lap, that is if he were sitting, which he wasn’t. So he didn’t have a lap. For God’s sake, I’m losing my mind!

“Raines, Claira Raines, perhaps you’ve heard of me?” A large toothy grin swallowed her face.

You idiot, of course he hasn’t heard of you. A man like him didn’t follow the fashion world, did he? Maybe he dated models all the time. That would make sense, with his drop-dead gorgeous looks and the way he oozed sexuality. Oh, hell, why am I making myself crazy? Oh, my, God, he’s looking at me. Why is he even looking in my direction?

“Huh? What?” Heat rose up Angie's neck and her face felt like it was about to burst into flames.

“I was just telling Inspector Rousseau that I would be interviewing you, but I realize that I don’t know your name.”

“Oh.” He’d rather speak with me? What’s wrong with this guy? There had to be a defect in him somewhere. “Angela, I mean Angie, uh, Henderson.”

He smiled at her. Why was he smiling? Did she have something in her teeth? Angie swished her tongue around her mouth to make sure. He probably just felt sorry for her. After all, what kind of chucklehead didn’t know her own name?

Jon-Luc made his way toward Angie, and put his hand against the small of her back as he led her toward the far side of the room. Angie glanced over her shoulder at Claira shooting daggers with her eyes. Angie was too shocked to shoot them back. She stumbled and he caught her before she went down. Maybe she should be watching where she was going.

He grabbed a chair and positioned it across from another, then indicated with his hand that she should sit. Angie obliged, then realized her mouth was open and promptly shut it. That’s attractive.

“So, you're a seamstress?” He took a pad and pen from his pocket.

Angie jutted her jaw. “No. I am an assistant designer.” There he went, riling her up again.

He scribbled something down on the paper. “I see.”

“Do you? Or are you just humoring me?” What was it about this guy that pissed her off so?

He glanced up and met her eyes. “Why would I not believe you? Do you have reason to lie?” There went those damn eyebrows again, reaching for the sky.

“Of course I don’t lie. What the hell is this all about? Are you a cop?”

He let his hands rest in his lap. “I am consulting on a case, unofficially.”

“What case? What has Genevieve Lamont done?”

His demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. The smile disappeared, his eyes more focused.

“You don’t know?” He lowered his voice.

A chill ran the length of her spine and she wrapped her arms around herself. “Know what?” But even as she said the words, she could tell it was bad, whatever it was.

“She’s dead. Murdered.” Then his mouth clamped shut and he stared at her, said nothing more. Of course, what else was there to say?

He waited for her to fill the void. “I, uh, no, I didn’t know. I’ve been too busy to watch the news and I don’t read the paper. We, uh. . .we have a big show next week and I’ve been working night and day.”

Just then Angie heard a scream from the other side of the room. She jerked her head toward the sound and witnessed Claira burying her face in her hands; her shoulders jerked as she sobbed. Angie looked back at Luc's somber face.

It took a moment before Angie could speak. “I don’t know how I can help. I didn’t actually know her, just of her. We run in the same circles, that’s all.”

“I understand, but anything, no matter how small, might help. You may know something, may have heard something. I’m sure like all businesses there is gossip, rumors.”

“Hell, yeah, rumors fly around in this industry faster than the needle on my sewing machine, but that’s usually what they are. Just rumors. I can’t say what’s true or not.”

“Let me decide. What have you heard about Mademoiselle Lamont?”

“You do realize you are asking me to speak ill of the dead. I don’t feel comfortable with that.”

“Yes, I am. But we’re trying to find her murderer, and to do that we must know the victim inside and out.”

Angie flinched. He’d just said victim and murderer in the same sentence. She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation. She closed her eyes; she couldn’t think straight under his intense scrutiny. Silence ensued between them, but she could hear Claira’s sobs across the room. She shut it out and concentrated on the show last year when she’d run into Genevieve, literally.

“Well, it’s not like we were formally introduced or anything,” she said to further explain her position.

“That’s okay, I’ll take impressions at this stage.”

“Okay, it was last year and my first show with Madame.”

“Madame?”

“Madame Beauchamp. She is The House de Beauchamp.”

Jon-Luc jotted that down, then looked back up for her to continue.

“I was very stressed and nervous, of course. All the hot designers were there, as well as the top models. I felt like a fish out of water. I really needed to make a good impression, and I really needed this job. This chance. It had to work out.” Her words came out in a rush and she took a deep breath. She glanced down at her hands in her lap and noticed she was wringing them.

All the emotions from that day came flooding back. She stared at him and became transfixed. She noticed a ring of brown around the irises of his gold eyes. He blinked and focused on her. She relaxed a bit. There was something in his demeanor that comforted her.

“Go on.”

There's that sexy voice again. “I’m sorry, but where are you from? I can’t quite place your accent.”

He smiled. “NOLA.”

She thought her eyebrows must have hit the ceiling. “Come again?”

“New Orleans, Louisiana. I’m Cajun. A Swamp Rat.” Then he chuckled.

“If you say so.” Even his laugh was sexy.

Jeez, why can't I catch a break?

“I know this isn’t easy, but we need to get back to your story.”

“Right. Sorry.” Angie looked down at her lap again and tried to get back her train of thought. “I don’t know if you know it or not, but the atmosphere at these things is ridiculous. Everyone is running around, and there is always some sort of disaster coming up and this show was no different. Maybe worse because it was my first and I didn’t know what to expect.” She looked up at him and he nodded.

“Okay, got it. Crazy.”

“No, I really mean it. You have no idea. Women are running around in their undergarments, screaming for someone to help them dress. Things get ripped, ruined at the last second. You have to think fast. Every model thinks they are more important than everyone else. We’re talking giant egos here.”

“You paint an vivid picture. I think I can imagine it now. Please go on.”

He looked like he was suppressing a smile. Was he laughing at her? “Look, I’m serious as a heart attack. If you’re just humoring me, I have more important things to do than waste my time with you.” She jumped up and he grabbed her hand.

“No, I’m not. Really. Please sit back down.”

She tentatively sat, but was ready to bolt at the first provocation.

“I’m sorry, truly I am.” He glanced down, then up. “It’s just, you’re so passionate. The way you tell a story, it’s crystal-clear. I’m used to interviewing people who speak. . .” He stroked his chin. “Plainly, I guess. ‘I went there, met so-and-so, and left.’ You know what I mean?”

“I guess so,” she said slowly.

“Bottom line is, I am very interested in what you have to say. So please continue.”

His face suddenly became a mask. She could no longer read him. “All right. So, like I said, shit happens. We are a boutique fashion house, meaning we are small, still making a name for ourselves, and because of that we can’t be too choosy about the models willing to work with us. Therefore, more often than not, we get the green ones. Fresh from the farm. Just learning to spread their wings. They're all agog over being in Paris, meeting famous models, wanting to fit in, etcetera." Angie scooted back in her chair to get more comfortable.

“This industry is very competitive. These women are all vying for the same jobs and the more established models can be cutthroat so they play tricks on these girls. Like culling the weak from the herd.” She stared at him to see if he was catching her drift, he nodded, so she continued.

“One such girl was Melody. Gorgeous girl, but way too naïve to make it in such a nasty business. You either grow a thick skin, or go home. Anyway, the dress she was supposed to wear didn’t fit. I mean, she had it on the day before, but now I couldn’t get the damn thing zipped. Overnight she had gained weight-”

“How is that even possible? I thought these girls didn’t eat. At least that’s what they look.”

It was Angie’s turn to smile. “Right, that’s what I was thinking. But I didn’t have time to analyze it, so I cut the dress down the back, slipped it over her head, and started to stitch her into it. Then someone bumped me from behind, the needle went into Melody’s back and she screamed. I turned in time to see Genevieve standing behind me wearing a shit-eating grin. ‘Oh, excuse me, how clumsy of me,’ she said, then pretended to notice Melody for the first time.

“'Gee, Melody, you look a bit bloated. Too many Mojitos last night?' Then she sauntered off. I was pissed. I spun Mel around and looked at her face, and sure enough, she looked guilty. I lost it right there. I yelled, how could you be so stupid to go out drinking the night before a show. You know damn well alcohol is forbidden.

“Melody sputtered, Genevieve asked her. She couldn’t say no, she emphasized that the Genevieve Lamont wanted her to join the other models. Melody wouldn’t look me in the eye, just stared at her feet while she talked. Exactly, I'd said. Then asked her why that didn’t seem even a little bit suspicious to her. At that Melody looked up and told me they were all drinking so she figured it was okay. I asked her if she'd smelled any of their glasses? Then Melody burst into tears and begged me not to tell Madame."

"And did you?" Jon-Luc interrupted.

“I didn’t need to. The news reached her by word of mouth. When I glanced around the room, I noticed all the models whispering and laughing with one another. It made me sick. Later I heard that Melody was being considered for a big perfume launch, Tres Unique.”

“The one that went to Genevieve,” he said almost to himself. “So let me get this straight—you think this Melody killed Genevieve?”

“Oh God, no! That would be impossible.”

“You seem pretty sure of yourself.”

“I am. She’s dead.”

8

“She’s what?” Jon-Luc leaned forward in his chair. These girls were dropping like flies. “How did she die?”

“A few months later, she committed suicide.”

“Suicide.” His hands dropped to his lap. “You’re certain?” He watched Angie's head bob up and down. He made a note to check on it himself. This girl could have been one of the killer’s first victims.

“How did she kill herself?” He asked.

“She slit her wrists in the bath.”

“Just because some mean girls got her in trouble drinking?”

“Oh, no, that was just the beginning. The girls didn’t give up that easily. There were many more pranks, cruel things they did to her. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure they didn’t think she would go so far as to kill herself. They were just trying to get her to quit.”

“What kind of cruel things? What could possibly make someone feel so low they would end their life?”

Angie looked down at her lap. Jon-Luc didn’t think she was going to continue. When her head came up, there was a tear in her eye.

He couldn’t help himself, he leaned forward and put his hand on her knee. “Hey, what is it?”

“It’s just, she was so sweet, you know?” She sniffled. “I don’t understand how anyone could be so mean to someone. She was one of those people beautiful inside and out. You know?”

He nodded, but didn’t want to interrupt.

“God, these girls.” She shook her head. “Women, actually, they’re worse than high school bullies. Like I said before, cutthroat.” Angie dried her eyes and composed herself. When her head came back up she had a look of steely determination. Jon-Luc sat back and waited.

“Melody did get the perfume ad. They were going with a complete unknown, the company liked her that much. A full-on launch was planned. Millions of dollars riding on it. She got to the studio on time, had her make-up and hair done. She was a sultry brunette with deep green eyes, a deadly combination.”

Jon-Luc swallowed hard. He’d seen that combination recently, no wonder this Lamont woman felt threatened. This girl was a younger version of herself. She must have seen that her days at the top were numbered.

“They’d put her in an emerald green satin Valentino gown. The photographer had just started snapping shots when suddenly Melody grabbed her stomach, groaned and doubled over. She made an abrupt turn, and tried to run, but her heel caught in the hem of the gown. She fell flat on her face and soiled herself. She got up on her hands and knees crawling toward the bathroom.

“People tried to help her to her feet, but she fought them off. When she finally was able to get up, she lifted the front of the gown and ran to the toilet trailing feces all the way. I heard she was in there for a long time. When they finally tried to reach her, she wouldn't answer, so they broke the door down. They found her passed out on the floor and called an ambulance. The hospital took her blood and did a complete battery of tests.

“Originally they thought it must be food poisoning, but she swore she hadn’t eaten anything since the morning before. She said she’d been too nervous. Then the blood work came back and they found a high concentration of liquid laxative in her system that some girls use the night before a shoot to make sure they’re as thin as possible. The dress was ruined. The perfume company was furious and they fired her.

“Melody swore she hadn't taken any laxatives, but they found an empty bottle in her trash. Melody told anyone that would listen that the only thing she had ingested was coffee there at the studio. That someone must have slipped it into her cup. But when they went back to check, there was no coffee cup. Both the make-up artist and hairstylist said they'd seen her drinking something. But without the missing mug, there was no evidence. Just her word.”

Jon-Luc ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “I can understand that was a bad break for the poor kid, but I still don’t understand her killing herself over it. I mean, with her looks and all, I’m sure she would have gotten other jobs.”

“Maybe.”

“What aren’t you telling me, you mean there’s more?”

“Yeah, it didn’t quite end there. The next day I noticed a few of the models crowded around an iPhone and giggling. I walked over and asked what was so funny? They handed me the device. I’m thinking, another silly cat video. But what I saw made me sick." Angie took a deep breath before continuing.

"It was Melody and the entire event unfolding before my eyes. The person taking the video was making whispered commentary and laughing. It was on YouTube and racking up a lot of hits. I shoved the phone back at the girls and yelled they should be ashamed of themselves. That night Melody took her life.”

“Whoa, vicious.” Jon-Luc scrubbed his hands down his face, then sat back in the hard folding chair. He felt that familiar buzz he got when he was onto something. He stared at Angie a moment, then something caught his eye over her shoulder. No doubt in his mind, it was Melody. She was in an emerald green ball gown, the ruby red shading her full lips matched the blood dripping from her wrists, staining the dress at her sides. Her sad green eyes were indeed electric. But under all that make-up and the sophisticated hairdo stood a little girl. What a waste.

Without taking his eyes off the girl he asked, “How old was this Melody?”

“Nineteen, maybe twenty.”

Immediately Jon-Luc patted his pockets, searching for his pad and pen. Sometime while Angie was talking he had become so engrossed he must have put them away because they were no longer in his hands. He found them, then asked,

“Last name?”

“Waterston, Melody Waterston.”

“Okay, where was she from?”

“I don’t know, somewhere in the South. She had a Southern accent. Madame might know.”

“Southern, as in the south of France, or the States?”

“Oh, sorry. No, she was American. I do know she came from a small town; she talked about it all the time. She was real homesick. Can’t remember the name though.”

“Boyfriend? Brothers or sisters?”

“Don’t know about a boyfriend, she never mentioned one. I do know she had two sisters that were younger. She mentioned once how they wished they could go to France too. Of course, that was in the beginning, when she’d just gotten here. You should have seen her then, she was so bubbly and cute. Just like her name. But the longer she stayed, the light in her eyes slowly faded.”

“Shit.” He jumped to his feet, Angie flinched. “Oh, sorry." He started to pace. "I just can’t understand how any parent could let their child go to another country all by herself?”

“Her father was against it, but her mother convinced him it would be good for her. I got the impression they could use the money. She mentioned her father had been laid off three years ago. I’m sure his loss of income had something to do with it.”

He stopped pacing. “Yeah, that's rough.” Jon-Luc stared down at Angie, trying to gauge whether she was leaving anything out, her big blue eyes gazed back and for a moment he lost his train of thought. He cleared his throat. “Uh, is there anything else?”

“I don't think so.”

“Yeah. Okay. I guess I'm done here." He started to put his pad and pen away, then stopped. "Oh, can I get your phone number and address?” He jotted both down. “When is the best time to reach you?”

“Anytime, that’s my cell number.”

His mind was reeling at the moment. “All right, thanks for talking to me. I’m really sorry about all this. I’ll call you if I have any other questions.” He reached out to shake her hand. He felt her hand in his, but suddenly he couldn’t see her anymore. It was happening again.

9

Jon-Luc found himself outside, walking down a crowded street. He was following the blonde in the tight jeans and shiny purple blouse. She had an oversized purse slung over her shoulder and appeared to be wiping her face as if crying. Abruptly she stopped and did an about-face, scanning the crowd.

A man bumped into her and started yelling in some foreign language, and his arms waved about to make his point. She ignored him. The moment Jon-Luc saw her face he recognized her. It was that model, the one Claude was interviewing.

He heard a scream. Instantly the vision disappeared and he was back in the room at the hotel. It was Angie screaming. He looked down and noticed he was crushing her hand. Immediately, he let go. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

Angie backed away, holding her hand, her eyes wide. He realized she was afraid of him. “Shit.” He swiped his forehead and realized his face was drenched in sweat. “Look, I really am sorry. I, uh. . .I can’t explain what just happened.”

Jon-Luc surveyed the room and found his friend standing by the door, staring at him. “Claude!” He darted across the room. “Claude where’s that model you were interviewing?”

“Claira? She left. She was very upset. I guess she and the victim were pretty close. Why?”

“How long ago?” Jon-Luc was in his face, but couldn’t help it.

“I don’t know, uh.” He looked at his watch.

Jon-Luc grabbed Claude by the shoulders. “How long?” he screamed.

“My friend, you are acting like a mad person. What is wrong with you?”

“Dammit! How long has she been gone?”

“I don’t know, ten minutes or so?”

“Do you know where she was heading?”

“Home I would guess.”

Jon-Luc grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the door. “We have to find her. She’s in trouble.”

“What?” Claude shook his arm free and ran alongside Jon-Luc out to the street. He fumbled in his jacket for the keys.

Jon-Luc hit the top of the car, Claude jumped. “Hurry!” Jon-Luc yelled.

Claude swore in rapid French, then in English, he yelled back, “I am.”

At last he got the door unlocked and they jumped in. “What did this woman tell you that has you so agitated?” Claude started the car.

“It wasn’t Angie. Look, I can’t explain right now. I just know it’s urgent we get to her.”

Claude stared at him a moment, then said, “Okay, where are we going?”

“I don’t know.”

“What? You rush me out of the hotel like your ass is on fire and you do not know where were we are going?” More French swear words followed.

“Don’t you have her home address?”

“Oui, it is here in my jacket.” Claude took out his notepad and thumbed through the book.

“That’s where we're going, but we have to watch the streets. She’s walking. Is the address close?”

“Luc, how do you know this?”

“Is it close?” Jon-Luc yelled over him.

“No," Claude yelled back. "She would have to take the Metro.”

“Fine, just drive. I’ll search the sidewalks.”

Claude pulled into traffic while Jon-Luc scoured the streets. It was a busy time of day, so he didn’t have to worry they were driving too fast. After ten minutes and no sign of her, he felt like he was going to jump out of his skin.

“Where is the metro station she would take?”

“Just over there.” Claude pointed.

Jon-Luc jumped out of the car and ran toward the red sign up ahead. Within seconds, he was flying down the stairs, weaving in and out of pedestrians. Once he could see the underground station, he stopped a few steps short of the platform and scanned the crowd above their heads. Claira was at least six feet tall; her blonde head should be easy to spot.

A few minutes later, Claude was at his side. “Anything?”

“No. She’s wearing a dark purple blouse. I’ll take the right, you go left. Call me on my cell if you find her.”

With that, they too entered the throng of people trying to get home after a long day at work. Jon-Luc caught a flash of purple and started pushing his way through the crowd, eliciting angry protests around him. He didn’t have time to be polite. He caught up with the girl in the purple shirt, but it wasn’t Claira. “Dammit!”

He stood still and scanned the crowd again. A train had just arrived. The doors opened and a flood of people washed through them. No one wanted to be left behind. No one wanted to have to wait for next train. That’s when he saw her. She’d just entered the train. The platform was wall-to-wall people. He didn’t know if he could reach her in time.

Frantically, he shoved his way forward. A yelp came from his left. That’s when he noticed the very pregnant woman about to go down. Jon-Luc grabbed her and set her right, apologizing profusely. When he looked up again, the train was leaving the station.

He pulled out his cell and called Claude. He picked up on the forth ring. “She’s gone,” he said without preamble. “Meet me on the street.”

Jon-Luc breathed deeply the moment he made it above ground. The heat, the smell of stale air and body odor had gotten to him more than he’d realized. Before long, Claude appeared.

“Now what?” Claude asked, huffing as if he’d just ran a marathon.

“Put a pair of uniforms at her metro stop and we'll stake out her home.”

“Fine, but then you have a lot of explaining to do, my friend.”

Back in the car, Claude navigated the busy streets of Paris, and Jon-Luc tried to analyze this new gift of his. He didn’t know how or why, but he seemed to be viewing the world through the killer’s eyes. He closed his own and tried to conjure up a vision. Maybe if he visualized Claira, he could make it happen again. He concentrated hard, but nothing materialized.

Claude’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you?”

Jon-Luc turned toward his friend. “I don’t know how I can in a way you could understand.”

“Try. You have me very worried about you. Who was that woman you were interviewing?”

“Her name is Angie Henderson and she's an assistant designer for the House de Beauchamp. She told me a very interesting tale.”

Jon-Luc told Claude the entire story all the way to Melody Waterston’s suicide.

“So, you think this Claira could be on the killer’s radar?” Claude asked as he watched the road ahead.

“You did say she was close to Genevieve Lamont, so it’s a possibility. I really haven’t had time to put it all together. Let’s just say I have a gut feeling and leave it at that.” Jon-Luc ran a hand through his hair.

Claude glanced at him. “Okay, for now. But soon you will have to tell me more about this gut of yours, my friend. What does this entire thing have to do with Lamont’s death? You said it happened a year ago.”

“I know. I really haven’t had time to analyze it, but while Angie was telling the story, my head started buzzing. There’s something there, I can feel it.”

“That is good enough for me. It’s the first lead we’ve had since I caught this case.” Claude pulled the Peugeot into a parking space along the street and turned off the car. Pointing he said, “That is her building.”

Jon-Luc looked up at the old Gothic-style structure. Each corner had a turret like a castle. He unbuckled his seat belt and opened the car door. “Come on, let’s check it out.”

“I do not think she will have arrived home yet.”

“No, but she might have a roommate we can talk to.”

“Good thinking.”

Once through the front doors, Jon-Luc took in the richly decorated lobby and was impressed. Runway models made a lot better money than he’d thought. Upon entering the elevator, he noticed the building had nine floors. The apartment they sought was on the seventh. The elevator came to a grinding halt and the ancient metal doors creaked open slowly.

Before long they were ringing the bell at apartment 707. When no one answered, Jon-Luc started banging on the door. A neighbor across the hall poked his head out. “Either she doesn’t want to see you or she’s not home.”

“Claira Raines lives alone?” Jon-Luc asked.

“What business is it of yours?”

Claude pulled out his shield. “Police business.”

The man chuckled. “What did she do this time?”

Claude stepped forward and introduced himself and Jon-Luc. “May we come in and ask you a few questions?”

The man’s face fell. He sighed. Opening the door wider, he motioned the men inside. The apartment was small. An easel was set up by a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, a half-finished painting of the Eiffel Tower stood upon it. They had obviously interrupted the man while he was working.

Jon-Luc noticed a stack of finished art leaning against the wall and sifted through them. “These are really good.”

“Yeah, I pay my mortgage by selling them to tourists. What do you want? I need to get back to work. I’ve promised this batch to my dealer and I’m running behind on my deadline.”

Jon-Luc gauged the guy to be around forty, forty-five years old. His dark hair was graying at the temples and stood up on top like he’d been running his hands through it in frustration. For the first time Jon-Luc noticed the paint splotches on his shirt and jeans.

He scanned the small living space, and saw a ladder that ran up to a loft. “So, is this a studio apartment?”

“Yeah, I sleep up there.” The guy pointed.

“Can we sit?” Claude asked.

“Suit yourself.” The man pointed to a worn couch, then sat on a stool in front of his stretched canvas and waited.

Claude took out a pad and pen. “So, your name is?”

“James Hollis.”

“And you are American, yes?”

“What was your first clue?” James crossed his legs.

“You could be Canadian,” Claude answered in a neutral tone.

“I could, but I’m not,” James said.

“And you are from?”

“Minnesota. Look, what does this have to do with whatever Claira has done?”

Claude ignored his question. “You have been here how long?”

“Five years. I moved here after my divorce. Once our house sold, I quit my job as a software engineer and moved to Paris to paint. It’s something I always wanted to do, but life got in the way. Anything else?”

“Have you lived in this apartment all that time?”

“Yes, I bought it for the light and the view. Obviously.” He pointed out the window where the Eiffel Tower was seen in the distance.

Jon-Luc leaned forward. “Is Claira’s apartment the same layout?”

“Yeah, this entire floor is studio apartments with lofts.” James said.

“How many square feet are we talking here?” Claude jumped in.

“Three hundred, plus the loft which is about thirty.” James re-crossed his leg.

“Wow. And what did that set you back?” Jon-Luc asked.

“399,000 euro's. Why, you interested in buying one?” James sat up straighter, his snarky tone not the only thing showing his annoyance.

Jon-Luc looked at Claude, then back to James. “Maybe."

“Can we get this thing over with? I’m losing my light.” James tapped his leg with the end of a paintbrush.

Jon-Luc glanced outside and noticed the sun had gone down behind the neighboring building. “You asked us what Claira had done this time. What were you referring to?”

James huffed. “You ought to know, you’re the cops.”

Claude jumped in. “We are asking you.”

The artist slumped his shoulders. “Fine. That girl's a train wreck, always getting herself into trouble with that temper of hers. One time she was escorted off a plane for throwing her cell phone at a stewardess. I guess it pissed her off when the woman asked her to turn it off before take-off.

“Another time, she was arrested for assault when she punched some girl at a club. I’m sure there’s more, but I don’t keep up with celebrity gossip.”

“So she's a celebrity?” Jon-Luc asked.

“Used to be. She doesn’t work much anymore, I guess.”

“Are you two close?” Claude asked.

“I wouldn’t say that, just neighbors.”

“You said you don’t keep up on celebrity gossip, but then how do you know about the trouble she’s been in?" Jon-Luc asked.

“People talk. I run into neighbors in the elevator, or getting my mail, and they fill me in on what goes on in this building whether I want them to or not.”

“I see. Are you privy to who goes in and out of her apartment?” Claude asked.

“Privy?” The man laughed. “I’ve got better things to do than stand at the peephole in my door and watch her apartment, but I do know that girl really likes to party. She’s woken me up on more than one occasion dragging some guy home for the night, drunk and making a lot of racket.”

“Does she have a boyfriend?” Jon-Luc asked.

“I wouldn’t know, but if I had to guess I’d say no.”

“And why do you say that?” Claude asked.

“I’ve never seen her with the same man twice. She’s even come on to me and I’m twice her age. That girl's not picky. In my opinion, women like that are insecure, which really blows my mind. I mean, she's absolutely gorgeous.”

Jon-Luc raised one brow and asked, “Did you take her up on it?”

“Did I what?” The guy stared at him, then it was like a light bulb went off in his head. “Oh, hell no.”

“Why not?” Claude asked. “You said yourself she was gorgeous.”

“Huh, uh, no way. I like my life the way it is, quiet and drama-free.”

“Have you seen any strangers hanging around, maybe in front of the building? Someone who looked like they might be casing the joint?” Jon-Luc asked.

James shook his head. “I don’t get out much when I have a deadline. Pretty much hole-up until I’m done. Why?”

“Claira may be in danger.”

The guy uncrossed his legs and sat up straight. “Shit, you mean that sick fuck who killed those other models? You think he’s after her?”

“Maybe.” Claude pulled out a card and handed it to the guy. “Would you keep an eye out for anyone hanging around who may look suspicious?”

The guy jumped off his stool and reached for the card. Jon-Luc watched as it disappeared into his front pants pocket. The boredom had left his face, replace by a serious expression. “Yeah, man, sure.” He walked them out.

Jon-Luc went straight for the door across the hall and knocked again.

“You know, she doesn’t usually show up until after dark.” James informed them.

Jon-Luc turned back to the guy, “Thanks, good to know.”

The door closed and they looked at each other.

“What do you want to do now?” Claude asked.

“Better put out a BOLO on her.” Jon-Luc answered.

"Okay, I'll call in a be-on-the-lookout for Claira Raines, Claude said.

10

Angie’s mind reeled, she couldn’t focus on the task at hand. She sat at the sewing machine, ready to mend the hem on the dress Claira had abandoned on the floor. The image of Jon-Luc’s face haunted her thoughts. He truly didn’t seem to know what he’d been doing.

He’d looked to be in a trance. His open eyes had stared straight ahead, while beads of sweat broke out along his brow. The more she’d tried to free her hand, the tighter he’d gripped it. She couldn’t imagine what was taking place in his head, but if she hadn’t screamed, he would have broken her fingers. Angie glanced down and noticed she was rubbing her hand absently.

When he’d finally focused on her, the mask had dropped away, replaced with genuine surprise. He couldn’t apologize enough. Then he was gone before she could get an explanation.

“Angela, are you all right?” Madame Beauchamp pulled up a chair next to her.

“I don’t know. While you were out, we had a visit from an Inspector and his associate. They wanted to question Claira and I about Genevieve Lamont. She’s been murdered.”

Madame gasped. “This is bad, very very bad. Angela, I am worried for you.” The woman placed her manicured hand on Angie’s arm. The deep red polish shimmered. “You know I have grown very fond of you, more like a daughter than an employee. I think you should come live at the chateau. You are not safe with this madman on the loose.”

Angie’s body pivoted toward her mentor. “Oh, I couldn’t do that. Besides, the killer seems to be after models. I’m sure I’m safe.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Who is to say it is not the entire fashion industry that he loathes? I would feel much better if I knew you weren’t walking around this city at night by yourself.”

Angie remembered the incident the night before. That feeling of being watched and a chill ran up her spine. “I don’t know-”

Madame patted her knee. “Well, I do. I can’t afford to lose you; you have become invaluable to me. After all, who could I get to replace you this close to the show?” Madame laughed and stood. “I will send a car for you tonight and you will gather your belongings from that lousy hotel you’ve been calling home.”

“It’s really kind of you to offer, but I couldn’t.”

“Why not? Michael and Demetrius live on the grounds. They are strong men who will surely protect us.”

It was time for Angie to laugh. Both men were big guys around six-foot-five or taller and very loyal to Madame. Anyone would have to be crazy to cross them.

“I have a guest cottage on the property. It is small, but safe. You will be driven into the city every morning by Demetrius, my driver. These next few days are critical and we will be working around the clock. I can not afford to have sleepless nights worrying about you riding the metro alone. You will make an old woman happy, oui?”

Angie smiled. “Oui, Madame, merci.”

“Good, supper will be served promptly at nine. Please be there.” She started to leave, then turned back. “Angela, I think it is time you called me Lissette.”

Once she left, Angie shook her head. "Old woman. Please." Madame was in her early fifties, but looked ten years younger. She was a stunning woman who had been a model in her youth. Her brunette hair hung in a long bob just below her shoulders, she had large light brown eyes and pronounced cheekbones. Married at the height of her fame to a wealthy older man, she had chosen to leave modeling.

Although not blessed with children, she said she’d never regretted giving up her career to be with him. Modeling had been fun and it paid for university, but designing was her true calling. It wasn’t until after her husband’s untimely death a few years earlier that Lissette Beauchamp started House de Beauchamp and once again made a name for herself in the world of fashion.

It was half past eleven that night by the time Angie arrived at the cottage that would be her home for the unforeseeable future. Dinner had been sumptuous: fancy wine, roast beef, new potatoes, and asparagus in Béarnaise sauce. Angie had to pass on dessert; she was just too full. She didn’t remember the last time she’d eaten so well. Most of the conversation centered on the upcoming show.

She used the key Lissette had given her, then walked into the cottage through the back door and flicked on the light. She found herself in a tiny kitchen, a table with two chairs sat to her left, a bouquet of flowers in the center. The kitchen sink was to her right facing front with a window that overlooked a rose garden. The stove was next to it, then a refrigerator. It all came round in a half-circle.

The main room had a hearth with a bundle of wood stacked inside, ready to be lit. One chair and a love seat sat opposite. On the far wall, a staircase led to the second floor. The place was perfect, simply perfect. Warm and charming, she already knew she never wanted to leave.

She snatched up her bags the driver had left by the door and headed upstairs. There were two bedrooms. The first was currently used for storage, a sort of catch-all space. So Angie carried on down the hall and flipped the switch in the other bedroom.

It was amazing. As if someone had peeked into her dreams and decorated the room just for her. It was designed in turquoise and black Art Deco. An antique light sat on a small round table next to a chaise by the window. The base was a nude woman in bronze, leaning back and holding a large ball in her out-stretched hands. She clicked on the lamp and the ball lit up.

Angie decided it would be the perfect place to sketch her designs. Often she woke in the middle of the night with an idea and had to get it down on paper before it disappeared from her thoughts. In fact, she never knew when an idea would hit her, which was why she carried her sketch pad with her everywhere she went.

All the furniture in the room was black lacquer, the fabric turquoise satin. Giant calla lily sconces hung on either side of the bed. Angie sat down on the edge and bounced. No lumps here. She made her way into the bathroom and spied the claw-foot tub with the giant shower head. She grinned. No more cold showers. No more sharing a bathroom. “Damn, I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Angie dropped her toiletry bag on the counter and headed back into the bedroom where she threw her suitcase on the bed. A fireplace stood in the corner, and it too was ready to light. Angie struck one of the long matchsticks and lit the kindling. Not because it was especially cold in the room, but because she could. She watched as a spiral of smoke twirled up.

She made her way over to the window and found herself gazing out at Madame’s beautiful gardens. She thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. She jerked her head in the direction of the gazebo. After awhile, when nothing moved, she decided it was probably just an animal of some sort and closed the drapes. She ignored the goose bumps that had enveloped her arms.

While lying on her back, Angie watched the shadows of trees dance across the ceiling. Although exhausted, sleep kept just out of reach. As she'd prepared for bed, she'd turned on the television to listen to the news. Genevieve Lamont was all anyone was talking about. Her ravaged body had been found along the Seine. The words serial killer were being tossed about casually like an everyday occurrence. Angie was grateful for her new surroundings more than ever. Here she felt safe.

So why couldn’t she sleep?

11

Jon-Luc glanced down at his watch. It was just after two in the morning. “Where the hell is she? If she were truly torn up about her friend, you’d think she would be home crying her eyes out.”

“I have never been one to pretend to know the mind of a woman,” Claude answered. “Perhaps she stopped at a friend’s house?”

"I find it hard to believe that we haven't had any reports from the BOLO you put out. If you put out a be-on-the-lookout request on a six foot, seriously gorgeous blonde with ass-length hair in the States, every policeman from sea to shining sea would drop everything just to get a look at her."

Jon-Luc was staring at Claude when all of a sudden he was transported to a noisy nightclub. Claira Raines was sitting at the bar downing shots. She sat alone. Seeing only through the killer's eyes, Jon-Luc watched as he stepped up behind her and rested a hand on her shoulder. She jerked around as if ready to do battle, then her expression relaxed.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Claira said to the man she obviously knew well. She waved her hand in front of her face as if she'd smelled something offensive.

“Thought I’d grab a beer after a long day. What about you? You look as if you’ve been here awhile.”

Claira turned back toward the bar. “Yeah, but no amount of alcohol will deaden the pain.”

The man sat on the vacant stool next to her. “What’s wrong?”

Her laugh held no mirth. “Someone is killing my friends. For all I know, I could be next.”

The man placed his hand on her arm. “Maybe I should see you home.”

“Hmm, that’s a nice thought.” Her words were slurred. “Promise to tuck me in?”

He chuckled. “That could be arranged.”

Her brows rose. "Really?"

"Really." He stroked her arm slowly.

"Why? I mean, I've been trying to seduce you since the day we met. Why now?"

"It looks like you could really use a friend right now." The man pulled her hair back over her shoulder and ran his fingers through it.

Claira closed her eyes. "Mmm, that feels nice. But you'd better be careful. Being my friend could have deadly conscious-" She giggled. "I mean consequences." She over-pronounced each syllable as if concentrating really hard.

"I'll take my chances. Ready to get out of here?" The man stood.

“Hell, yes.” She slid off the stool, staggered and started to fall, but he caught her. “Oops.” She erupted into a fit of giggles.

“Wow, you’re strong,” she said as she gazed up at him with glassy eyes.

She only made it a couple steps before she lost her footing. The man quickly snatched her around the waist, pulling her tight into his side.

"Here, lean on me."

Her hand flew to his chest, where she started caressing him. “Mmm, rock hard. You must work out.”

The man steered her through the crowd toward the exit.

“Why are you covering that wonderful hair of yours?” She reached up and tried to knock his hat off, but he grabbed her hand before she succeeded. “That’s okay, I’ll have it and the rest of your clothes off soon enough,” she said before she licked her lips.

Once out the door of the club, he coaxed her down the hill away from the crowd. The noise and laughter faded into the night. The silence surrounding them was welcome. The only sound heard now were her five-inch heels clomping along the sidewalk at an unsteady gait. When they reached the bottom, he guided her across the street and turned left.

“Hey, where are we going? I live the other way.” She tried looking over her shoulder.

“I thought it would be romantic to make love to you by the Seine.”

“Ooh, still waters run deep and all that rot.” A snicker turned into a hiccup. “I like that.”

They arrived at the top of the stairs and Claira glanced down, blinked a couple of times, then leaned her head back and focused on the man. “Whoa, I don’t think so.”

“Not to worry.” He bent down and picked her up in his arms.

“Wheee!” she squealed. He glanced around to see if anyone was paying attention. No one was. Just another pair of lovers in Paris. They were half-way down the stairs when she let go of his neck and pointed. “My shoe!”

He turned his head back. “Shit.” Then looked at her. “I’ll go back and get it.”

Claira kicked off the other one. “Whoopsee!”

“Cut that out,” he growled.

“Oh, now I’ve made you cross.” She pursed her lips into an exaggerated pout.

He hurried down the rest of the steps and set her on her feet. Her body swayed. “Hold onto this railing and don’t move.”

“Yes, my Lord.” She tried to curtsy and almost fell.

“Quit screwing around. Do you want me to retrieve your shoes or not?”

“Fine. Shoes. Then we have fun.” Claira giggled.

The man ran up the stairs, snagged her shoes, and ran back down. He dropped them by her feet.

She reached out with both hands and fell against him. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. He enveloped them with one hand and stayed their progress.

“You first.” He lifted the hem of her blouse and she raised her arms to help. In no time at all, the woman before him was naked.

Her head lolled back and her eyes closed.

He patted her cheek. “Wake up.”

“I’m sleepy,” she whined.

“No sleep for the wicked.” He spun her around to face the wall and her hands splayed against it.

“I think I’m going to be-” Claira doubled over and vomited on the ground. The man caught her around the waist before she landed right in it.

He pulled a switchblade from his pocket. “God, you make me sick.” His voice oozed contempt.

“Hey, I couldn’t help-” a gurgling sound interrupted her sentence as he drew the knife across her throat. Blood sprayed the wall in front of them. He dragged her body backward a few feet, then let her fall. “Stupid cunt.”

A phone rang from far away. Jon-Luc surfaced and glanced around. He was in bed back at the hotel, but didn't remember how he'd gotten that way. The muffled ringing continued. He lay atop the covers fully dressed. The digital clock on the bedside table read 7:23. Realization finally took hold and he fished the phone from his pocket.

“Yeah, Boudreaux here.”

“Luc, it is Claude. We found Claira.”

The image of her body bleeding out at his feet filled his head, her sightless eyes stared up at him. “She’s dead.” It wasn’t a question.

“Oui. I am sorry to disturb your sleep, my friend. Would you mind coming to the scene with me?” Claude asked.

Jon-Luc glanced down at his wrinkled clothes. “Sure, how much time do I have?”

“I will be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Okay, I’ll wait for you out front.” Jon-Luc shut off his phone and tossed it on the nightstand while he slid off the bed. As he removed his jacket, he noticed his shirt stuck to his sweat-drenched body. His head pounded as if he had a hangover. He wished he could talk to someone about these new developments. He felt as if his body was no longer his own. Once naked, he ambled into the bathroom and turned the shower to hot while he relieved himself.

Twelve minutes later, in fresh clothes and wet hair, Jon-Luc emerged through the double doors of the hotel in time to watch Claude pull up.

The moment the car came to a complete stop, Jon-Luc opened the door, slid his lengthy body inside and slammed it shut. His friend handed him a large Starbucks cup.

“God bless you.” Jon-Luc snatched it from his grasp.

“I figured it was the least I could do.”

“What do you know?”

“Not much, I am afraid. Only that the scene is not pretty.”

They sped off and he listened while Claude explained how a runner had found the body around sunrise along the river. Again the killer had left it on the shoulder, no longer hiding his prey in the water.

“This guy is swiftly escalating. He’s getting off on the notoriety. He wants the body found immediately, so he can see himself in the news. Is there a nightclub in the vicinity?”

“Oui, a couple. Why?”

“I think that’s where he found her. We need to circulate her picture and find out which one. Maybe we can get a description of this guy.”

“I already have men scouring the city with pictures of the last three victims as you suggested, but have not had any luck so far. Why are you so sure this is where he is finding them?”

“Call it a hunch.”

“Ah, now we are back to the old Boudreaux gut again. When are you going to tell me the truth, my friend?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Jon-Luc kept his face turned away.

“You are too modest. I happen to know you are the top profiler in the FBI, the one called upon for the most difficult cases. You are not my only friend in the States. Do you remember Lauren Holmes from our class?”

“The one you had a thing with back then? You’re still in touch with her?”

“Yes, we do speak now and again. Birthdays, holidays, that sort of thing. We did not just have a fling. We dated for over three years. If not for the distance, who knows what would have happened between us.”

“I had no idea.”

“It is not something that comes up in conversation. I was not hiding it, you see?”

“I understand. So, what did Lauren share with you about me? Why on earth would she be talking about me in the first place?”

“She was the field agent on a case you worked a few years back. This you remember, yes?”

Jon-Luc racked his brain as he thought about the tough-as-nails petite brunette. “Oh, yeah, the Alphabet Killer case. Man, that was five years ago.”

“Oui, you do remember. She said that another profiler started on that case and bungled it. The Bureau brought you on to clean up his mess, so to speak.”

“Hey, that was a tough case, it wasn’t his fault he got the profile wrong. Profiling isn’t an exact science. Sometimes you have to think outside the box.”

“Yes, and you have made a name for yourself thinking outside the box, as you say. You have a gift, my friend.”

“Or a curse,” Jon-Luc mumbled.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing. Did she say anything else?”

“Just that before you came on board, they had been working the case for six months. Then you showed up and within a week they had caught the killer. She attributed that to you.”

“I don’t know about that. Lauren is a great agent.”

“Why do you not give credit where credit is due, my friend? I am certain that Lauren is good at her job, yes. But somehow, once you are brought in on a case, it is closed most quickly.”

“All this adulation is making me uncomfortable. Can we change the subject?”

“All I am telling you is that I know you have a secret. Why do you not share it with me?”

“There’s nothing to share. Really.”

They pulled up to the scene and Jon-Luc jumped out of the car before Claude could ask any more questions. He knew from experience that no matter how much a person wanted to know the truth, it was not always something they could handle. He did not want to lose his friendship with Claude, so it was best to keep his secret to himself.

They made their way though the throng of people that had gathered along the railing. A uniformed policeman held up the crime scene tape cordoning off the stairs. They strode down the steps single file so as not to disturb any possible evidence. When they got to the body, silence fell. Like Genevieve, the victim was missing her eyes and tongue, but this time the killer had also taken Claira's heart.

The image shifted. Jon-Luc now saw himself and Claude from above, the victim at their feet.

The killer was close.

He was watching him right now.

12

Angie sat in her seat at the symphony. The orchestra played Beethoven's Ode to Joy. Riveted by the performance, she hadn't noticed the tuxedoed man next to her until he snatched her hand and squeezed. She struggled to free her crushed fingers from his clenched fist. The more she squirmed, the tighter his grasp. She began to panic and looked up to see Jon-Luc, his face frozen in the same trance-like state she’d witnessed before.

She shouted, "Stop!"

Angie bolted up in bed and found herself in a strange room. Classical music blared from the CD player/alarm clock on the nightstand next to her. It took her a moment to realize she was in the Beauchamp guest cottage. She glanced at the digital display on the clock; the music had been playing for roughly twenty minutes. No wonder she didn't wake. The music was too soothing. She made a mental note to pick up a Green Day or Offspring CD and switch it out.

She slithered out of bed and made her way down the stairs to the kitchen. The search for coffee was slower than she'd have liked, the remnants of sleep still clung in her head like a fog. Finally she found ground coffee in the refrigerator, prepared the coffeemaker and turned it on.

Now fully awake, happiness didn’t even begin to describe what she felt standing under the glorious spray of hot water in her very own shower, in her very private bathroom.

The stall came equipped with a fancy liquid soap dispenser and some expensive shampoo and conditioner. She recognized the name, but could never afford it herself. As she massaged the shampoo into her hair, a heavenly aroma filled the air and she took a deep breath.

Damn, life is good.

That’s when Angie remembered she didn’t have to worry about being late. In fact, she could have slept longer. She no longer had to take the Metro, she was going to be driven to work. The moment her body was dry, she slipped on her robe and bounded down the stairs to grab a cup of coffee. After she’d poured it, she took a sip and savored the robust flavor.

She lingered in the kitchen drinking her coffee while gazing out the window to the beautiful gardens of the Beauchamp estate. She had daydreamed about having gardens such as these in a home of her own one day. Smaller, of course, but just as breathtaking.

Her eyes slid to the clock above the stove and she jumped. If she didn’t get moving, she would be late. After refilling her cup, she dashed up the stairs.

Angie stopped in front of the table by the door with minutes to spare and scooped her belongings into her arms. Instead of calling the main house, she thought she'd just walk on over to meet Demetrius. She opened the back door and stopped.

A shriek ripped from her throat.

Her arms went numb and her books dropped to the floor. Hanging from a rope a mere foot from her face was a mutilated rabbit. It was gutted from throat to bowels, its entrails dangled from the gaping wound. Blood dripped to the ground below. Slowly she inched back until her body made contact with something solid. Strong hands gripped her arms.

She let out a bloodcurdling scream.

“Claude, look up at the railing. Do you see a man watching us?”

“A few, my friend. Why do you ask?”

“Do any of them look familiar to you?”

“No, not exactly. Do any of them look familiar to you?”

“I’m having a bit of a vision problem at the moment. I can’t see.”

“What can I do?”

“Get someone up there right now and detain the male witnesses.”

“As you wish.” Rapid French flew from Claude’s mouth and Jon-Luc heard the footfalls of several people rush past him.

Jon-Luc, as the killer raced across the street through heavy traffic. Horns honked as he narrowly escaped being struck by a car. Out of breath, adrenaline flooded his bloodstream until he felt he could fly.

He experienced the same emotional and physical sensations as the man who evaded capture. He chanced a look over his shoulder and noticed only one cop behind him. The killer had a good head start, so he ducked down a deserted alley.

He didn’t get far, the passage wasn’t a thoroughfare. Trapped, he did an abrupt about face. No sign of the cop yet. He searched for a place to hide among the boxes, discarded furniture and trash. The slap slap of shoes on asphalt alerted him the danger was close.

The killer backtracked and ducked behind some trashcans just in time. The running stopped at the mouth of alley. He heard the man’s labored breathing and the sound of a snap being released as the cop removed his gun from its holster. The killer held his breath. Careful steps passed his hiding place. He silently slid a knife from his boot. His fear turned to excitement in the blink of an eye.

The killer spied the cop from behind, his gun raised as he cautiously made his way down the path. The cop’s hands shook and the killer inwardly smiled. He had to be a rookie. He almost laughed out loud, this was too easy. Instead, he moved in for the kill.

Jon-Luc watched as one hand reached out, while the other released the blade in the knife. The sound alerted the cop and he started to turn, but the killer was too quick. He snatched the top of his hair with his left hand and yanked hard exposing his neck. The sharp blade sank easily into the flesh. The arterial spray reached several feet. The killer watched in wonder.

He held the man up till the gusher died down to a trickle. Then he released him and the body drifted slowly to the ground. He eyed the puddle of blood as it inched its way toward his feet, then stepped back. For a moment he was entranced. He snapped out of his reverie and surveyed the surrounding area.

He was still alone.

The people walking down the street paid him no mind. He got down on his haunches and cleaned the blade of the knife along the cop’s pant leg. That’s when he noticed his blood-drenched hand. He jumped up, looking around nervously. He grabbed the ankles and pulled the body behind the same trash cans where he'd hidden himself. Once safe from prying eyes, he pulled the guy’s shirt out of his pants for a clean strip of material to wipe his hand.

Most of the blood came off easily, but some had already caked into the creases of his dry skin. His hand looked like a map, the red lines like bloody roads leading nowhere. Panicked, he spit and rubbed. That did nothing. He tucked the blade back into the handle of the knife and slipped it into his boot. He then shoved both his hands in his pockets and strolled out of the alley as if he didn't have a care in the world.

Jon-Luc opened his eyes. An EMT sat next to him taking his blood pressure. “What-?” He sat up quickly, then clutched his head with both hands. His head felt like it might explode. He surveyed his surroundings and found himself on a gurney inside the back of a parked ambulance.

Rapid French flew out of the driver's mouth as he grabbed Jon-Luc, preventing him from rising. Although the language differed from his native Cajun roots, he got the gist. He had fallen and might have a concussion. The guy wanted to see if he needed to take Luc to the hospital.

“No, no, I’m fine." Jon-Luc managed brushing the guy away. He avoided hospitals at all cost. For someone like him, it was like a scene from a zombie movie. The walking dead all had questions and expected him to answer them.

He’d found out the hard way when he was just eleven and his appendix burst. He awoke after surgery to a crowed of spirits surrounding his bed, all vying for his attention. It had scared the crap out of him.

It happened again when he’d been shot a few years back, but that time the hospital had supplied him with a nifty little button to push for pain management. So he’d wake up, look around and find he wasn't alone. Then he’d push his little button and soon he’d be sound asleep in his own morphine-induced coma. Somehow he didn't think that was possible if he showed up at the hospital with a little bump on his head.

“Luc.”

Claude’s voice was close. He pushed the EMT aside and then he could see his friend through the open back doors.

“What the hell happened, Claude?” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat.

“You passed out and hit your head on the ground. I couldn’t wake you. How do you feel?”

Jon-Luc stood and eased himself down from the ambulance, then used his friend’s shoulders to steady himself. “A bit dazed.” He rubbed the knot on his head. “But other than that I’m fine.”

“You should let them check you out at the hospital. The sound of your head hitting the cement was horrifying. The crack was so loud I swear they could hear it at the Louvre. I am surprised there is no blood.”

The EMT appeared in front of Jon-Luc with a penlight. “Follow the light.”

He obliged. Anything to get rid of this guy.

“Well, your pupils aren’t dilated. Do you feel nauseous?”

“I’m sick of you pestering me, but other than that I’m fine,” Jon-Luc said, mustering up his scariest face.

“It’s your funeral.” The EMT turned and closed the ambulance doors, then hopped up in the cab. The loud rumble of the engine filled the air as he started the engine.

“Are you certain, my friend? How is your eyesight?” Claude asked.

“Oh, yeah.” Jon-Luc rubbed his eyes as if checking them out. “They were blurry. But they’re okay now. Sorry if I worried you.”

“All right. We are done here, unless there is something more you need?”

Luc glanced around to get reacquainted with his surroundings. The crime scene. There was something he needed to tell Claude, but couldn’t remember what it was.

“We are still holding the male witnesses.”

“Oh.” Jon-Luc ran a hand through his hair. He remembered now. “Make sure you have photos of all the men. Then make certain to interview everyone standing around and see if they witnessed a man leading a heavily intoxicated woman down the street last night, early dawn.”

“I think perhaps that knock on the head did something to you, my friend. I already have my officers questioning the crowd and someone taping the onlookers.”

“Just checking. Make sure they circulate her picture to all the clubs within walking distance.”

“I have someone making copies of her picture now.”

“Right. Maybe you should have your men recheck all the alleys along this street. I think the killer was here. When you sent your men to secure the scene, he may have slipped into one and is hiding.” That was the only way Jon-Luc could think of to help them find the slain officer. He hoped against hope that the killer had left his DNA.

“Yes, yes,” Claude said, then turned to bark the order to his men.

“I want to see those recordings immediately,” Jon-Luc finished.

“Louis!” Claude yelled to the man with the camera. “When you are done, I need you to set us up in the viewing room so we can go over the recording of the scene.” The man nodded.

Claude’s phone rang and he stepped away to take the call. When he returned, he tapped Jon-Luc on the shoulder. “We need to leave. There is a disturbance at the Beauchamp Chateau.”

13

Still screaming, Angie turned and found herself trembling within Demetrius’ firm grasp. He stood almost seven feet tall with a strong jaw, brown curly hair, brown eyes, and a scar ran the length of his left cheek. Not too many people could intimidate Angie, but if she had to choose one, he would be it.

“You must stop that racket at once,” he said with his pronounced Greek accent.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” Angie pulled away and surprisingly he let her.

“It sounded as if someone were being killed, but you are in one piece.” His brows furrowed.

“Where did you come from? How did you get into the house?”

He pointed behind him. “I came through the front door.” He looked at her like she were stupid.

“I checked that door last night before bed. It was locked.” Angie went though the process in her mind to be sure.

He shrugged. “It is not locked now. Why do you make hysterics?”

Angie pointed toward the open door. “That! That is why I make hysterics.”

His expression changed the moment his eyes landed on the butchered rabbit. To what, she couldn't be certain. He brushed past her and made his way to the animal. He took a switch blade from his pocket and lifted his hand toward the rope.

“Stop!” Angie rushed forward and grabbed his muscled arm, it took two hands to reach the circumference.

His eyes bore down on her. “I am just going to cut it down.” He glared at the hands pulling on his bicep. She released her grip. “I thought it disturbed you. Do you want to leave it up there as an ornament? I do not think Madame Beauchamp would appreciate it very much.”

Angie fisted her hands on her hips. “No. Leave it for the police.”

“Do not be ridiculous, they have better things to do then answer calls for something as silly as a prank.”

“I don’t consider this silly or an innocent prank," she retorted.

Just then the maid and cook came rushing across the lawn, then stopped short when they saw what was causing all the commotion. The young servant girl screamed and covered her mouth.

The cook crossed her ample bosom, saying in a heavy Irish brogue, “Dear Mother of God. Saints preserve us.”

Bringing up the rear was the woman of the house. “What is going on here?” The women stepped aside and Lissette’s eyes focused on the offending object. Without hesitation, she started barking orders. “Demetrius, put the knife away and go call the police from the main house.” He did as told before he rushed off.

“Mamie, go back to what you were doing. Madame O’Connell, go put on a pot of tea. We will be there in a moment.”

Then to Angie, she said, “Come here, girl.” Lissette opened her arms. Angie skirted the maimed rabbit and fell into the woman’s embrace. The moment she felt her arms close around her, the tears began to fall.

Claude drove through the gates toward the Chateau de Beauchamp and Jon-Luc whistled. “Holy crap. Designing clothes must pay a hell of a lot more than I ever imagined.”

“Madame Beauchamp inherited the bulk of the estate from her late husband, who was a billionaire. I did a little research on the internet. Evidently, back in the sixties, she was a famous fashion model here in France when she met her husband.

"After they married, she gave it all up. He traveled extensively on business and they did not want to be separated. He was twenty years her senior. He died just a few years ago. They never had children and his family consisted of a few distant cousins.”

Jon-Luc marveled at the sprawling ivy-covered Tudor style mansion while Claude headed in the direction of a couple of police cars with flashing lights to the left of the home. After closing the car door, he followed his friend toward a small cottage behind the main house that probably served as a guest quarters or servant’s residence.

As they got closer, Claude’s brisk French littered the air and the men snapped to attention, backing away so he and Jon-Luc could see the reason they were there.

From where he stood, Jon-Luc could only see the back of a rabbit as it hung by the neck facing an open door. A puddle of blood lay on the front stoop, drying in the morning sun. Claude took a pen from his pocket and poked the carcass until it faced them.

“Nasty,” Jon-Luc said as he scratched his chin.

“Not a pretty sight, I agree.” Claude removed the pen and the tiny body swung around.

“Not something I'd want to see first thing in the morning. Who's staying in this house?” Jon-Luc asked to no one in particular.

One of the policemen spoke up. “A woman who works for the Madame who owns the château. She is up at the main house.” He pointed toward the mansion they'd passed.

“We will go up and interview her.” After making certain the crime scene was protected and the forensic team had been called, Claude led the way across the large expanse of lawn toward the back of the house.

Claude knocked on a set of glass French doors and waited until a young woman in a maid’s uniform appeared. He showed her his credentials and she stepped back to let them enter. He asked after the woman of the house and the maid led them to the parlor.

There, Jon-Luc noticed a striking brunette somewhere in her fifties, if he had to guess. She wore a straight skirt with a fitted suit jacket in royal blue, small earrings and a string of pearls around her neck. Her makeup was simple, but effective. Jon-Luc assumed she must be Madame Beauchamp.

She sat in a chair pulled close to the couch, and her hands rested on a younger woman’s knees. The other woman clutched a tea cup with both hands, which trembled ever so slightly. Madame Beauchamp murmured softly. Jon-Luc zeroed in on the younger woman’s face.

“Angie?”

Angie’s head swiveled toward him. “Jon-Luc?”

“You two know each other?” Madame Beauchamp asked.

“Yes,” they said in unison.

Madame’s eyebrows rose. “Interesting.”

Angie turned toward her. “He’s the man who interviewed me yesterday about Genevieve Lamont.”

Madame glanced at Jon-Luc, then back at Angie. A smile touched her lips. “I see.”

“What are you doing here?” Jon-Luc focused intently on Angie as he awaited her answer.

“I live here now. I mean, as of last night. I’m staying in the guest quarters. What are you doing here? I thought you were investigating that serial killer.” Her face went pale. “Oh, no, don’t tell me there’s been another murder.”

The men grew silent.

Claude spoke first. “I flagged Madame Beauchamp’s name in the system. I received a call from dispatch regarding the trouble here this morning. We rushed over to see if it had anything to do with our investigation.”

Lissette Beauchamp took a deep breath and relaxed against her chair. “Ah. Well, certainly this does not have anything to do with the murders.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure. This is a threat, a vicious one. And it seems to be directed toward Angie in particular. We have no way of knowing the other girls didn’t receive a similar threat but kept it to themselves,” Jon-Luc said.

“Oh, my God, you may be right. Demetrius wanted to simply cut it down. He said he wouldn’t bother the police with a silly prank. Maybe the other girls thought the same?” Angie said.

“Who is this Demetrius and where is he now?” Jon-Luc felt his temper rise, but kept his best poker face in place.

“I’m sure he is around here somewhere. I told him to call the police,” Madame said.

“We would like to speak with him,” Claude said.

Madame Beauchamp stood and walked over to a table where she picked up a phone, then punched in a couple of numbers. “Mamie, please find Demetrius and tell him to come to the parlor.” She listened a moment, then, “I see. I will try him on his mobile.”

She directed her next comment to the men still standing in the doorway. “He told Mamie he could see he would not be needed for a while, so he went to run some errands. I’ll just call him and tell him to return. Why don’t you gentlemen take a seat and make yourselves comfortable. Can I get you some coffee, maybe tea?”

Jon-Luc perked up at the suggestion. “Coffee would be great, thank you.”

“And you, monsieur…?” Madame Beauchamp let the question hang in the air.

“Inspector Claude Rousseau.” He flashed his credentials. “And this is my associate Jon-Luc Boudreaux.” He pointed in Jon-Luc’s direction who nodded. “Coffee would be nice, thank you.”

Jon-Luc sat on the sofa next to Angie, while Claude sat in a chair opposite. Lissette picked up the house phone and ordered a pot of coffee. Then she dialed again. He heard her voice, but not the words. His focus had been drawn to the woman beside him.  After Madame Beauchamp hung up, she said, “Demetrius did not pick up, so I left him a message. I am certain I will be hearing from him soon.”

Jon-Luc looked across at Claude and knew he was thinking the same thing. The guy was avoiding the police. The question was, why?

Madame Beauchamp sat down and placed her hands in her lap, her back ramrod straight. “Now gentlemen, how can we help you?”

Over the next two hours they questioned the women together. Not only about the dead rabbit and whether anyone had heard or seen anything the night before, but also about Claira Raines. The moment she learned of Claira’s demise, Madame Beauchamp broke down in tears. Angie looked as if she couldn’t take another blow. Her face turned chalk white and her hands twisted in her lap. It was all Jon-Luc could do not to put his arms around her.

“Ladies, I don’t like leaving you here unprotected,” Jon-Luc blurted out.

“I can have a patrol car drive by every hour,” Claude offered.

“Do you have a security system?” Jon-Luc asked.

“Why yes. It is by the front door,” Madame Beauchamp said.

Jon-Luc stood. “We should check it out, if you don’t mind.”

Madame Beauchamp rose from her chair. “Of course, this way.” She walked toward the front of the house. Claude followed.       Jon-Luc's eyes followed the two as they left the room, then seized the opportunity to be alone with Angie. He dropped back down on the couch and placed his arm around her shoulders protectively.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly. Her big eyes stared at him a moment before answering.

“I suppose.” Her words just above a whisper.

It was killing him, all the life seemed to have drained out of her. All her spunk had fled. He stroked the back of her head once before he let his hand drop. “I don’t want to leave you here. We have no idea what kind of sick fuck we’re dealing with right now. The fact he seems to have turned his attention to you angers and scares the shit out of me all at the same time.”

“What are you going to do, put me in your back pocket?” she said sarcastically.

He smiled and took her chin in his hand. “I would if I could.”

Her brows furrowed. “You don’t even know me.”

“You're right.” He turned away as if he’d been slapped.

“Look, you’re very kind, but I’m not your responsibility.”

That ticked him off. His head swung back and his eyes locked with hers before he answered. “I know I’m not crazy," he ground out. "There's something going on here between us. I feel it every time I’m around you. I know you feel it too. So don’t go acting like I’m some kind of weird stalker guy for worrying about you.”

She broke eye contact first and looked down, then placed a hand on his knee. “I know, you’re right. I’m sorry,” she said at last. “But I’ll be okay.”

“Will you? While you slept all warm and cozy in your bed last night, some psycho was carving up a rabbit to surprise you with this morning.” Angie visibly shivered while she gazed up at him with wide eyes. “I don’t want to imagine what he's dreamed up for you tonight.”

Jon-Luc stared into those bright blue eyes and saw fear, vulnerability. He couldn’t take it anymore. He put his hands on her cheeks, then leaned over and kissed her gently on the mouth. He pulled back and waited for her to protest, and when she didn’t, he did it again, this time with feeling. The moment his tongue met hers, he moaned. He pulled her into an embrace and deepened the kiss. He didn’t want it to end.

Someone cleared their throat and they jumped back like a couple of teenagers caught by their parents. Claude and Madame Beauchamp stood in the doorway smiling.

“So, uh, would you like me to leave you here, or are you going with me?” Claude asked.

“No, I… ah.” He didn’t know if he could stand, or if his jeans would camouflage his erection. “Right.” He got up facing Angie and shoved his hands in his front pockets. “I’ll call you later.” She nodded and smiled. Then he turned and faced his friend who wore an irritating grin. Jon-Luc scowled.

14

Once in the car, Jon-Luc turned to Claude. “Tell me about the security system.”

“It covers only the main house and needs to be updated. I told her so myself.”

“What about the guest quarters, the gate?”

Claude shrugged. "I suggested she do something about that, but she replied she had Demetrius and Michael living on the grounds.”

“I already don’t trust this Demetrius guy, and who the hell is Michael?”

“Some sort of assistant. He’s been with her about a year.”

“Whatever. Fat lot of good they did last night. I want to hire a few guys for security. Do you know any cops who need to make extra cash?”

“Whoa, what are you doing, my friend? I think you have lost some marbles, no? You just met this girl yesterday and today you are making love to her on a sofa? You move mighty fast, I think.”

“We were not making love, we simply kissed.”

“There was not anything simple about that kiss. From where I stood, you were in the throes of passion. Had we not come in when we did, who knows?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Anyway, I did not just meet her yesterday, we had met twice before. In fact I keep running into her.”

“Ah, so it is fate. I see.” Claude nodded his head.

“Call it what you will, but this is no ordinary woman.” Jon-Luc stared out the side window, but did not see the countryside flying by. Instead he saw Angie, scared and looking forlorn. It killed him to leave her in such a vulnerable state. He turned back toward Claude. “I want a man on the gate checking everyone who enters the property and two walking the grounds at all times. I will pay for it.”

“As you wish, my friend. I will make it happen.”

“Thank you, Claude.” Jon-Luc felt better, but not much. There had to be more he could do. “Do you have anyone interviewing this Michael and the other employees on the estate?”

“Yes, it is being taken care of.” Claude looked at him now, concern etched his features. “How is your head?”

“Fine." He absently rubbed the bump. "I’d forgotten all about it.”

“Do you think perhaps that is why you are acting so impulsively?”

“I’m just being careful.” Jon-Luc knew he sounded defensive, but couldn’t help it. Why was it that Claude didn’t understand? Hell, maybe he was acting a little crazy, but there was nothing he could do about it. Then he got an idea.

“Claude, turn around.”

“What?” Claude looked at him full on, his eyes wide.

“Turn around, we’re going back.”

“But the autopsy.”

“You can drop me off. Once I’m satisfied by the security there, I’ll take a cab back to the city.” Now that Jon-Luc had made his decision, he was determined to stand by it.

Claude pulled a U-turn. “I take it back, you have lost all of your marbles.”

Silence filled the car as they headed back to the château. Jon-Luc’s anxiety had eased since he'd come up with a plan. Once the car came to a complete stop, he stepped out. Before he closed the door, he bent down. “Call me with the names of the guys you’re sending over and let me know what you learn at the autopsy.”

“Very well.” Claude looked concerned, but there was nothing Jon-Luc could do about it.

He slammed the door and watched the car disappear down the long drive before climbing the stairs to the front stoop. The moment the door opened, he brushed past the maid before she could utter a word. “Where is Madame Beauchamp?”

The maid stared at him a moment, her mouth agape. Then she pointed toward the parlor.

“Thanks,” he said in passing. When he stepped into the room, he found the women huddled on the couch.

“Ladies.” Startled, their heads swiveled toward him in unison.

Angie’s eyebrows rose. “Jon-Luc?”

He stalked over to the fireplace, then turned back.

“Has something else happened?” Madame Beauchamp’s hand flew to her breast.

“Not yet, but I’m here to make sure it doesn’t. Madame Beauchamp-”

“Please call me Lissette.”

“Okay, Lissette, I don’t think either of you are taking this threat seriously.”

“That's where you are wrong. I take this matter very seriously. Someone has threatened a person I care about. I do not take kindly to that even one little bit,” Lissette said firmly.

“Great. Have you called your security company yet?”

“Well, no, we—”

“That’s what I thought. May I have the number?”

“Oh.” Then a beat later, she stood. “I guess that would be all right.” Lissette left the room.

“Jon-Luc, what are you doing?” Angie whispered.

“Trying to protect you.”

“Do you really think the killer is after me?”

“I don’t want to find out the hard way.”

Lissette returned carrying an address book. She sat on the edge of the couch and flipped through it until she found the page. “Here it is. But I don’t know how long it will take to get them out here.” She handed the book over to Jon-Luc.

“This is an emergency. I want them here immediately. If I need to, I'll have Claude call them directly. How far are you willing to go? I think you need a state-of-the-art system, with cameras and sensors covering the property as well as the windows and doors in the entire house.”

“Spare no expense. If that is what it takes to keep everyone here safe, then do it.”

“Good. I also think Angie should move into the main house with you. You should be working here as well, instead of the hotel, until the actual day of the show. Is that going to be a problem?”

“Not at all,” Lissette answered.

“Great. I’m also hiring some men for security.”

“Do you really think that’s necessary with all the cameras and sensors?” Angie asked.

“Yes. If someone breaches the perimeter, I want professionals here to deal with the intruder. You are way out here in the country. Who knows how long it would take the police to get here once they’re called. I’m not taking any chances.”

“Yes, of course, whatever you think.” Lissette sat back next to Angie and put her arm around her shoulder.

“And I want that gate closed at all times. Was it closed last night?”

“I cannot be certain. I guess I have gotten lax about security since my husband passed away. He was the one in charge of such things. But I will have the gate closed at once. Anything else?”

The woman appeared eager now, which relieved Jon-Luc. He wasn’t certain if he’d be met with resistance or not. He started to pace back and forth before them.

“I'll put a man on the gate until we have all the new security in place, then we can put him on the cameras. He’ll be able to buzz people in once he has eyes on them. The men will be off-duty policemen, so they’ll be armed and know how to handle a crisis.” Jon-Luc stopped in front of Lissette.

“I’m surprised your husband didn’t take care of this sooner. I mean, you have a large estate here, with some very impressive artwork. Isn't that a Gauguin in the entry?”

“Why, yes." She seemed pleased he'd noticed. "And that is a Monet.” She pointed above the fireplace. “My husband was quite the collector. The system we have has served us well over the years, but you are right. Times have changed. Even without this recent threat, we should have updated the security here a long time ago.

“The alarm company comes out every six months to test things and make certain it is running properly. I have had more than one inspector comment on my antiquated system. I am sorry I did not get around to it sooner. So please, do whatever you think is necessary. I truly appreciate having an expert handle this for me,” Lissette said with sincerity.

“I’ll get on it right away.” Jon-Luc took the address book from Lissette and called the company from his cell phone. He told them everything he needed and that he wanted the items installed immediately. The man he spoke with informed him they could get started today, but that some of the equipment was not readily available. He would need to place an order. The job would take a few days to complete.

Once he'd ended the call, he turned back to Lissette. “Have you heard from Demetrius?”

“Not yet,” Lissette answered.

Jon-Luc's senses hummed. “Is that normal?”

“Well, no, but he has been with me for many years. He is very competent. My husband hired him. Not only as a driver, but a bodyguard. I trust him with my life. I must admit, that is one reason I did not hurry to update the security on the house.

“He lives above the garage. If ever I need him, I can simply call. It has given me peace of mind since the passing of my husband. Then there is Michael, and he too lives on the property. He is younger, but he is a strapping young man. Both men are big and can handle themselves.”

“And where is this Michael? I’d like to speak with him.”

“Unfortunately, Michael is not here. I sent him to pick up some items for me.” She looked at her watch. “He should be returning within the hour. I will send him to you the moment he arrives.”

“Great. Now about those cameras. Do you have some place where we can set up as a security room?”

Lissette stood and smoothed her skirt. “I believe so, follow me.”

True to their word, the security company sent over several men who were busy working around the estate. They replaced the system in the main house, then added sensors at the electronic gate and around the outside wall of the property. Jon-Luc showed the men all the places he wanted cameras. They were busy erecting posts at the moment. Some would be hidden in trees. The cameras themselves were on order and would take a couple of days to arrive.

Claude had sent over three men. Jon-Luc had two walking the perimeter and one standing guard at the gate. The one at the gate had the house phone and Jon-Luc’s number programmed into his cell. He instructed him not to let anyone in without permission from either himself or Lissette.

Jon-Luc was in the middle of helping the man setting up the monitors in the butler's pantry, a small unused room off the kitchen in the back of the house when his cell phone rang.

“Boudreaux here.”

“This is Greg at the front gate. I have a suspicious looking guy who says he works here. His name is Demetrius Marcos.”

“Have you checked his ID?” Jon-Luc asked.

“Yes, and the address on it is this one. Should I let him in?”

“Yes. And tell him to come directly to the main house.”

“Yes, monsieur.”

Jon-Luc slipped his phone back into his pocket and made his way toward the front door. By the time he opened it, a black Rolls Royce had pulled up at the base of the steps. A muscle-bound guy unfolded himself from the driver’s seat. His eyes locked on Jon-Luc’s as he slammed the door and strode purposefully toward him. Animosity came off him in waves.

“This should be fun,” Jon-Luc muttered under his breath.

Then louder, he addressed the man. “You must be Demetrius.” Jon-Luc’s hand shot out while he waited for the man to make his way up the steps. He looked dangerous, not just his size, but the way he carried himself. He wore a tailored suit that looked expensive. A scar ran the length of his left cheek. He was a tad taller than Jon-Luc, about six-seven, and outweighed him by a good thirty pounds, all muscle.

The man stared at the outstretched hand and ignored it.

“Who are you? What is going on here?” His accent was heavy, Jon-Luc couldn’t place it.

“My name is Jon-Luc Boudreaux, and I’m consulting with Inspector Claude Rousseau, Criminal Division of the Police Nationale. I have a few questions for you.”

The man all but harrumphed as he stalked past him into the house. Jon-Luc shut the door and followed.

“Where would you like to talk?” Jon-Luc asked.

“I am going to eat my lunch. I do not care where you go.”

“Fine, the kitchen it is.” Jon-Luc watched as Demetrius headed straight to the stainless steel refrigerator and took out a giant sandwich on a plate surrounded with plastic wrap.

He grabbed a jar of pickles from the door, and a bottle of orange juice. He set them all on the island in the center of the room and sat on a stool, ignoring Jon-Luc. He opened the juice and drank straight from the container.

Jon-Luc sat on a stool across from him. “I’d like to know where you were last night.”

The plastic container of juice slammed down on the counter and the man stared at Jon-Luc. For a moment it didn’t look as if he would answer. Then he glared defiantly at him.

“I took a drive,” Demetrius finally said.

“Alone?”

“Yes, alone.”

“Where'd you go?”

“Around.”

This guy wasn't helping his cause. “Anyone who can verify that? Did you stop anywhere? Get gas maybe?” Jon-Luc asked.

“No.”

“And when did this drive take place?”

“I left around eleven and got back around three.” He took a huge bite of his sandwich.

“That’s a long drive.”

He chewed a bit before he answered. “I can do what I want with my time off.” He washed his sandwich down with some more juice before he took another bite. The way he was going at it, he’d have the entire thing finished in four, five bites tops.

“Yeah? Does that include mutilating rabbits in order to scare women?”

“I did not do that. I think you are going too far regarding some prank. Who was at the gate when I arrived?”

“Security.”

“I am Madame Beauchamp’s security. I have been for as long as I have worked here. She does not need no one else.” Then Demetrius shoved more of the sandwich into his mouth.

“Really. And what about last night when someone was on the property leaving a menacing message for Angela Henderson to find? What kind of security were you supplying then?”

“Michael told me he would be home. Why do you not talk with him?” Demetrius ate half a pickle in one bite.

“Oh, I will, believe me. But for now, I’m talking to you. And not getting very far, I might add.”

Demetrius popped the last bite of sandwich and pickle into his mouth and brushed the crumbs off on his pants. “I do not know what you want me to say,” he said through a mouthful of food. “I would not do such a thing.” He took his plate to the sink, then put the pickles and orange juice back in the fridge.

“So you didn’t stop at any clubs last night? Maybe have a drink with Claira Raines?” Jon-Luc watched as he slammed the refrigerator door, his back stiffened.

Without turning around he said, “What does she have to do with this?”

“She was murdered last night.” That got his attention. He swung around and glared at Jon-Luc.

“Claira is dead?”

Jon-Luc saw a shadow flicker across the man's face, then the scowl was back. He wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light or just good acting. But this guy was hiding something, and Jon-Luc was going to find out what.

15

Angie entered the kitchen and stopped. Jon-Luc and Demetrius were squaring off as if they were about to go at each other.

“Am I interrupting something?” They turned their heads.

Jon-Luc came over to her. “Not at all. Did you need something?”

“Actually, I wanted to ask Demetrius to take me into the city. I need to get everything from the hotel and bring it back here. Lissette wants to set up operations in the ballroom.”

“Can Demetrius do it alone? I’d rather you not leave the grounds right now. I’d like to keep an eye on you.”

Angie glanced over at Demetrius. “Do you mind?” She dreaded his response, as she swore the guy hated her.

He shrugged. “Make a list. I need to go to my quarters first. I’ll pick it up from you on my way out.”

“Actually, we need everything: gowns, sewing machines, the riser. We’re moving the entire operation here until the show. Maybe you should take Michael with you.”

“I can do it,” he grumbled without looking her in the eye. Angie flinched at his brusque attitude. He disappeared through the back door and she turned toward Jon-Luc.

“I guess I should move my things from the guest house,” Angie said.

“Let me help you,” Jon-Luc offered.

“It’s not much.”

“No problem. I’d like to talk with you alone anyway.” He opened the back door and waited for her to go first.

“Okay,” Angie said as she passed him on her way out.

Jon-Luc walked alongside her. “So, how you holding up?”

She slid him a look. “Do you mean after I woke to a butchered rabbit at my door, or how I found out I might be on a serial killer’s ‘To Do’ list?”

Jon-Luc chuckled. “Both.”

She grinned. “Isn’t that a lot like asking, other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you like the play?”

He laughed and shook his head. “I guess you’re right. Look, I know this is a lot to take in, but we're doing everything we can to catch this crazy son-of-a-bitch.”

“Yeah. Well, I’d really appreciate it if you could do it before he kills me.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Just sayin’.”

“Yeah.”

Jon-Luc placed his hand at the small of her back after they left the brick path and made their way across the grass. The contact made her tingle. Like Pavlov's dog, her body instantly reacted to his touch the way it had during the kiss they'd shared. Damn, the guy really knew his stuff. The way her female parts responded was embarrassing. Earlier, Lissette had just asked about him before he walked back into the room. Angie prayed he hadn’t heard.

They had just rounded the corner of the cottage when she stopped, and the smile died on her lips. A large puddle of dried blood stained the front stoop. In that moment, the enormity of the situation came flooding back.

She felt Jon-Luc's hand on her shoulder. “We should probably go through the front door,” he said quietly.

“Yeah.” She followed him to the formal entrance of the cottage.

Not until they entered her room did Jon-Luc break the silence. “You know, it was very inappropriate of me to kiss you, under the circumstances.”

Angie turned around with a load of clothes she'd just taken from the closet and threw them on the bed. “Let’s just say it took me by surprise,” she said without looking at him.

He chuckled. It sounded a bit self-conscious, something she never would have expected from this man. “Uh, yeah. You and me both,” he said before he grabbed a suitcase from the bottom of the closet, placed it on the bed and undid the zipper.

Jon-Luc’s cell phone rang and he excused himself before he walked out into the hall. “Yeah, Claude, what’s up?”

“I just came from autopsy. Cause of death on Claira Raines is exsanguination. The cut in the throat. Everything else was done to her body postmortem,” Claude said.

“Thank God for that. So, she bled to death like the others. Was she sexually assaulted?”

“No. What are you thinking?”

“I think this guy's getting off. There's a sexual component to his kills. Stripping the women, then taking their clothes with him. Shame could be part of his ritual. Everyone feels vulnerable when naked, women especially. It's been my experience, no matter how beautiful the woman, she's always critical about her body. Did your team do a specific search for semen?”

“I will check and get back to you.”

“Great. I talked to Demetrius Marcos, he’s the driver and Madame Beauchamp's bodyguard. This guy’s a real piece of work. He has no alibi for last night. I’ll need the dates when the other women where murdered to see if he has a reliable alibi for any of them.

“He has a real issue with me. I'm not certain if it's with all cops, or me in particular. I can’t tell what kind of accent he has, but it's not French. I thought he'd be Russian, because of the name, but that’s not quite it either.”

“Could it be Greek?” Claude asked.

“Maybe. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a mob connection in his background. This guy is rough. Madame Beauchamp claims her husband hired him. I’d place him in his mid-thirties. The other employee, Michael, hasn’t shown up yet.

“He was supposed to be watching things around here last night since it was Demetrius’ night off.” Jon-Luc paced the length of the hall as he spoke. “In my opinion, either guy would qualify as our killer. Both had access and knew the models. I believe the victims recognized the UNSUB and trusted him enough to go with him.”

“It is a possibility. What else is going on?” Claude asked.

“The guys you sent over showed up and I’m overseeing the installation of the new alarm system. Can’t yet say when I’ll be finished. How about we just keep in touch for now?”

“Sounds good.” Claude hung up and Jon-Luc did the same.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught Jon-Luc’s attention. He jerked his head to the floor below. A naked Claira Raines stared at him with vacant holes, her once perfect body now marred by a gaping hole in the chest. The wound in her neck grinned at him like a garish smile, and blood seeped from the abrasion.

The apparition turned her back on him and floated toward the kitchen. She glanced back before disappearing through the closed door. Jon-Luc slipped his phone into a pocket and gave chase. By the time he yanked open the door, she was nowhere to be found. He ran out onto the lawn, his eyes scanning the grounds in all directions.

Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair. Then he caught a glimpse of her again on the other side of the estate by the gazebo. Jon-Luc rushed toward her, but by the time he made it to the spot, she'd disappeared again. He stood in one place and spun around searching the gardens. It was no use. She was gone.

Claira was trying to show him something, but what?

Finally he gave up and jogged back to the cottage. When he entered the back door, Angie was coming down the stairs juggling two bags. He rushed over to take them from her.

“Thanks. Is everything all right?” she asked as she followed him down the rest of the stairs. “You’ve been gone awhile. Did it have anything to do with the phone call you received?”

“Everything's fine. I was just checking on the security guards. Sorry I didn’t tell you first.”

Jon-Luc led the way to the main house, then up the stairs to the second floor. “Did Lissette tell you which room you would be occupying?”

“Last room on the left,” Angie said as she took the lead.

“Wow, what an amazing room.” She walked straight to the window and looked down. “The pool looks so inviting from up here. I might just take a dip before supper.”

Jon-Luc set the bags on the bed and joined her. Obviously heated, steam wafted up from the water. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind joining you.” He turned his head to see her gazing up at him with those incredible blue eyes. A jolt shot through his body. He brushed her cheek with his finger, then quickly dropped his hand.

What the hell is wrong with me? I can't seem to keep my hands off her.

“Are you finding everything you need, Angela?” Lissette came into the room and stopped.

Angie moved away from Jon-Luc. “Everything's great, Lissette. Thank you so much for your hospitality.”

“Nonsense, you are family.” The older woman turned toward Jon-Luc. “Cocktails will be served at eight and dinner at nine. Will you be joining us this evening?” Her brilliant smile almost blinded him.

“Thank you for the invitation. I’m not sure at this time. I’ll have to see how things go.” He turned back to Angie. “Speaking of which, I’ll let you get settled.”

“Lissette, can I speak with you a moment, alone?” Jon-Luc asked as he led her out of the room.

16

As it turned out, Jon-Luc did not stay for dinner after all. Instead he met Claude at 36 Quai des Orfèvres as it was known by its address, headquarters to the Criminal Division of the Police Nationale in Paris. He and Claude sat alone in the viewing room studying the footage taken at this morning’s crime scene.

“Do any of these men stand out to you?” Claude asked.

“No, dammit. You’d think after scanning this damn thing for the last two hours we’d have something." Jon-Luc hoped he’d see a man take off with a cop chasing him. Unfortunately, that hadn’t been captured on camera.

They did find the policeman who'd been brutally murdered. The forensic team was still busy going over both crime scenes, but so far they'd found no hair, fingerprints, fibers, or semen. Nothing to identify the killer. Jon-Luc sat back and ran his fingers through his hair.

“You done?” Claude asked.

“Boy, am I.”

Claude hit the lights, then walked back to the table and pulled some photos from a file. “Take a look at these.”

Jon-Luc picked them up and studied them. “Grainy. What am I looking at?”

“Those are still shots taken from a video feed in the club Crystal. This is Claira Raines with the tall man in the baseball cap. She talked with him for about ten minutes before they left together through the front door. Witnesses say he had to hold her up, she was so drunk. No one could give us a description of the guy's face. All they could say was he was big. None of the camera angles caught even a side view of his face. It’s as if he knew where they were located.”

“Great. I take it she was identified by the photo your guys were carrying? Because I sure wouldn’t be able recognize her from these shots.”

“Yes. Then we got hold of the surveillance video and our own guy sharpened the image as best he could to provide us with these stills.”

“So all we know about this guy is he's tall. That really narrows it down. Did any of your witnesses recognize the other victims?”

“No. Just Claira. I still have men scouring the city with their photos to all the clubs, but still nothing.”

Jon-Luc crossed his arms across his chest and put his boots up on the table in front of him, then looked over at Claude. “I talked to Lissette Beauchamp at length about her two male employees before I left. Evidently, she and her husband were big on taking in strays—my observation, not hers. I doubt either man came with references. Lissette’s husband helped Demetrius out of a, and I quote, ‘very bad situation’ back in Greece. He hired him and got him a work visa here in France.

“She says he’s proven to be a very competent and loyal employee. She never felt the need for a bodyguard, but if it put her husband’s mind at ease, it was fine with her. Now that her husband's gone, it gives her comfort having a protective man like him around.”

Claude opened a folder and began to skim the page before he spoke. “I ran a background check on Demetrius Markos. He is thirty-five years old. Born and raised in Greece. Grew up poor. Had a few B & E’s in his youth, then later a drug bust that made it into the newspapers. After the arrest, his seventeen year old sister was murdered by what they were calling a drive-by. No arrests made, but it was rumored that the Velentzas crime family was involved. After that, or because of it, Markos pled guilty to the charges, did five years, then disappeared when he got out.”

“I’d say Lissette’s right. Being involved with the Velentzas Crime family would be a very bad situation. It also explains his dislike of cops.”

“What did you find out about this Michael D’Arcy?” Claude asked before he drank some coffee.

“He’s a good boy. Her words, not mine. Shy. Orphaned at the ripe old age of nineteen. Claims he came to France to find his roots. No siblings. Grew up in the States. She doesn’t know where. Claims to have moved around a lot, maybe he’s an Army brat. Hard worker.

“Handsome enough to be a model, but not interested. She even went so far as to set up an interview with a friend of hers from her old modeling agency, but he didn’t show. The kid’s obviously not interested in making money. He’s worked and lived on the grounds for a little over a year. Does whatever he’s asked. No task too small. Suffice it to say, she doesn’t see him carving up bunnies, or killing models either.”

Claude opened another folder lying on the table in front of him. Jon-Luc took his boots off the table and leaned forward. “Don’t get too excited. Before he landed here, the guy was a spirit,” Claude informed him.

“You mean a ghost?”

“Isn’t that what I said?”

“Fine, have it your way. Did you have a professional do the background check, or did you try to do it yourself?”

“And what is wrong with my angry computer skills?” Claude tried his best to look indignant, but Jon-Luc wasn’t buying it.

Jon-Luc raised an eyebrow. “You mean you’ve acquired mad computer skills when I wasn’t looking?"

“Okay, fine. When I came up with nothing, I had a guy in the department look into it. But when he came up empty, I knew there was something smelly going on.”

“You mean fishy?”

Claude’s brows knitted. “Is there a difference?”

“I guess not, go on.”

“The name Michael D’Arcy is a common enough name, but he couldn’t find anyone who matched his description in his early twenties.”

When Jon-Luc got back to the hotel, he took a hot shower, then fell into bed. He lay on his back with his hands clasped behind his head, thinking. Both Beauchamp employees were hiding something, but of course that didn’t mean either one was the UNSUB.

Claude had dug up the names of the models that hung out with Genevieve Lamont and Claira Raines. They had to assume the close-knit group was either in on the Melody Waterston prank or at least privy to it. They planned on interviewing them tomorrow.

His mind conjured up Angie, the still shots flashed through his head like a slide show and he wondered how she was doing. He glanced at the clock by the bed. It was after midnight. No, she wouldn’t appreciate hearing from him right now. He dozed off with her image in his head.

He was standing in the shadows outside an apartment building. The window he’d been watching went dark. A moment later, a woman emerged from the front door and walked briskly down the street. He followed from a safe distance on the other side of the street. Without warning, the woman turned around and surveyed the area behind her. He jumped back into the shadows and stood still, holding his breath. His heartbeat kicked up a notch. A moment later, she continued on.

The neighborhood was quiet and dimly lit. A couple walking hand in hand passed him from the opposite direction, and he kept his head down, eyes on the ground. He glanced up in time to see the woman strut under a streetlight.

She had a riot of red curls cascading around her shoulders and down her back. Her glittery black dress hugged her body like a glove, barely covering her ass. Large hoop earrings swayed with the rhythm of her steps, and a small clutch purse rested in her hand.

Her stride held confidence and purpose as she headed toward the brightly lit street ahead. If he didn’t know better, he’d have mistaken her for a hooker. To his way of thinking, she was lower than that. Just then, he realized he couldn’t let her make it off this block. There was too much light, too many witnesses ahead.

With stealth, he rushed across the street and landed a few feet behind her. She turned around so quickly, he almost ran into her.

At first she was startled, but her face instantly relaxed. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

Without thinking, he grabbed her; one hand around her waist, the other across her mouth. She struggled against him, his dick grew hard. While dragging her toward the dark alley, her teeth sank into the fleshy part of his hand. He yelped and eased his grip. She wiggled free. Panicked, he grabbed a hank of her hair and yanked her back against his body. He whispered into her ear. “You scream or struggle and I’ll fucking kill you.”

Her body went limp and he dragged her into the empty chasm. Let her think he intended to rape her. The dark embraced him and he let her drop. He removed his blade and slit the dress from neckline to hem.

The tight elastic material quickly snapped to her sides, revealing naked flesh. He sneered. “It figures. How can you dress like this and not expect men to go after the goods?”

A cry escaped her lips. He shoved the knife up under her chin drawing blood. Her eyes rounded like saucers, her mouth became a grim line.

The fear in her eyes egged him on. He thought of all the things he’d like to do to her.

For Melody.

His sweet, beautiful Melody.

He decided her death would not be swift.

17

Jon-Luc awoke to a faint tingling sound. He squinted. Sun streaked through the open drapes of his hotel room. Reluctantly he glanced at the clock. Half-past seven. He shook his head. As the haze began to lift, he realized the muffled sound came from his cell phone. He jumped out of bed, made his way to the chair and started rifling through the pockets of his discarded clothes. By the time he'd found his phone, the ringing had stopped. He pressed send and before long Claude answered.

“Luc?”

“There’s been another murder.” Jon-Luc sat down on the edge of the bed hunched over.

“Wow, you must be psychic,” Claude said, sarcastically.

Jon-Luc sighed. “Right. I think I’ve heard that joke before.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“I’ll be at the hotel in about. . .seven minutes. Can you be ready?”

“Sure. See ya then.”

Claude’s car stood idling in front of the hotel when Jon-Luc came through the double doors. The moment he slid into the seat, Claude handed him a coffee.

“Thanks.” Jon-Luc took the coffee. “Do you know anything yet?”

“The victim had a purse nearby, ID inside says her name is Lexine Wilson.”

“Is she by any chance on the list of girls we're going to interview today?” Jon-Luc sipped his coffee while he waited for the answer.

“Yes, and before you ask, I’ve already sent cars around to the other girls’ residences for protection.”

“Good. If I were you, I’d insert a guy in the actual dwelling. We can’t take any chances.”

“Right.” Claude placed a call and relayed the information.

Once he’d put his phone away, he turned to Jon-Luc. “This killer is taking a life a day. What do you make of this?”

“He has a task he needs to complete before he’s stopped. Do you have any idea what this girl looks like? Does she by any chance have red hair?”

“I had her passport picture sent to my phone, she’s Scottish.” He pulled it up and handed the device over to Jon-Luc.

“Yup, red hair.” Shit. Just as he feared, the girl from his dream last night.

“Right again. Wish I could do what you do. It must come in handy sometimes.”

“Not as often as you might think,” Jon-Luc said solemnly.

“But what about with the ladies? Can you read a woman’s mind and get some sort of idea what’s really going on in there?”

“No. And I’m not sure I’d want to. I think a woman’s mind would be a scary place to be. So, no, I’m not psychic.”

“Then what are you?”

“Some would call me clairvoyant, or a medium.” Jon-Luc turned toward his friend. “I get these. . a. . .visions, you might say. I can’t control them and don’t always know what they mean, but they sometimes help with my cases.”

“I wish I had me some of that."

“No you don’t. It’s a pain in the ass. And if I had any way to stop it, I would.” Jon-Luc stared hard at his friend.

“Believe me.”

Claude came to a screeching halt at the mouth of the alley Jon-Luc had seen in his mind a few short hours ago. Slowly, he exited the car, then followed his friend through the crowd until they came upon the remains.

Jon-Luc had not been eager to see the destruction this guy had unleashed on his latest victim. He'd been in the guy’s head, and his anger, his blood lust flew way off the charts. Fortunately for Luc, he hadn't witnessed the deed himself.

“Holy bull,” Claude said.

“You mean holy cow?” Jon-Luc corrected him.

“What does the sex of the animal have to do with anything?”

“Just keeping it real. I myself would like to add a holy shit to that statement. So that’s one holy bull and one holy shit. Anyone else?” Jon-Luc glanced around at the policemen staring back at them. No one uttered a word.

Claude said, “I think that about covers it. What do you make of this?”

“I’d say this guy is fucking nuts. That’s the technical term. You can look it up yourself. Fucking nuts. The most dangerous killer there is. One who tries to kill as many people as possible in a short amount of time. One who doesn’t know when to stop. One who goes balls out to make his point. Also see Over Kill. I believe a picture of this will be under that definition.” Jon-Luc pointed toward the body.

“Great. And will the killer’s picture be there too?”

“Once we catch him, I'll make it my own personal mission to see it's done.”

“So hurry up and catch him already. The suspense is killing me.”

“Yeah, get in line.” Still looking at the body, neither man noticed they'd been joined by a third party.

“If you ladies are done with your witty repartee, I would like to get down to business. If you do not mind,” the Générale de la Police Nationale said.

“Générale.” Claude snapped to attention. “We were just-”

“I know what you were just doing, Inspector, but I don’t have all day. Bring me up to speed on this case,” the Générale said sternly.

As Claude ran down the particulars, Jon-Luc walked a wide berth around the victim. The blood had spilled several feet from the body, and getting close was not an option. He had a hard time deciphering the mass destruction from where he stood.

He squatted to inspect it further. Her head had been almost completely severed from the spinal cord and lay at an odd angle. He could just make out some strange designs carved in her flesh. Her eyes, tongue and heart had been removed, and the vaginal region had been mutilated.

“You.” Jon-Luc looked up to find himself being addressed by the Générale. “With all your fancy FBI background, what can tell me about this killer?”

“Highly intelligent. A loner. Single by choice. He's charming and females are attracted to him. I believe the victims knew him or of him. They're going with him willingly. So he is either famous, or known in their circle. He's a sociopath. He has no true emotions, so he emulates expressions he's seen. Probably practices them in the mirror until he got them down pat. He learned at an early age how to manipulate those around him to get what he wants." Jon-Luc paced while he talked.

"Either independently wealthy, or works alone. He needs his freedom to stalk his prey. He started fires and killed animals as a child. Not necessarily a child of abuse. A growing number of psychologists now believe that psychopathy, like autism, is a distinct neurological condition — one that can be identified in children as young as five. Crucial to this diagnosis are callous-unemotional traits, which most researchers now believe distinguish fledgling psychopaths.

"I believe these women are his first human kills. This guy is relatively young, early twenties to early thirties. I’ve read the files of the previous victims and noticed he started out slow and simple. Maybe to fool the authorities into thinking they were suicides, or because he was just getting his feet wet. Maybe both.

“I'm not sure what do make of these marks in her body. Maybe he's part of some cult. I think once the ME examines the body he'll find this girl was not under the influence of alcohol or a controlled substance–”

“How the hell can you tell that?” the Générale interrupted.

“He’s that good,” Claude threw in.

“Check the area around the mouth of the alley.” Jon-Luc pointed to the dented trashcans lying on their side and garbage strewn about. “This girl fought back. We didn’t see destruction like this at the other crime scenes. I bet when you check under her fingernails, we get DNA. He couldn’t wait. Whether it’s his need to kill, or he’s in a hurry, it’s making him take risks he hadn’t taken before. This could be his downfall." Jon-Luc stared at the Générale, waiting to see if he had more questions.

“Why is this guy in a hurry?” asked the Générale.

“He knows we’re on his trail, the press has made sure of it. He’s running out of time. He may have decided he won’t be taken alive so he wants to finish what he’s started.

“I believe Inspector Rousseau explained our theory regarding this having to do with the Melody Waterston suicide? The victims so far have been part of a close group of friends. Friends who may have conspired on a prank which resulted in the young woman's suicide. Regarding him removing the eyes, the eyes are the windows to the soul, these women have no souls. He takes their tongues to silence them and the heart is pretty self-explanatory. He believes they have no heart,” Jon-Luc finished. then waited for the Générale's answer.

“He mentioned it,” the Générale responded.

“Since it’s the only theory we have at this point, we have to assume the other women on our list are in danger. This victim is one of three we intended to interview today. The other two are being protected as we speak.”

“Then after you wrap up here, I want you to go to these women and see if they can add any more names to the list,” the Générale said while looking from Jon-Luc to Claude.

“Yes, sir,” Claude answered.

The Générale looked at his watch, then back at Claude. “I have a meeting with the Maire de Paris. Keep me posted with your progress.” He turned and left the scene.

“There's one problem with our theory. How does Angie fit in? She’s not a model, nor does she belong to the same circle of friends,” Jon-Luc said as they walked back to the car.

“Oui, this is a dilemma. Perhaps our theory is wrong?”

“My gut says no.”

“Your gut sure talks a lot.” Claude opened his car door.

“Yes, it does. But it’s rarely wrong, so I have to listen.”

The men sat in the car as they decided where to go next.

After a moment Jon-Luc said, “We need to find out more about this Michael D’Arcy. He’s shady. I don’t like the idea we can’t find any background on him. I’m going to contact a friend of mine from WITSEC and see if he’s one of theirs.”

“WITSEC?” Claude started the car.

“Witness Security, or as we call it, the witness protection program,” Jon-Luc explained.

“Ah, oui, I have seen this in American movies.”

“I also know a guy that’s good with computers. If I strike out with WITSEC, I’ll see if he can get me background for D'Arcy.”

“What do you say we find some food before we do those interviews?” Claude asked.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Claude dropped Jon-Luc back at his hotel around eight that evening. They had spent most of the day in the presence of two of the most beautiful women in the world. Had he not met Angie first, he might have thought this case pretty fantastic. But now the women he’d met paled in comparison. Angie’s sex appeal was matched only by her humor. A deadly combination for him. When he wasn’t thinking lustful thoughts, he was laughing his ass off.

He thought about the interviews they’d conducted today and realized Claude had really done all the work. Jon-Luc’s mind tended to wander the minute the waterworks began. Both women sobbed over the friends they'd lost, which was to be expected.

And both feared for their own safety, of course. But hearing them recount the tale of what they called innocent fun, or just a little prank, enraged him to the point he thought it best he kept his mouth shut.

He couldn’t wait to get away from either one. In fact, it was why he stood in a hot shower now. He needed to wash their filth away. How could anyone be so cruel to another human being and call it fun? Neither one had any useful information. All in all it was a giant waste of time. No wonder his thoughts kept running back to Angie.

Jon-Luc wrapped a towel around his waist and wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror with his hand. He’d left this morning before he had a chance to shave, and his face was feeling a bit itchy. As he ran the razor up his throat, he mapped out the rest of his evening. He’d phone room service and have something sent up while he made his calls to the States.

Both calls were to the east coast, so the time difference was perfect; they were six hours behind France. He grabbed a wash cloth and wiped the rest of the shaving cream off his face and neck, then tossed it along with the damp towel over the shower rod. Naked, he made his way over to the bureau. He slipped on a pair of boxer briefs before stepping into a pair of jeans. He dialed room service, then fastened his pants while he listened to the phone ring.

While waiting for his sandwich to arrive, he called his friend from WITSEC. He searched the database while Jon-Luc was on the phone, but found no one by the name of Michael D’Arcy in the system. He promised to check a couple of other avenues and get back to Jon-Luc tomorrow.

Next he called a good friend of his, Jake Spaulding.

He’d met Jake years ago through Frank Thibodaux. Frank had known many gifted people around the world. Jake had a big ranch in Texas that had been in the family for over a hundred years. On the side, he did a little paranormal investigating. He was what people referred to as psychic; he had the gift of sight.

But as far as Jon-Luc was concerned, his real talent was what he could do with a computer. The guy was fearless, and knew no bounds. He could get in and out of any system without leaving a trace.

The phone rang four times. “Jake, how the hell are you?”

“Luc. Shit man, long time no hear. What've you been up to?”

“Oh, you know, this and that. What about you?”

“Well, right now I’m out in the stalls sponging down one of my mares with cool water. She’s about to drop a foal any day and she’s miserable, poor thing. The fact is it’s hotter than blazes out here. She implores me with those big brown eyes, as if begging me to just take the damn thing already. I wish I could, but I’ve got to let nature take its course. Just a second.”

Jake pulled the phone away and yelled, “Jorge, would you mind taking over for me in here? I’ve got to take this call in my office.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Jake.”

“Thanks.” Jon-Luc heard footsteps, then a chair screeching before Jake was back on the line. “Sorry about that. So, how are you holding up, buddy? I haven’t talked to you since Frank’s funeral. It’s got to be tough, man.”

“I’m hanging in there, thanks. Actually, I’m in Paris right now. I just had to get away for awhile.”

“Good for you. Never been there myself. Don’t go anywhere I don’t speak the language.”

“Smart man. I’ve got a friend over here I thought I’d visit, met him back at Quantico. I think I’ve mentioned him. Claude?”

“Oh, yeah. How is Claude these days?”

“He’s got a really nasty case, a serial killer. I’m helping him with it.”

“He’s lucky to have you,” Jake said.

“Only if I help him catch this guy.”

“You forget, I know you. If anyone can, it's you. Is your gift helping?”

“Actually, something weird has been happening. I’m starting to see through the killer's eyes. It’s not like a vision or a dream. When it starts, I’m blind. I only see what he sees.”

“Shit man, don’t you be driving any cars while this is going on. You could kill yourself and take a few with ya.”

“Hadn’t thought of it in that context, but you’re right. I’ll be careful. Do you know anybody who's gone through this? Or, better yet, a way I can stop it?” Jon-Luc said hopefully.

“Nope, not that I’ve heard. But I’ve got to say there must be a reason you’re going through it. The universe is trying to tell you something and it’s making damn sure you listen.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Have you gotten any clues to help identify the killer?” Jake asked.

“The victims know him.”

“That’s something,” Jake commented.

“Not enough.”

“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. That little tidbit of information would take a regular detective a long time to find out, but because of your gift, you have cut the work in half. Be thankful for that at least.”

“I hate to ask, but can you see if you can get anything?”

“No problem. Give me a second.” Jake took a deep breath and Jon-Luc listened to dead air for a few minutes. “This killer is close to you. That comes in loud and clear. He’s close to Luc.”

“As in he’s staying in the same hotel? He’s stalking me? What?”

“Sorry, buddy, but that’s all I’m getting.”

“Great,” Jon-Luc said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Hey, you know how it works as well as I do. We can’t pick and choose what the universe decides to share with us.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry." Jon-Luc ran a hand through his wet hair. "Just frustrated, I guess. See, there’s this woman—”

“Whoa, you’ve met a woman? Great, fantastic, it’s about time.”

“No, it’s not like that. Well, maybe it is. It’s just, I'm worried she may be a target of this killer,” Jon-Luc finally spit out.

“Ah, now I get it. So you’re emotionally invested in getting this creep so it’s clogging up your brainwaves. It may be making it harder for you to read the visions than normal, because you’re pushing it, so to speak.”

“You could be right. It doesn’t help that this psycho is taking me with him when he kills. It’s as if I’m the one doing the deed myself.”

Jake let out a breath. “Man, that’s got to fuck with your head.”

“To say the least.”

“Buddy, I wish I could do something. If Frank were here, he’d probably have the answer.”

“Yeah, he would.” Jon-Luc stared at the ceiling.

“Have you seen him? I mean, since he passed?”

“No, and believe me I’ve tried. I wish I could talk to him. What the hell good is this gift if I can’t see the one person I actually want to?”

“I hear ya. I’ve tried to talk to my wife, Natalie, since she passed five years ago, and nothing, nada, zip.”

“I think it’s some kind of big cosmic joke being played on us,” Jon-Luc said, irritated.

“Or, it’s for our own good, a way for us to move on. If we could spend time with our loved ones who have passed, we would rely on seeing them and never grieve properly.”

“I hate it when you get all philosophical on my ass.”

Jake laughed. “Yeah, I know. You also hate it when I’m right.”

“Ha. If you say so. Anyway, I called to see if you could help me. We have a suspect with no background and I figured if anyone can come up with something, it’s you.”

“Sure, buddy, I’ll give it a try. What have you got?”

“The name is Michael D’Arcy, age 22, from the States.”

“Not much to go on. It’s probably going to take some time, especially if I’m going to be delivering a foal within the next twenty-four hours, which I predict.”

“Then it’s going to happen. No worries, but the sooner you can get the info back to me the better. Like I said, I've got a vested interest in this one.”

“You got it. Take care of yourself over there. Maybe when you get back to the States we can plan to get together. Mercy has been missing you.”

“Right, like a horse could miss a human.”

“Trust me, she misses you. I didn’t say she had good taste.”

“Fuck you very much." Jon-Luc chuckled. "Look, thanks. I really appreciate you taking the time to do this, I know you're busy. I’ll be looking forward to your call."

After he hung up the phone, Jon-Luc had an uneasy feeling. The killer was close. Wonder what the hell that meant? Then someone knocked on the door.

18

Jon-Luc opened the door to room service. The waiter came in and set up his dinner before he left. Jon-Luc sat at the table, and flicked on the TV for entertainment. The news was on and he watched the female anchor tell about the latest grisly murder by the Seine Slasher. He ate his roast beef sandwich absently, his attention drawn to the story to see how much information had leaked to the press. As he munched on a fry, he wondered if the killer was watching the same show.

The killer is close.

Jon-Luc abandoned his half-eaten sandwich and grabbed his jacket. Before he left the room, he phoned the front desk to hail him a cab. By the time he’d gotten down to the lobby, the doorman was holding the taxi for him. He tipped the guy before he jumped in.

The lights of the city disappeared and darkness enveloped him. Only the stars kept him company as the car sliced through the night on its way to Chateau Beauchamp.

He had to see Angie.

He hoped she would still be awake. It was half-past ten and he had no idea of the hours she kept. When he reached the front door, Mamie let him in and escorted him to the ballroom. The door was ajar.

Angie was in another world. Her head bent forward as she guided the edge of a dress through the sewing machine. The only sound in the room was the tap-tap-tap of the machine. She was alone. Jon-Luc enjoyed watching her; he was loath to interrupt, but he had this innate need to get closer.

He closed the distance between them, then just when he was upon her, her head jerked his way and she jumped. The machine stopped. A shriek escaped, then she put her hand to her chest.

“You scared the crap out of me!”

“Sorry. I should have giving you fair warning."

“Uh, yeah. That would have been nice.” She slid sideways in her chair and faced him. “What brings you out here? Do you have news?”

“Sorry, no. I just wanted to see you." Jon-Luc glanced around, then back at Angie. "Want to take a walk?”

She stared at him for a second and he thought she would refuse. “Sure, I could use a break.” She glanced at her watch. “Jeez, I had no idea it was so late.” She stood and stretched, her long body reminding him of a cat as her arms reached for the sky. She rolled her shoulders, then her head. When she'd finished, she looked at him expectantly.

He stared at her, momentarily lost in her eyes.

She broke the silence. “Lead the way.”

“How about we take a walk around the grounds?”

“Works for me.”

They followed a path that wound through rows of flowers; the garden was lit with lanterns every ten feet or so.

“How are you holding up?” Jon-Luc asked.

“Barely. The show is too close. I could use another week. We’ve hired help, but it’s just not enough with everything that’s going on. I’m having a hard time focusing.”

“I bet.”

“We need to hire another girl to take Claira’s place. But everyone’s scared. No one wants to come to Paris. I’ve already fitted all the pieces to Claira's measurements. Which means I may need to start over with her replacement. That is, of course, if we can find one.”

They found themselves at the gazebo. Angie sat on one of the benches and Jon-Luc sat next to her.

“Wow, that sounded cold." She bowed her head.

Jon-Luc placed his hand over hers in her lap. “No, I understand. You’re under a great deal of pressure right now. It doesn’t help that people are dying around you, or that your life might be in danger as well.”

She gazed up at him. “Thanks for understanding. Yes, I’m terrified of course, and the only way to keep my mind off it is to work. I can’t think about myself. I must stay focused for Madame’s sake. I can’t let her down. This show is way too important.”

“I don’t give a damn about the show, I care about you.” He felt her stiffen. “Wait, that came out wrong.”

“Why should you care about the show? It’s not your livelihood. You’ll solve this case and be off to the next. But this is my life.” She held his gaze with steely determination.

“Is it? Is this really what you want to do with your life?”

“Designing is all I’ve ever wanted to do. So to answer your question, yes, it’s what I want to do with my life.”

“No, I mean, I would have thought you would want to start your own line. I don’t see you as the type of person who'd be satisfied working for someone else.” He raised his brows and waited for her response.

Her body relaxed and she grinned sheepishly. “You’re right, of course. That’s where I want to be ultimately, but Madame has given me a fantastic opportunity. In this show we're going to feature some of my designs. I’m learning so much more than in school, or from Emmanuelle Stone.”

“Who is Emmanuelle Stone?”

“Just another line I worked for. It doesn’t matter now.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Have you seen Michael today?”

“Whoa, you could give a girl whiplash changing subjects so fast.”

Jon-Luc laughed.

“He’s busy like the rest of us, so he’s in and out,” Angie said.

“Tell me about him.”

“What’s to tell? He’s a nice guy, painfully shy. He’s eager to please. Always asking if there’s anything he can do for you. Madame relies on him big time. He runs all her errands, makes her appointments, anything she needs.”

A chill suddenly rent the air. Jon-Luc moved his gaze from Angie’s face to just above her shoulder. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. They were not alone. Five women stood side by side, holding hands.

The dead models.

Three he’d seen in real life, the other two he recognized from the crime scene photos. Blood oozed from their open wounds. A sixth figure stood to the side, not joined with the others. Jon-Luc recognized her as Melody Waterston. Blood dripped from the gashes on her wrists. Tears dropped slowly down her cheeks.

The fact she stood separately was a clue. He knew it, but what? Was she killed by the same person? Were the others killed because of their involvement in her death?

The moment the thought ran through his mind, Melody's head nodded once. So that was it. They were on the right track. But why were they here now, was there something more? This time Lexine nodded once. Tell me! The thought screamed through his head.

The apparitions turned around and started to walk away. Jon Luc jumped up to follow.

“What is it?” Angie’s voice broke the spell.

Jon-Luc glanced down at her, then back. They were gone. He swore under his breath.

She frowned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get that.”

“Is Michael here?” he asked.

“I think so, he was here at dinner. He usually hangs out in his room.”

“Would you take me there?”

“Sure.” She got up and led him back to the house.

They went in through a side door that led to the kitchen.

“He lives in the main house?” That disturbed Jon-Luc on so many levels. If this guy was the killer, then all the security in the world wouldn’t work because he obviously had a key.

“He lives in the servant’s wing. Why?”

“Well, the driver lives above the garage and you were in the guest house. I guess I thought he lived . . .I don’t know, elsewhere.”

Angie gave him a curious look. “It’s a big house.”

She stopped in front of a closed door. “Here it is. What are you going to do?”

“I just want to talk to him.” Jon-Luc knocked on the door and waited. There was no sound from inside, so he knocked louder. When no one answered, he tried the door. It was locked.

“Is there another way out of this room?” He asked.

“There’s a window, but we’re on the third floor.” She looked at him like he’d sprouted horns.

“Do you have a master key?”

“There’s one in the kitchen on a peg board, why?”

“I just want to have a look around. See if maybe he packed his stuff and left.”

“I don’t think Michael would do that without telling Lissette.”

“Might as well see for ourselves. Do you mind getting the key for me?”

“I don’t feel comfortable doing that.”

“Do you think Michael is the killer?” Jon-Luc challenged.

“No, of course not,” she replied with confidence.

“Then let me investigate, so I can at least clear his name. Then we can focus our energies elsewhere.”

Angie pursed her lips and thought a moment. “I guess that makes sense. I’ll be right back.” She ran off down the hall.

Jon-Luc knocked again loudly, then put his ear against the door to make sure no one stirred inside. The guy could be a deep sleeper. He was eager to talk to Michael; there were so many questions that needed to be answered.

When Angie got back, she was out of breath. Without saying a word, she handed him the key. Jon-Luc opened the door and looked around. The room was empty, the bed made. His accommodations were not as grand as Angie’s. Functional was the word that came to mind; a bed, dresser, nightstand, a lamp. No photographs anywhere, in fact, nothing at all that would reflect his personality.

Jon-Luc opened drawers and searched the contents. The clothes were nicely folded, nothing seemed amiss. He ran his hands along the bottom of each drawer to make sure nothing was taped there. He opened the closet and found the same. If this guy was running, he didn’t take enough for anyone to notice.

He checked under the bed, then between the mattress and box springs. Next he moved to the bathroom. The medicine cabinet held the usual toiletries: shaving cream, aftershave, toothbrush and toothpaste. He lifted the back off the toilet tank. Nothing there either. Disappointed, he turned to see Angie watching him.

“That's a bit invasive, wouldn’t you say?” She cocked an eyebrow at him.

“No stone unturned,” he said as he passed her on his way back into the room.

Angie put her hands on her hips. “Something tells me you’ve already decided Michael is guilty of something.”

Jon-Luc closed the gap between them and took her hands in his. “Look, I’d really appreciate it if you'd make sure you’re never alone with this guy.”

“What are you talking about? Michael is the gentlest soul, he wouldn’t harm a fly.” She shook her head.

“There are too many unanswered questions where he's concerned.”

Angie pulled her hands from his. “You’re talking in riddles." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Explain yourself.”

Jon-Luc looked around, then back at her. “Is there somewhere else we can talk?”

“We could go to my room, I have a sitting area.”

“Perfect.”

Angie led Jon-Luc through a labyrinth of hallways. He would have needed a GPS to get around if he didn’t have a guide. One thing he’d noticed on his tour, the house was eerily quiet, they hadn’t run into another living soul. He glanced at his watch. It was after midnight, everyone must be asleep.

Except Michael. Where the hell was he?

Angie opened her bedroom door and waited for Jon-Luc to enter before she followed him. After she closed the door, he locked it. When he turned around, Angie was standing across the room with her hands on her hips.

“Feeling pretty sure of yourself there, aren’t ya, cowboy?”

“What?” He wore a befuddled look.

Was he feigning innocence? “I didn’t ask you here to seduce you. I got the impression you needed to tell me something you didn’t want others to hear, so why the hell did you lock the door?”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, no, I just wanted to make sure it worked.”

“Hmmm, right. Lame excuse. Not buying it.”

Jon-Luc immediately unlocked the door. “There, feel better now?”

Angie laughed. “Just messing with ya. Come on over and sit down. We can talk here without being disturbed, locked door or not.” She sat on the overstuffed love seat and watched as he sat beside her. He was less than a foot away and the electricity in the air seemed to crackle.

To see this strong, rugged man so vulnerable tugged at her heartstrings. She didn’t think it was possible. He was not the egotistical jerk she'd thought when they first met. This man had many layers. Angie decided she'd like to peel them back one at a time and see what was inside.

Of course she’d been attracted to him from the start, who wouldn’t be? The guy was so damn hot. Her original plan to stay far away didn't work, he kept popping up. Now she prayed he'd stay. The things that man did to her with just a kiss.

He was gazing into her eyes and she found that she couldn’t tear herself away. It was as if he'd hypnotized her. The temperature in the room was rising. She felt her cheeks flush. Maybe she should rethink that whole seducing him thing, because at this very moment, it didn't seem like such a bad idea. Or was he seducing her? Hell, he hadn’t even touched her and all she could think about was ripping off his clothes.

Damn, he was good.

If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was being played. Then she remembered his embarrassment over the locked door and her accusation. No, this wasn't planned. Then a horrifying thought occurred to her, did he think she planned it?

His hand reached out and stroked her cheek with the back of his finger. A tingle ran the length of her body and she gulped. Don’t go there girl, it’s too soon. If you have sex with this man, he’ll think you’re a slut.

Mom, get out of my head, I’m busy here.

19

Jon-Luc placed his large hands on either side of her face and leaned forward. The first kiss was delicate. He pulled away and looked at her as if waiting for her to stop him. Yeah, right, like that was going to happen. Then he came back for more.

He kissed and nipped her lips gently, then went in for the kill. He opened his mouth and the moment his tongue met hers, fireworks exploded in her head. The more their tongues tangoed, the more Angie wanted.

She wrapped her arms around him and drew him closer. He moaned into her mouth and she felt such power. Was it possible she turned him on as much as he her? Would wonders never cease? Angie ran her hands up his back, then eased him down with her until he lay on top. He feathered her neck with kisses and she wanted to sing. She didn’t remember ever wanting a man more.

She pushed him away and the forlorn look on his face made her giggle. She started unbuttoning his shirt, then his fingers took over at lightning speed. Within seconds his shirt was off and her hands were roaming his rock hard chest down to his six pack abs. What a wondrous sight.

Damn, this is the stuff dreams are made of.

Angie fumbled with the front of his jeans, but he pushed her hands away and finished the task. He rocked back on his knees and pushed his pants down to his ankles to reveal a pair of black boxer briefs sporting a huge bulge. She licked her lips. Like a box of Cracker Jacks, there was a prize inside. She sat up and yanked them down. His large cock stood at attention. The man was full of surprises.

She encircled it with her hand and stroked, Jon-Luc gasped and grabbed her hand away.

It was her turn to pout.

“Be careful, that thing’s loaded.” He twisted around to a sitting position and started yanking at a boot.

Angie jumped up. “Here, let me help you.” She straddled his leg facing away from him, like she’d seen in a movie and yanked. The boot came off easily. She started to work on the other, but this one held tight. She looked over her shoulder. “A little help here?”

Jon-Luc put his stocking clad foot against her rear and gave a slight push. The boot slid off and she went flying head-first toward the overstuffed chair. He snatched her by the hips before she landed and wrenched her back onto his lap. She went into a fit of giggles and he laughed along with her. She loved the sound on this otherwise serious man.

He kicked his pants the rest of the way off, rotated her sideways and she wrapped her arms around his neck. As she gazed into his heavy-lidded eyes, the laughter died and she was once again at his mercy. He reached down and pulled up on the hem of her top. Angie lifted her arms, then watched the blouse sail across the room. He traced the lace of her bra with his finger tip and she shivered.

“Cold?”

“Not on your life.”

He reached behind her and with one swift move, her bra came undone. It joined her blouse somewhere on the floor. His hands caressed her breasts, then her nipples. Soon his warm breath hit her skin before his tongue circled one of those nipples. He played and teased, sucking and nibbling. Her head rocked back, her eyes closed.

His hand roamed down her stomach and stopped at her belly button. “Do you have any idea how sexy this is?”

She felt him fondling her piercing and lifted her head. “Oh, that.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that.” His hand slid further down until it was inside her shorts. His fingers reached into her folds and she spread her legs for easier access.

“Oh.” One of his extremely long fingers entered her. She arched her back so it could go deeper. His thumb started circling her clit and she thought she would explode right then.

The finger inside stayed motionless as his thumb worked her into a frenzy. She felt her climax build. He suckled her breast then took her nipple between his teeth which sent her over the edge. She clutched his hair and screamed her release. He pressed the palm of his hand against her clit and kept the pressure firm until she stopped bucking. She fell back onto the arm rest, her energy spent.

“Are you okay?” His tender voice startled her, her eyes flew open.

“Are you kidding me?”

His hands reached up and his thumbs stroked at her cheeks. “You’re crying.”

Angie’s hands flew up and sure enough, she had tears in her eyes. “Oh, God, how embarrassing.” She covered her face.

Gently he pulled them away and gazed at her. “Don’t be silly, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She surveyed the room. “Well at least I didn’t shatter any windows. It’s a good thing I’m the only one occupying this wing.” She laughed self-consciously.

Jon-Luc couldn’t help but smile. How could one woman be cute and sexy all at the same time? She slid off his lap and slipped her shorts down her legs, then stepped out of them. He found himself staring at a lacy hot pink thong that matched her bra. Nothing about this girl was mundane.

Her thumbs hooked the sides, and she waited. A mischievous grin lit her face. Then down they went as well. God she was beautiful. Her breasts were large and full, but perky. Her body was long and sleek, from her flat stomach to her sinewy legs. How he wanted those legs locked around him.

Then she did the unexpected. She straddled him, easing down on his cock down to the hilt. Taking control. Of course. Why should he be surprised? She rocked her hips back and forth slowly, slipping his penis almost completely out before swallowing it whole again.

"Chere, don't we need a condom?" Jon-Luc asked nervously.

"Nope. I'm on the pill."

Then she bent down and nibbled his ear, his neck, then lower to one nipple, then the other. The slow tease she had going drove him nuts. He grabbed her ass and stood, carrying her over to the bed. He tossed her toward the middle, then jumped on top, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand.

Then he slipped his cock deep within her and waited a beat. With eyes closed he savored the sensation. When he opened them again, she was staring at him with a sly look. All of a sudden her vaginal muscles clamped, then released, then clamped again, massaging his dick.

Jon-Luc clenched his teeth. A slow grin spread across her face. He slipped his hand down between their bodies, zeroing in on her nub with his finger and watched the smile disappear. Her eyes closed, a moan escaped. The cock massage was all but forgotten. Triumphant, he watched her writhe in ecstasy. The moment her second orgasm began, he rode her hard to make it last.

His own release built until a roar ripped from his throat and he collapsed on top of her, huffing like a steam engine. He felt the staccato of her heartbeat next to his, then realized he was crushing her. He began to move, but her hands grabbed his shoulders.

“Not yet.” She purred into his ear.

So he stayed, instead resting above her on his elbows. At least then she could breathe while he gazed upon her. “God you’re beautiful.”

“Shut up.”

“What?”

“You think I’m going to believe anything you say when we just had sex?” she said indignantly.

Jon-Luc laughed. “You’ve got that bass-ackwards."

"Ass backwards? How's that?

"You can’t believe anything a man says while he’s having sex, but we’re done. I’m not thinking with my little head anymore. The blood has returned to my big head and I still think you’re beautiful. So there.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I don’t think all the blood has returned yet. You’re still in afterglow.” Angie gave him a raspberry.

Jon-Luc laughed. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really.”

He started tickling her ribs. Angie giggled and wriggled away, escaping from the bed. “Not fair!” She stomped off toward the bathroom and closed the door. He heard the water running in the shower and thought he’d give her a couple minutes.

When Jon-Luc stepped into the bathroom, he noticed the shower had no door or curtain, just those glass ice cubes running three quarters of the length of the stall. He snatched a clean washcloth off the counter and slipped behind her easily without notice. At the moment she was facing the spray with her eyes closed.

He loaded the washcloth with liquid soap and started washing her back. Angie startled a little, then relaxed, her hands splayed on the tile in front of her, her head dropped forward. The washcloth slid over her shoulders, her back, her butt, and then he pulled her legs apart and washed each one thoroughly.

With her body lubed with soap, his hands went to work first on her neck. The sound that escaped her throat made his cock jump to attention. He moved down to her shoulders; they were tight and full of knots. His thumbs worked until he ironed out the kinks, then he moved on down her back. Her moans came with the rhythm of his hands. By the time he reached her butt, her knees gave way. He caught her and spun her around.

As the water cascaded down her back, he took her tongue in his mouth and sucked. He lifted her up and settled her on his rock hard cock, bracing her against the tile. She was wet and ready for him. He held each butt cheek in his hands and drove into her hard while they kissed. When she came, he swallowed her moans and came himself.

Angie collapsed against him, and he carried her out of the shower and set her on a folded towel on the counter. He grabbed another and dried each and every part of her like one would a child. When he'd finished, he ran the towel over himself haphazardly, then tossed it aside. He lifted her in his arms and carried her back to bed.

He stretched out and she laid her head on his chest while he wrapped her in his arms. The tips of his fingers stroked her arm and he thought, from this day forward, she was his and his alone. He’d never felt like that before. Maybe he was psychic after all.

“I thought you weren’t going to seduce me?” He grinned as he continued to caress her.

She flew out of his embrace and glared down at him. “You seduced me, you big jerk!” She punched him in the arm.

He laughed and snatched her up, then eased her back down beside him. “Now, now, no reason to get surly. I rather enjoyed you having your way with me.”

She slapped his belly with her open palm.

“Ow!” He rubbed his stomach.

“That didn’t hurt, you big baby. Your abs are so hard, I’m surprised you even felt it.”

He looked down at her. “Is that so? I’ll have you know, chere, that the moment you’re even in the vicinity, I feel it. Believe me.”

“Tell me about growing up in Louisiana. Have you ever seen an alligator?” Her head tilted up to look him in the eye.

“Of course, me and my buddies used to play in the swamps, catch pollywogs, frogs, lightning bugs, build forts. Even though our parents forbid it. It was dangerous, between the alligators and poisonous snakes. It’s a wonder we survived our childhood. I look back at it now and understand completely. No child of mine will ever go near a swamp if I have any say over it.”

Her brows raised. “So, you’re planning on having children?”

“Hell, yes, enough to have my own baseball team.”

“That many, huh?”

“At least. What about you? You planning on having any children?”

“Not with you, I only want two myself. You’ll have to find someone else to have the rest.”

“Polygamy? So you’d be interested in me taking a another wife or two? That surprises me, chere, you don’t seem like the type of woman who likes to share." He closed his eye. "Hmm, let me about that one a minute.”

“Oh, stop yourself. Tell me more about your childhood.”

He looked down at her. “Well, you know those movies where the killer dumps the body in the swamp so the alligators will eat the evidence?”

“Yeah?” He could tell he had her full attention.

“It really happens. Me and my buddies were out on the swamp one summer morning and we came upon a half-eaten torso.”

“Oh, God, what did you do?” Her face looked so serious.

“We had no choice, we had to call the police. I was grounded for a month.”

She laughed. “Served you right, I bet your mother had a heart attack when she found out where you’d been playing.”

“Yeah, she did, and my father tanned my hide but good. I think I still have the scars to prove it.”

Angie sat up and started pushing on his side.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to roll you over. I want to see.”

He laughed and rolled on his side. Her hands stroked his butt. “Nope, your ass is perfect.”

He rolled back and grabbed her around the middle, then eased her into his side. “Well, thank you very much, Madame. I’m glad you approve. I happen to think your entire body is pretty spectacular.”

Her brows hit the ceiling. “Really?”

“Are you serious?” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Chere, you’re amazing in so many ways we would be here all night if I were to list them.” A brilliant smile rewarded him. She stroked his chest, then grabbed his necklace.

"What's this?"

"It's a St. Michael pendant," Jon-Luc answered.

"It's sexy."

He chuckled. "Sexy?" He wrapped his hand around hers.

"Yeah. Why do you wear it?" Angie asked.

"The archangel Michael won the battle fought in Heaven with Satan. You will find that many firemen, soldiers, and people in law enforcement wear this medal for protection." As well as people who wage war with evil on a daily basis.

"And ghost hunters," Angie said matter of fact.

"And what?" Jon-Luc stared down at her surprised by the comment.

"Ghost hunters. I used to watch all those shows on TV, until I had a very bad experience." She looked away, then just shy of a whisper she said, "Since then, not so much."

"You've encountered a ghost?" She had his full attention now.

"Uh, yeah." She started to fidget.

"Tell me about it." Jon-Luc couldn't believe his luck. Maybe he had a future with this woman after all. He might just be able to tell her his secret without her running as far away as possible.

"You know what? I think I've said too much already."

"Why do you say that?" He searched her face. All humor had fled.

Angie sat up. "Just forget it." She started to leave the bed.

Jon-Luc placed his hands on her shoulders and eased her back down. "Chere, you can tell me anything. I promise you, I won't judge."

Angie stared at him as if weighing his words. "You really want to know?"

Jon-Luc smiled. "Yes. I really want to know."

20

Angie put her head on Jon-Luc's chest to escape his prying eyes. Telling this story could end their relationship and she couldn't bear to see him look at her with pity because he thought she was nuts. She would be honest and tell him about her encounter with the ghosts.

After all, it would be better to end things here and now before her heart got any more involved. Then, if the guy thought she had a screw loose, good riddance.

She took a deep breath and began. "It was the first day I'd met my friend Maddy-"

"Where was this?"

"Our family hardware store."

Jon-Luc chuckled. "No, I mean, where were you living at the time?"

"Oh, Isabelle Island. It's one of the San Juan Islands off the coast of Washington. Very small. In fact you have to take a ferry to get there from the mainland."

"Is it pretty?"

"Actually, yes. My family's home is right on the water. I didn't appreciate it at the time, because I grew up there. But there's lots of redwoods, ferns, pine trees, very green. It rains a lot, you know."

"Ha, so they say. I've also heard Washington State is the suicide capital of the world because of all the rain."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. But I think it sounds beautiful. You must take me someday."

"Only if you take me to New Orleans first."

"Deal." They shook hands.

Angie smiled and ran her hand down the hair on his stomach.

Jon-Luc covered her hand with his to stay its progress before it slipped beneath the sheet. "Hey, don't distract me." His voice sounded husky.

"In fact, Maddy's the reason I'm here in Paris. She convinced me to follow my dream."

"Remind me to thank her. Without her, I never would have met you."

Angie stole a quick glance at his face and found him smiling down at her. "I hope you still think that when I'm done telling this story."

She laid her head back down on his chest and Jon-Luc stroked her back. "Relax, I'm here."

"Yeah, now."

"Look, it takes a lot to shock me. Remember, I'm from New Orleans. I grew up around Voodoo, ghosts, and tales of things that go bump in the night."

"Does that mean you've seen a ghost?" Hope filled her heart and she looked up.

"Maybe." His face was hard to read. "Now out with it."

"Okay, we were stripping the wallpaper from her great aunt's walls and preparing them to paint."

"So she hired you to help her," Jon-Luc interrupted.

"Not exactly. I kinda volunteered. She'd come into our hardware store earlier in the day and bought all the painting supplies. I liked her immediately and was bored spitless. So I offered to help. There's just so much counting nuts and bolts a person can take."

Jon-Luc chuckled. "I imagine it could get tiresome."

"You can say that again." She rolled her eyes. "Anyway, so we'd spent the day together, bonding you might say. Then she told me about the problem she was having with the house."

"What sort of problem?" Jon-Luc asked.

"All kinds of stuff like things moving around by themselves. A door she'd taken down appeared re-hung. Whispers in the night when she was home alone."

"That's some spooky stuff." Jon-Luc stroked her hair and it felt so good she closed her eyes.

"Like I said before, I'd been watching shows for years about ghosts and I wanted to see one myself. So I suggested we have a séance."

"And she was willing?"

"Not exactly. I kinda forced the issue."

"No. You?" At the sarcasm in his voice, Angie looked up and saw him grinning.

"Hey!" She pinched his stomach.

"Ouch." Jon-Luc grabbed her hand.

"Oh, stop yourself. That didn't hurt."

"If you say so." Jon-Luc threaded his hand through hers. "Come on now, quit stalling."

Angie took a deep breath and relaxed. "Okay. We were in the living room, in front of the fireplace facing each other and holding hands. Then I said, ‘we are addressing the spirits that live in this house, tell us why you're here’."

"My God woman, you have balls. Weren't you scared?"

"No, I was excited. I wanted to see a ghost and here was my chance."

"Damn, but you're fearless."

"Or stupid. Those shows should come with a warning: kids don't try this at home." Angie looked up at Jon-Luc. "Do you want to hear this or not?"

"Hell yeah. Go on."

"Okay, then stop interrupting me."

"Sorry. My lips are sealed." He mimed locking his lips and throwing away the key.

"Keep them that way." Angie relaxed her head again.

"At first nothing happened, so this time I shouted, ‘we are addressing the spirits that live in this house. Show us a sign’.

Then the fire in the hearth threw huge flames toward us, knocking down the screen. We screamed and jumped out of the way. The doors all over the house slammed one at a time. Then it was quiet again. So I yelled, ‘tell us why you're here’."

"After all that, you kept provoking them? Don't you have a lick of sense?"

Angie's head shot up. "You mean you believe me?"

"Of course." His eyebrows knitted together, as if to say, why not?

Angie sighed. "I was afraid the next thing out of your mouth would be adios."

He chuckled and lifted her up to kiss her, then pulled back and looked her in the eye. "You're a kook, you know that?" He settled her down in the crook between his shoulder and neck.

"I've been called many things, but kook isn't one of them."

"Well, you are and I kind of like that about you."

Angie smiled.

"Is there more to this story?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Then get on with it. I'm on pins and needles."

"Right." Angie snuggled closer and Jon-Luc started tracing figure eights on her arm. She couldn't remember when she'd been happier or felt more content.

"So after I asked what they wanted, a lamp sailed across the room and smashed against the wall. A book flew right at my head. If I hadn't ducked, it would have clocked me. Maddy screamed and I looked over, her hair was flying. She said someone had yanked it. Then all hell broke loose. If it wasn't nailed down, it was airborne. The house went crazy.

"When we reached the front door, it wouldn't budge. As if it was locked. We ran toward the back of the house, bobbing and weaving the entire way lest we get hit by flying debris. Furniture scooted across the hardwood floor in our path. The doors on the china cabinet opened and slammed shut. Cups and saucers smashed against the walls."

"It's a wonder you escaped alive."

"No shit. When we ran through the kitchen, the pots and pans were spinning around like a tornado. I got to the back door first and grabbed the handle. I screamed, instantly letting go. I stared at my hand and watched as blisters appeared before my very eyes.

"I didn't know what else to do, so I started yelling the Lord’s Prayer and Maddy joined me. I don't know how many times we said it, but finally all the madness stopped and we heard the front door pop open. We ran like hell for the door as if the devil himself were chasing us.

"We jumped in my Jeep. I couldn't drive because of my hand and it had a stick shift, so Maddy had to do it. Sometime during the chaos, Maddy's arm was badly cut and she was bleeding like a stuck pig. I tied a bandana around her arm to stanch the blood, then we hightailed it out of there."

"Phew, what a story. You girls were lucky you weren't hurt worse. Did your friend need stitches?"

"Oh, yeah, a bunch.”

"Did you ever go back?" Jon-Luc asked.

"Huh uh, not me."

"You mean your friend did?"

"Yeah, she thought the house would be safe because everything stopped after we said the Lord’s Prayer. Boy, was she wrong."

"How is she now?"

"She's great, now."

"You mean she was hurt further?"

"Yes. But there's too much. I mean, I can't go through it all right now." Angie scooted away and got out of bed, heading toward the bathroom. "I'm thirsty."

Angie closed the bathroom door and leaned against it. She felt drained. Reliving that scene brought back the fear. The horror she'd lived not only that night, buy after wondering whether Maddy would live or die. Her eyes filled with tears and she swatted them away.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror.

"It's over, you idiot. Everyone survived." She ran cold water in the sink and splashed her face.

21

Angie had been in the bathroom a while, and Jon-Luc began to get concerned. He glanced over to the corner where he'd spied a small refrigerator earlier and slipped out of bed to check it out. When he opened the door, it was filled with bottles of water and soda pop. He snatched two waters, then made his way to the bathroom door and knocked.

"You okay in there, chere?"

"I'll be out in a minute," Angie called back.

Jon-Luc set one of the bottles on the nightstand and climbed into bed. He fluffed a couple of pillows, sat back and twisted the cap off his water. He'd downed almost half before the door opened. Looking sheepish, Angie strode across the room and snuck into bed next to him. He handed her the water.

"Thanks. Where did you get this?" Angie said.

He pointed. "Over there. It's a fridge, even though it looks like a piece of antique furniture."

"What will they think of next?" Angie opened her water and took a sip. She seemed to be reflecting, then turned toward him and said, “You mentioned you wanted to talk to me in private. Was that just an excuse to get me alone so you could seduce me?” She grinned at him playfully.

“Ha ha, very funny. Yes, I did want to speak with you without being overheard. If you can help it, I’d appreciate it if you would do all you can not to be alone with either Demetrius or Michael until we can cross them off our suspect list.”

Her brows raised. “Seriously? You honestly think one of them could be the killer?”

“I’d rather not take any chances.”

“I’m sorry, but I just don’t see it. I know Demetrius is a bit strange, but Michael? Come on, they don’t come any sweeter.”

“Hey, I resemble that remark.”

Angie chuckled. “Present company excluded.”

“That’s better.” He grabbed her chin with his hand. “Now promise me.”

Her eyes widened. “Okay, I promise,” she said in a soft voice.

Angie took another sip, then eyed Jon-Luc.

"Your turn. I want to hear your ghost story." She set the bottle aside and smoothed the sheets like she was settling in for a good yarn.

Jon-Luc hesitated. Could he honestly tell her the truth without freaking her out? "I don't have any tales like the one you told me."

She chuckled. "I should hope not. Those things don't happen on a regular basis."

"Well…" He looked away.

"Well, what? Finish the thought." She bumped him with her elbow.

"I do have a friend who's witnessed such things on a few occasions."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He is a ghost hunter like the ones you watch on TV, except the things he sees are real. Not made up for Hollywood."

"I'll have you know those shows are real."

"If you say so." He couldn't help but smile at her naïveté.

"I do."

"All-righty then. He prefers the term Paranormal Investigator. He's actually pretty well known in certain circles."

"Oh, yeah? What's his name?" she challenged.

"Jake Spaulding."

She shook her head. "Never heard of him."

"That's a good thing. He only gets involved with the most extreme cases. Cases where people have tried everything else and failed. He's a demonologist. Have you ever heard of Ed and Lorraine Warren?"

"Of course, who hasn't?"

Jon-Luc chuckled at her know-it-all attitude. "He interned with them at the New England Society for Psychic Research. He has the gift of telepathy."

"Way cool. Can I meet him? I bet he has some great stories." She looked like a little kid on her birthday.

Jon-Luc thought he'd hit the jackpot. Not only would Angie be able to handle his secret, she'd probably think it was way cool. "Maybe. Someday. I don't get to see him myself as much as I'd like. He lives in Texas."

Her face fell. "Oh."

Jon-Luc pulled her down until she laid across his lap staring up at him, and stroked her hair.

She looked so forlorn. "I'll see what I can do," he said.

"Okay."

"Besides, we're both a little busy at the moment," Jon-Luc added.

"I didn't mean today." She rolled her eyes at him.

"I actually have a confession to make." He watched her face carefully.

"Crap, you're married, aren't you?" Her lips set in a grim line.

"No, I—"

She scrunched up her face. "You're living with someone?"

He chuckled. "No."

"Unless you're a damn good actor, I know you're not gay."

"Ha! No, I'm certainly not gay."

"I'm at a loss then. What could you possibly confess that would be a deal breaker? Are you a mad rapist or a serial killer?"

"If I was, do you think I'd tell you?"

"Good point. Do you leave the toilet seat up?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "That's a deal breaker for you?"

"I would have to give it some serious thought."

"Then the answer is no, I don't leave the toilet seat up."

"Phew. That's a relief, because that really grosses me out." Angie fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Okay, I give. What is it?"

"Are you sure you're ready to hear it? You don't have any other guesses now, do you?"

She tweaked his nipple lightly. "Smart ass."

"Hey!" He snatched her hand and lowered it to his lap keeping it hostage.

"Okay, I'm ready. Lay it on me."

He stared down into her serious face and suddenly felt overwhelmed. He stroked her cheek with his knuckle.

"God, you're beautiful. I think I'm falling seriously in like with you."

"Come on. Don't change the subject. Just rip off the band-aid. I'm tough, I can take it." She folded her arms across her bare breasts.

The silence that engulfed them was deafening.

He couldn't look at her expectant face any longer, so he focused on the mirror across the room and saw himself looking back.

"I'm clairvoyant." When she didn't say anything, he tilted his head down and searched her face.

"You mean you can read people’s minds?"

"No, that's telepathic. I see dead people."

"Like the kid in the movie The Sixth Sense?"

"I don't know, I've never seen the movie."

"You've never seen The Sixth Sense? What's wrong with you?"

Jon-Luc burst into gales of laughter he could not control. He'd been so damn nervous to tell her about himself. Instead of being horrified, she was upset he hadn't seen a stupid movie. His laughter approached hysterics as he released all the pent up anxiety he'd felt. Once he'd gotten himself under control, he dried his eyes, snatched her up and kissed her.

He ended the kiss and grinned down at her. "Woman, you are priceless."

"I'm glad you think so, 'cause I'm not so sure about you at the moment. That's one of my favorite movies and the fact you've never seen it says a lot about your character."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, we'll rent it and watch it together."

"Okay. But the jury's still out on you, buster. ‘Cause if you don't like it, I may have to do some serious thinking about this relationship."

She looked so serious, he kissed her nose.

"Duly noted."

He let her lie back down on his lap.

"All right." She nodded her head once.

"Don't you have any questions about what I just told you?"

"The whole seeing ghosts thing?"

Jon-Luc marveled at how normal she made it sound.

"Yeah. That."

"Okay, if you can see ghosts, why don't they just tell you who killed them? Seems easy enough to me."

"That would make my life a lot simpler, yes. Unfortunately, the spirits I see don't talk. They've recently passed, and haven't learned to use the energy around them to be heard when they speak, or to stay visible. Most of the time, they don't even know they're dead."

Her brows arched. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Then what good is it to see them?"

"For the longest time I wondered the same thing. Then I met a man who taught me how to decipher their clues. Once I figured out how to do that, I could learn what unfinished business they had and send them on their way."

"To the white light?"

"Yes, chere, to the white light."

She stroked his cheek with her open hand. "That's amazing."

"I'm glad you think so."

"How old were you when you saw your first ghost?"

"Five, maybe? My grandmother came to kiss me goodbye after she passed."

"Did that scare you?"

"Not at all. I thought it was a dream at the time."

"I wish my father came to kiss me goodbye after he passed," Angie said quietly.

"When did he die?"

"About ten years ago."

"I'm sorry, chere." Jon-Luc stroked her hair.

"Thanks. I still miss him. How old were you when you realized you were seeing a dead person?"

"Ten. My friend David got hit by a car. He showed up in my bedroom the night he died. I didn't understand. He was all bloody and just stood there staring at me. He wouldn't answer me when I asked him what happened. I ran to get my mother to help him, but when we returned he was gone."

"That must have scared the shit out of you."

"It shook me up pretty bad. My mother sat me on the bed and told me I couldn't have seen him. That David was in the hospital, he'd had an accident that day, so there was no way he could have been in my room. I argued with her. I told her he was in my room, but she just shook her head and told me not to repeat the story again. She seemed mad."

"Man, that's rough. I'm sorry she didn't believe you."

"I found out at school the next day that he'd died."

"Did you run home to tell your mother?"

"No, because I figured at that point she was right. I couldn't have seen him."

"How long before you realized that wasn't a fluke?"

"Sometime later that year. I was walking to school and this lady appeared in front of me. Half her face was burnt to a crisp. Now that scared the shit out of me."

"I bet." She stroked his chest with her open palm. "What a horrific childhood you had. I'm so sorry."

"Hey, let's not have a pity party here. It's all in the past."

He needed to change the subject, so he pulled her up and kissed her passionately. One thing led to another.

22

The following morning, Jon-Luc awoke to an empty bed. He stumbled into the bathroom and stood in a hot shower for a good ten minutes. Feeling only slightly more alive, he dressed, then went in search of sustenance. He was famished. All he remembered about this colossal place was that the kitchen was on the first floor. So when he spotted the nearest staircase, he headed down.

He heard clanking and muffled voices to his right, so he followed the sounds until he found himself in the dining room. There, he saw an enormous table, with four people sitting at one end. The moment they noticed him, a hush went through the room and they stared at him. He had to admit, it made him feel a bit self-conscious.

Lissette was the first to break the silence. “Good morning. Come in and have a seat. I’ll have the cook set a place for you.” She fled the room.

Angie jumped up and ran over to him, clasping his hand. She dragged him to the sideboard. “Here, help yourself while I pour you some coffee.” She grabbed a cup and filled it from a silver pot at the end of the table. “Sugar, cream?”

“Black. Thank you.”

Angie smiled up at him and he instantly felt at ease. She set his coffee on the table next to her place, then came back and started lifting the lids off the food. Damn, it's like Sunday brunch and it's only Tuesday. Wonder what they do around here on an actual holiday? There were scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, potatoes, and thin pancakes stuffed with cheese topped with a blueberry compote.

As he stood there dumbfounded, staring at all his choices, Lissette spoke up. “If you’d prefer, I can have the cook fix you eggs over easy, or any way you’d like.”

“No, this is fine.” He started shoveling food onto his plate. Once he couldn’t possibly fit any more, he carried breakfast to the table and sat next to Angie. When he looked up, he found Demetrius glaring at him and what had to be the elusive Michael D’Arcy, who instantly busied himself with the food on his plate.

“Good, good, I love a man with a healthy appetite,” Lissette said.

Jon-Luc grinned around a mouthful. He didn’t mean to stay the night. But after making love for the third time, he fell into the sleep of the dead and now he was caught. He'd never had to make the walk of shame himself, and now he had a deep appreciation for those who had.

Demetrius grabbed his plate and grumbled something under his breath before he left the room.

“So tell us about yourself,” Lissette said.

Jon-Luc swallowed, then glanced over at her. “What would you like to know?”

“Well, we know you are helping the police with this case, but not why. I didn’t know they had hired outside help.”

“I’m just doing it as a favor. Inspector Rousseau is a friend of mine. Originally, I came to Paris on holiday.”

“Ah, I see. And what is it that you normally do?”

“I’ve recently left the FBI.”

“Impressive. What made you leave?”

“We didn’t exactly see eye to eye, you might say.”

“Mmmm. What do you plan to do with your life now? You’re too young to retire.”

“Yes, ma’am—”

“Lissette," she interrupted. "I’m not old enough to be a ma’am.” Her smile was warm and genuine.

“Sorry. I’ve decided to start my own private investigation firm.”

“You want to carry around a camera and take shots of men cheating on their wives?” Lissette asked.

Jon-Luc chuckled. “No. Not that kind of investigating. I plan on taking cases where the local PD has run up against a brick wall and can no longer exert the manpower it takes to solve a case. As in cases that have gone cold.”

“I see. Who will hire you to take these cases, the police department? I find that a little hard to swallow.”

“You’re right. They are the last ones to admit they need help. No, I'll help the families of victims get closure. I grew up on the outskirts of New Orleans, in Louisiana. Most recently I reside in the city itself-”

Lissette interrupted, “Ah, so that’s where you got that delicious accent of yours.”

“Uh, thank you. I'm Cajun.” He looked around the table. Michael seemed to be listening, but kept his eyes on his plate. Angie, finished with her meal, had her head in her hand, following the conversation. She shot him a smile, he smiled back before turning to Lissette.

“So you will be opening your business in New Orleans?” Lissette asked.

“Yes, that's where I was going with that little tidbit of information on my background. To tell you the truth, I came up with this idea recently. I don't have all the particulars ironed out yet. You see, recently I lost someone dear to me, which got me thinking how short life really is. I wasn’t happy in my present job, so I quit the bureau and flew here to do some thinking.”

“So you must have some money put away to live on while you find yourself, so to speak.”

“Lissette!” Angie’s outburst startled them.

Lissette tilted her head and looked at Angie. “What? If this man intends to court you, I must see if he is a viable candidate.”

"It’s all right, chere.” Jon-Luc patted her hand, then turned back to Lissette. “Let’s just say I’m comfortable.”

“I didn’t know your FBI paid so well.”

“They don’t. I came into an inheritance which has afforded me more opportunities in life.”

“I see, well, good for you. Will you have to travel?”

“I don’t see the need. Since Katrina, the area is still struggling to get back on its feet. There are many who can’t afford to hire private firms to help them, and for those I intend to offer my services pro bono.”

“Very noble of you.” Lissette smiled at Angie, then looked back at him.

“I don’t look at it that way. Let’s just say I’ve been there and I'm looking to paying it forward.”

“Could you expand a little on the type of cases you would be taking?” The expression on Lissette’s face looked genuine.

“Sure. After Katrina, I helped several people who'd been separated in the chaos. Unfortunately, not all of them were alive.”

“That must be hard.”

“It is, but when someone loses a loved one, the not knowing is almost worse than finding out they've passed on. I've reunited more people than not and that's a feeling of accomplishment. Unlike the work I did for the FBI, where it didn't matter how many cases I closed. There was always another sicko to catch. Another wacko doing unspeakable things to other human beings. It never ends.”

“And then you go on holiday and find yourself working another case where a wacko is doing unspeakable things to other human beings, no?” Lissette said.

“Ha, yeah. Just my luck.” Jon-Luc turned back to his food and scooped up a big mouthful.

Lissette turned to Angie. “I approve. You may continue to see this man.”

Angie’s face scrunched up. “Gee, thanks. Now I want to crawl under the table.”

Jon-Luc clutched her hand and swallowed. “It’s fine, really. I’m glad to know you have people around who care about you.”

“Really?”

He nodded.

Just then Michael got up from the table. Jon-Luc pushed back his own chair. “If you don’t mind, Michael, is it?” The guy turned his head and looked over his shoulder at Jon-Luc.

“Oh, I apologize. I never introduced the two of you. Where are my manners?” Lissette laughed self-consciously. “Yes, Jon-Luc, I'd like you to meet Michael D’Arcy." She turned to Michael and said, "He is helping the police.”

Jon-Luc made his way toward the other man and stuck out his hand. Michael hesitated, then shook it. “Okay.”

“Nice to finally meet you. Look, I’ve been wanting to talk to you, but we’ve never been in the same place at the same time. Do you mind?” Jon-Luc waited. The kid looked taken aback.

“Well, I—” Michael looked at Lissette.

“Go on, Michael, take all the time you need,” Lissette answered.

Michael looked back at Jon-Luc. “I guess it would be all right.”

“Great. How about we go out on the veranda?” Jon-Luc pointed the way and Michael walked toward the front door; he followed close behind.

“I’ll have some coffee sent out.” Lissette rose from the table.

“Thank you,” Jon-Luc called over his shoulder.

When they got outside they had the choice of a cozy settee or a table with chairs. Jon-Luc pointed to the table and sat across from him.

“So, Michael, tell me about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?” He wouldn’t look Jon-Luc in the eye, instead he stared at the table.

“Let’s start with where you grew up.”

“All over.”

“As in your family traveled a lot.”

“Yeah.”

“Was your father in the service?”

“What kind of service?”

“You know, Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines.”

“Ha! No.”

“Okay, then why did you travel so much?”

“I don’t know, for my dad’s work, I guess.”

“What kind of work did he do?”

“Sales. He worked for John Deere, selling farming equipment.”

“So did you live on a farm?”

“No.”

“Fine. Where were you born?”

“White Plains, New York.”

“Do you have a middle name?”

"No."

“Did you go to college?”

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“NYU.”

"I went to NYU myself.”

Michael’s head shot up as if startled.

Now we're getting somewhere. At least I'll be able to pass some information on to Jake.

“What was your major?”

“Business.”

“Did you have Professor Fisk for calculus?”

“Yeah!” Michael seemed excited for a second, then the smile died on his lips.

“What a blowhard.” Jon-Luc thought he may have made a connection, then the kid looked back down at the table and it was lost.

“The guy's a tool.” Michael started tracing the design on the glass table with his finger.

Jon-Luc sensed Michael was a lot more savvy than he pretended to be. No one who took calculus was an idiot, but this guy put on a good act.

“Did you graduate?”

“Nope. Dropped out after my parents died, couldn’t afford the tuition. Decided to travel instead, stay in youth hostels, that sort of thing.”

“That’s right, you wanted to find your roots.”

Michael slid him a look. “Something like that.”

Jon-Luc decided to step it up a bit. “To tell you the truth, Michael, we can’t find any information on you.”

“And that's my problem, how?”

“See, it is your problem because anyone without a past looks pretty suspicious. You see my point?”

“Not my fault you do shoddy police work.”

Jon-Luc barked a laugh without mirth. “Being a smart ass isn’t helping your case. Why can’t we find a record of you, Michael?”

“Beats me.”

“Okay, let’s try another approach. Where were you the night the mutilated rabbit was left in front of Angie’s door? I heard you were supposed to be home, sort of watching the place.”

“I was here. I was in my room watching TV. It's not my fault that happened.”

“Now see, we’ve interviewed the entire household and no one saw you that night. Not exactly a good alibi.”

“I didn’t know I needed one. If I did, I would have made sure someone saw me, now wouldn’t I?”

“Where were you last night?”

“I was out, why? What happened last night?”

“I went to your room for a little talk and you weren’t there.”

“If I’d known I was going to have company, I would have stayed around. But you didn’t call and make an appointments, so whose fault is that?” His smirk irked Jon-Luc. He wanted to slap it right off his face.

“Look, kid, you’re not helping your case.”

Michael jumped out of his chair. “You want to charge me with something? Oh, wait, you aren’t a cop here, are you? So the answer is no. I’m outta here.” He stomped off.

Jon-Luc watched him go. There was something not right about that kid, and he was going to find out what.

23

Jon-Luc found Angie in the ballroom fussing with a dress on a model. The room bustled with people rushing around, working on sewing machines, chattering amongst themselves. Angie looked up as he crossed the large expanse of the room toward her and called out, "Hey."

"Hey, yourself," he said while he closed the gap. Once he stood before her, he continued. "I've called a taxi to take me back to the city. See you tonight?"

"I'll be here." She smiled, and he recognized the naughty glint in her eye.

"Mmm." He bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips, then pressed his forehead to hers as he remembered her naked. "I'd better go," he whispered before he pulled himself away.

On the taxi ride back to the city, Jon-Luc called Jake to update him on what little info he had. He got his voicemail and decided he was probably busy with the birth of his new foal. He left a message for Jake to check the hospitals in White Plains, New York, for the birth records of a one Michael D'Arcy, no middle name, the New York DMV, and the records at NYU for the last four years.

After he'd hung up, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He hadn't exactly gotten a lot of sleep the night before. Before long, he'd been transported back to his childhood room; his mother sat next to him on his bed. She stroked his hair.

"Johnny, you need to be careful."

"Mom?" Jon-Luc started. His mother looked so old, she had gray in her hair and there were lines in her face he'd never seen before. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm worried about you, Johnny. Your father doesn't understand, but I do."

"Mom, I'm fine. You don't need to worry, I can take care of myself."

She placed her hands on either side of his face, her brows furrowed. "No. Listen to me. You are in danger."

The phone rang and she looked away.

"Mom, what do you know?" Jon-Luc watched his mother stand.

"Mom?" The phone continued to ring and she started for the door. "Mom, wait!"

Jon-Luc jerked awake to find himself sitting in the back of a cab as it pulled up in front of the St. James & Albany Hotel. His cell phone was ringing. He took it out and noticed Claude's caller ID.

"Yeah, Claude, what's up?"

"Where are you?" Claude's voice sounded worried.

"In a taxi in front of my hotel. Why? Where are you?"

"I'm in your hotel room. Get up here immediately."

"Is there something wrong?"

"You could say that."

"Okay, I'll be right there."

Jon-Luc slipped his phone back into his pocket and paid the driver. As he made his way up to his room, he wondered about the cryptic conversation they'd just shared. When he rounded the corner, he stopped. Claude stood out in the hall in front of his room. Policemen clogged the entrance. As he stepped closer, he got a look inside. The room swarmed with law enforcement types.

"What the hell's going on?" Jon-Luc asked while staring at the commotion, then he turned toward his friend.

"Let him through," Claude announced, and the men stepped aside.

Jon-Luc entered the room cautiously and followed the gaze of the forensic personnel. On the king-sized bed lay a naked woman. Her extremities had been stretched out and tied to the bedposts. She had a hole in her chest and strange symbols etched into her flesh. The sheets underneath her body were soaked in blood. Her face remained unmarred.

A strangled cry escaped and Jon-Luc covered his mouth with his hand. "What—" He swallowed the lump in his throat. "What is she doing here?"

Claude's eyebrows rose. "Do you know this woman?"

"Uh, yeah." Jon-Luc wiped a hand down his face. "She's a stewardess. I met her on the plane coming over."

"Did the two of you have drinks or dinner together?"

"No. I just got her number. I met Angela Henderson almost immediately after and forgot about her." Jon-Luc kept staring at the monstrosity on the bed. "Until now."

Claude folded his arms across his chest. "Who else knew the two of you had spoken about getting together?"

"Uh." Jon-Luc began to sweat. What the hell's going on? He ran both hands through his hair and looked at Claude. "I don't know, someone from the plane?"

"You think you were followed here? Maybe someone you put away is out and seeking revenge?"

Jon-Luc glared at Claude. "The men I put away don't get out of jail. They either die by lethal injection, or live the rest of their lives behind bars," he said, his tone harsh.

"Right." Claude nodded. "A family member then?"

"It's possible. This definitely looks personal. Or. . ." Jon-Luc let the thought trail off.

"Or what?" Claude waited for him to continue.

But he couldn't say what he was thinking out loud. If Jon-Luc could see through the killer's eyes, does that mean the killer could see through Jon-Luc's?

"Holy shit." Jon-Luc sank down into a nearby chair and covered his face with his hands.

If that's the case, how long had he been in Jon-Luc's head?

He didn't even know this case existed on the plane ride over. How would the killer have known to zero in on him? Unless, maybe the killer simply read his mind after he found Jon-Luc on his trail. Maybe when he saw him at one of crime scenes he’d peeked into Jon-Luc's thoughts. Not good. That meant the killer would stay one step ahead of them at all times.

"What?" Claude's impatient voice broke through his thoughts.

Jon-Luc glanced up. "I can't believe this woman is dead just for talking with me."

Claude placed a hand on Jon-Luc's shoulder. "I am very sorry, my friend. This must be a shock."

"That's putting it mildly." He stood. "I've got to get out of here." He swallowed back bile as he raced for the door.

"Of course." Claude gave directions to his men before he left the room. Jon-Luc waited for him in the hall. Claude slapped Jon-Luc on the back as he walked past. "Come on. We have much to discuss. Let us go down to the cafe."

Claude ate a sandwich while Jon-Luc simply drank coffee. Although it was lunch time, Jon-Luc had lost his appetite. He'd chased a lot of deranged killers in his career, but none had become personal, until now. This fucker had no idea who he was dealing with.

"So where were you last night?" Claude asked around a mouthful of food.

Jon-Luc, who'd been staring out the window, turned toward his friend. "I paid a visit to Chateau Beauchamp."

Claude's brows raised. "That explains why you were just getting back this morning."

"Yeah, that was an accident." Jon-Luc took a sip of coffee.

"Really. And how do you accidentally make love to a beautiful woman, hmm?" Claude smiled.

Jon-Luc grinned back. "That part wasn't an accident, just a pleasant surprise. No, spending the night was the accidental part. I didn't intend to do that."

"Ah, she wore you out, did she?"

Jon-Luc cleared his throat. Claude waited for him to reply. Jon-Luc decided to let him wait.

Claude finally gave up. "Did you go there for business or pleasure?"

"I wanted to see Angie, of course, but that was only part of the reason for the visit. I was looking for Michael D'Arcy."

Claude picked up his coffee. "And did you find him?" He took a drink, then resumed eating.

"Not last night, no. But I caught up to him this morning."

"So, it was fortuitous that you spent the night then, oui?"

Jon-Luc barked a laugh. "I guess it was."

"I will need to corroborate your alibi?" Claude stated.

"Of course, I understand. Just be gentle, I don't want Angie freaked out anymore than she already is."

"I will take the utmost care when questioning her," Claude added.

Jon-Luc looked back out the window where he spotted Jeanette, the stewardess from the plane. His smile faded. She stood naked in the middle of the rose garden. Blood dripped down her body, pooling at her feet. She mouthed the words 'Ring me'. Then she was gone. Jon-Luc shut his eyes and shook his head as if that would erase the imagine from his brain.

"What?" Claude's voice appeared loud.

Jon-Luc opened his eyes and stared at him. "Nothing."

"You don't look like it's nothing. You are pale, my friend."

Jon-Luc nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure I am. It just makes me sick to think a young woman is dead because of me." He glanced out the window once more, but she was nowhere to be found.

"You can't blame yourself. What did you learn about this D'Arcy character?"

"I talked to my friend at WITSEC last night and he's not one of theirs, so I contacted another friend to do a computer search. When I talked to D'Arcy this morning, he was evasive. I did gather a bit of information though." Jon-Luc filled Claude in on the conversation. "I left a message for my friend Jake with the info, but I'm afraid he's a little tied up at the moment. He'll get back to me as soon as he can."

"Good work. It's more than we had this time yesterday."

"True. Do you have any news for me?"

"Yes. I had them speed up the toxicology on our latest victim and you were right. She had no alcohol or drugs in her system. Her stomach contained a small amount of undigested fromage and bread. It is apparent she ate these things right before being murdered."

"Bread and cheese. Like something a woman would eat who was going out drinking but didn't want to get sick."

"Oui. Wonder why he did not wait until she was at least a little inebriated before approaching her? I would think she would have been easier to overpower."

"Like I said, he couldn't wait." Jon-Luc stared out the window and remembered his vision. As if in a trance, he watched the images flow through his mind, heard the killer’s thoughts. He relayed them to his friend as they appeared.

"He'd waited for her outside her flat. The moment she walked out the door, he began to follow her. Originally he'd decided to approach her after she'd had a few drinks, but the longer he watched, the more his bloodlust got the better of him. He's angry. She looks like a whore."

Jon-Luc's words began to speed up as if in a frenzy. "She needs to learn a lesson. She doesn't deserve to live. She's approaching a busy street, too many witnesses. If I don't take her now, I'll have to wait. Can't wait. Can't wait. Can't—"

"Luc."

"Wait. Can't wait. Must take her now. Must be quiet."

Claude slapped his hand on the table. "Luc!" he practically yelled.

Jon-Luc turned toward his friend and blinked.

"You are here with me now, oui?" Concern etched Claude's features.

"Uh, yeah." Jon-Luc rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. "What happened?"

"You appeared to be in another world. You were talking crazy, as if you were the killer."

24

Claude answered his cell phone on the first ring, said a few words, then hung up and looked at Jon-Luc. "They have located the clubs where they think the first victims were taken. Come, we must go." Claude stood, tossed some money on the table and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.

Once in the car, Claude turned to Jon-Luc. "The first club is BC-Black Calvados. And you are right, my friend. It is a very exclusive place. They use your hand print to get in. One of the servers remembers Sasha Gusarov."

"What about the killer?" Jon-Luc asked.

"We will see."

When they got to the door of the club, they found it locked. Claude's knocking went unanswered. Finally he took out his cell phone. In rapid French he told the person on the other end he was in front and needed to be let in. A moment later, the door opened. A uniformed officer stood aside, allowing them to enter. They followed him to a woman sitting at a table. She looked less than pleased at being detained.

Her long blonde hair sat in a knot on the top of her head, and she wore jeans and a flannel shirt with no make up. Obviously not there to work. Dumb luck had caught her when she'd picked up her paycheck. Claude flashed his credentials and did the introductions before he and Jon-Luc sat across from her.

"Look, there's not a lot I can tell you and I'm late picking my son up from school," the woman said, exasperated.

"Yes, this has been explained to me. I will only take a moment," Claude said, then took out a pen and his note pad. "Your name, mademoiselle?"

"Katherine St. Croix, but people call me Kiki."

"I need your phone number and address." After she complied, Claude began his questioning. "So, I am told you recognized Sasha Gusarov from her photo?"

"Yes, she has been in with the other Victoria Secret models many times. I have had the misfortune of serving them."

"And the night in question, she was here at the club?"

"She was here all right. Sloppy drunk and hanging all over Monsieur Francisco Javier Castillo III, you know, the billionaire? She wouldn't leave his side, so her friends left. Like a man such as he would take a woman like her seriously." Kiki harrumphed.

"A woman like her?" Jon-Luc asked.

The blonde zeroed in on him. "She was stupid and immature. The only thing a man like Monsieur Castillo would want with the likes of her is a good screw." Her chin jutted out.

Jealousy radiated from her in waves. "You wanted him for yourself." Jon-Luc stated.

"He is a generous man. He takes good care of his servers. This is all I want from him."

"What time did her friends leave?" Claude asked.

"About three. I heard one of them say they were going to another club."

"And when did Sasha leave?" Claude said.

"Sometime around five," Kiki answered.

"Did she leave with this Castillo guy?" Jon-Luc asked.

"I uh, I do not know. I didn't see either of them leave."

"And where can we find this man, do you know?" Claude asked.

"He has a place here in Paris. But I have not seen him for weeks. Perhaps he is on his yacht or has taken his private jet somewhere warm." Kiki knew a lot about the man.

"He comes here often?" Jon-Luc asked.

"When he is in town, he brings his friends and associates. Many Victoria Secret models, like Sasha, hang out here hoping to snare a rich or famous husband. Their time in the limelight is short and they must think about the future. Of course, Sasha was beautiful, but she was also very stupid and a messy drunk. I do not understand men being swayed by that little girl voice, Russian accent, or innocent act she portrayed."

"Some men prefer their woman on the dumb side," Jon-Luc said.

Kiki's eyes zeroed in on him. "I suppose you are correct." She shrugged her shoulders.

"Did you notice anyone watching her? Perhaps from a distance?" Claude asked.

"I did not have time to watch the patrons I am not serving. I take care of my customers. That is my job. If you are lucky enough to land a position in this club, you do not waste your time with what does not concern you."

"I see. Can you tell me how long they keep their security tapes?" Claude asked.

"No, you must see Mitch for such information." Kiki looked at her watch. "I can go now, yes?"

"Yes," Claude answered, then after she stood. "Wait, take my card in case you remember something." The woman snatched the card and ran for the door.

Jon-Luc, already scoping the place out for the manager, jumped to his feet once he'd located him in the back of the club. He pointed. "Let's grab this Mitch guy before he takes off."

"Oui, good idea." Claude followed Jon-Luc.

As the men approached, the manager turned. "You need assistance?"

"Oui," Claude answered. "I wonder if you still have a copy of the security tapes from the night in question?"

"Perhaps, but you must understand, with our clientele we must be careful with their privacy. They would not appreciate us sharing the delicate details of their lives with the public," The man stated with an air of superiority.

"Of course, we will treat this information with the utmost discretion. But we are talking about murder here. This is very serious business, no?" Claude said in a no-nonsense tone.

The manager eyed Claude, then Jon-Luc, as if weighing the pros and cons of the situation. "All right. I will show you the recording of that night, but if any information finds its way to the tabloids. . ."

Claude put his hand over his heart. "I promise, all we care about is catching a killer."

The manager’s eyes squinted at Claude, then a moment later he said, "Very well, follow me." Mitch turned on his heel and led them to a private office. He went behind the desk and his hand disappeared under a shelf.

Jon-Luc presumed he had pressed a button because as he watched, a panel in the wall slid away, revealing shelves of CD's, hundreds of them. Mitch scanned the contents until finally selecting three cases. He pulled a disk out and popped it into his computer. "You will watch these here. They do not leave the premises."

Claude nodded. "As you wish. Thank you for your cooperation."

The moment he'd left the room, Jon-Luc whispered to Claude. "I wonder if he uses these for blackmail?"

"Perhaps he is just being cautious," Claude returned.

Jon-Luc pondered his words. "Maybe," he said slowly.

Claude sat behind the desk and Jon-Luc pulled up a chair next to him. The recordings appeared to be taken from three separate cameras placed around the club, each CD showed a different angle. The men had been glued to the screen for several hours before Sasha's table came into view.

As the waitress had stated, the model was making a drunken spectacle of herself. Jon-Luc almost nodded off, until Francisco Castillo stood, pulling the woman up with him. They made their way out the door, but before long, a tall man in a fedora followed.

"Look." Jon-Luc pointed to the screen. "Same build as the guy from Crystal. That could be our killer."

"Oui. I think you are correct," Claude agreed.

The front of the club had only one camera. They could only imagine what happened once the figures stepped out of sight. The men agreed to watch the rest of the footage in an effort to catch a glimpse of Fedora-guy's face.

But after hours of sitting in front of the computer, the only thing Jon-Luc had to show for it was a numb ass. When they exited the private office, employees had started to arrive for work. No one had any useful information to add.

By the time they walked out the door of the club, the sky had turned dark. Rain pelted them as they jogged to Claude's Peugeot. Once safe in the car, Jon-Luc ran a hand down his face, then over his head in an effort to remove some of the water.

"We need to talk to this Castillo guy. Can you find him?" Jon-Luc asked.

"He is very famous, it should not be too difficult if he is in town." Claude took out his cell phone and made some calls. When he ended the last call, he turned to Jon-Luc. "While my guys are busy running him down, we should check out the next club."

Jon-Luc glanced at his watch. "It's after ten, can we grab a sandwich on the way?"

They stopped at a McDonalds and ate their burgers on the drive to the next nightclub. Claude pulled in front of Le Baron where a line of people circled the block. "This club is very trendy, another place filled with VIP's. Our second victim, Danielle Abney, was last seen here."

Jon-Luc exited the vehicle and was met with a blast of pulsating music. He followed Claude toward the front door, pushing his way through the crowd. He couldn't hear what Claude said to the bouncer, but after he flashed his credentials, the man unhooked the velvet rope, allowing them to enter.

Once inside, the loud music made Jon-Luc wish he had a pair of earplugs. Strobe lights flashed in time with the bass. He found himself shoving his way through the horde of people. At one point, he lost Claude. A woman vacated a chair and Jon-Luc snagged it and climbed on top to survey the heads as they bobbed to the beat of the music. He spotted Claude's bald head on the other side of the room, jumped down and made a beeline in his direction.

By the time he arrived where he'd last seen his friend, he'd vanished. Jon-Luc did a 360 and caught the tail end of Claude's shirt going down a hall. Like a bloodhound with a scent, he dashed toward it. He caught up to Claude just before he disappeared behind a closed door.

Once inside the office, the noise stopped. The manager obviously had the room sound-proofed. Jon-Luc's ears hurt, and his head pounded to the beat he'd left behind. With his back leaning against the door, he felt the boom boom boom and stepped away. He sank down into the lush chair next to his friend with relief. I'm too old for this shit.

Jon-Luc looked at the man who had to be twenty years older than his thirty-two years and asked, "How the hell do you deal with all the noise?"

The man put up a finger, as if to say just a second and pulled plugs out of his ears. " Excusez-moi, qu'est-ce que vous dites?"

"I wondered how you stood the noise, but I see the answer in your hands." Jon-Luc pointed.

"Ah, oui, it is very loud. How can I assist you?" The manager crossed his arms before him.

Claude passed a picture of Danielle Abney across the desk. "One of my men came in today, he said you identified this young woman as frequenting your club?"

The man cocked his head and stared at the photo. "Oui, she comes here quite often with a bevy of beautiful women, but I could not tell you which days."

Claude scooted the 8 x 10 he'd printed from the computer at the last club. The subject was fedora-guy. "Have you seen this man in here as well? Perhaps with this woman?"

The manager glanced at the picture, then back at Claude, his face scrunched up. "How can I know? I am not able to see his face?"

"Do you mind if we ask your employee?" Jon-Luc said.

"Not at all. I wish you luck." The man stood announcing the interview was over.

By the time the two men made it back outside the club, the rain had slowed to a trickle. They slid into the car. While Claude checked the messages on his phone, Jon-Luc thought how the last couple of hours had been a colossal waste of time. No one had any useful information.

A knock on Jon-Luc's window made him jump. He turned and found a young woman bent over looking at him. He rolled the window down. "Oui?"

In French, the woman said she'd heard them talking to the bartender about the guy in the fedora. Jon-Luc invited her into the car. She quickly jumped into the backseat to escape the weather.

"Do you speak English?" Jon-Luc asked.

"Oui. I mean, yes," she said with a shy smile.

Claude excused himself to his caller, hung up his phone, then swung around so he too faced the girl.

"What's your name?" Jon-Luc asked.

"Shelly," she said in a soft voice.

Claude scribbled in his pad. "And your last name?"

"Bernard." She eyed them one at a time.

After Claude wrote down her address and phone number, he shoved Danielle's picture into Shelly's hands. "Have you seen the guy in the fedora with this woman?"

"Yes, in summertime. July or August, I think. I had come outside to have a smoke and I saw these two arguing."

Claude glanced at Jon-Luc, his brows raised.

"Did you get a look at the guy's face?" Jon-Luc asked hopefully.

"No." Shelly frowned. "He turned his head when he walked past. But when they got about a block away they started arguing. The woman was trying to break free from his grasp, and that's when she turned and I recognized her. She's a model." Her face lit up. "I have seen her in Vogue and Elle magazines. She is famous. I read later she committed suicide. I thought it might be because of that boyfriend."

"What makes you think he was her boyfriend?" Claude asked.

"When they first walked past, he held his arm around her shoulder and her head rested on his chest like lovers, you see? I just assumed. You mean he was not her boyfriend?" Shelly's brows arched.

"We're not sure. What happened next?" Jon-Luc said.

"She had a lot to drink, not so steady on her feet. I think this is why they fight. She wanted to go back to the club, but he wanted to take her home. He yelled, but I could not hear what he said. She screamed back. He slapped her hard, and that I heard. Then he swung her over his shoulder and stomped off. That is the last I saw of them. I remembered that I wondered why a famous woman such as herself would put up with a man who would treat her so."

The car was silent a moment, then Claude asked, "Is there anything else you can tell us?"

"I do not think so," she answered.

Claude handed her his card. "If you remember anything, would you please ring my mobile?"

"Oui." The girl opened the car door.

"Thank you for talking with us, Shelly. We really do appreciate it." Jon-Luc smiled.

Shelly nodded, then slid out the door. Jon-Luc watched her walk back into the club.

"Not a big surprise, but you are right again, my friend."

Jon-Luc turned back to Claude. "Huh?"

"The women seem to know their attacker."

"Yes, they do." Jon-Luc fastened his seatbelt. "Where to next?"

Claude started the car. "Monsieur Castillo has been found."

25

"Where is this elusive billionaire hiding?" Jon-Luc asked as the car whisked through the rain drenched streets of Paris.

"Eating supper at Alain Ducasse au Plaza Athénée in the Champs-Élysées," Claude said, for once watching where he was driving.

"Ah, I've heard of this place. We have to dine there before I leave."

Claude turned toward him, his brows arched. "I'm afraid you must go alone, my friend. I can not afford such a place on my measly salary."

"It would be my treat, of course. You will bring Mimi and I will finally get to meet the woman who has the bad taste to date you."

"Ha ha. You are very funny, my friend. Perhaps once we have caught the Seine Slasher, we will have time for such indulgence. But for now I am afraid McDonalds or pizza from Speed Rabbit will have to do."

Jon-Luc laughed. "Speed Rabbit?"

"Oui, they are lovely ladies who deliver to 36 Quai des Orfèvres." Claude grinned from ear to ear.

"I see, and how is the pizza?"

"I do not know from pizza, but the woman are magnifique!" Claude kissed his fingers in exaggeration.

"If you say so." Jon-Luc smiled back.

With Claude's usual flair, the car braked hard in front of the restaurant. As they entered, a maitre'd rushed over to Jon-Luc. "Monsieur, I'm afraid you can not dine without a jacket and tie."

Jon-Luc glanced down, then back at the distressed maitre'd. "This is a jacket, it's just leather."

Claude interrupted. "We are not here to dine, we need to speak to one of your patrons." He flashed his credentials.

Ruffled, the maitre'd stared at Claude's badge, then up at his face. "That would not be possible."

"Not only is it possible, it is mandatory. Or I can arrest you for interfering in an investigation." Claude's brows arched as he waited for the man to grasp the seriousness of the situation.

Jon-Luc watched the stuffy guy's face crumble. "Very well, with whom do you wish to speak?"

"Monsieur Francisco Castillo," Claude answered, his expression a blank slate.

The maitre'd's eyes widened. "But. . ."

Claude kept silent, his face straight.

"Follow me," the man said quietly.

He led Jon-Luc and Claude through the restaurant to a quiet corner where Castillo dined with what Jon-Luc surmised was a lady friend by the way her hand rested with familiarity on his thigh and another couple. The woman was stunning, with jet black hair that cascaded around her shoulders in loose curls. Her lips were dark scarlet and shiny. She seemed to be in her early twenties.

The man in question appeared very distinguished, in his forties, with the olive complexion common to Spaniards and slight graying at his temples. His dark gray suit was designed by Armani, and underneath he wore a black shirt with a gray silk tie.

He held a glass of red wine in his left hand as he spoke to his guests. The jacket sleeve receded and showed the cuff of his shirt around the wrist. His initials were stitched in white. If Jon-Luc had to guess, he'd say with silk thread.

As they reached the table, all conversation ceased. Castillo was the last to look at the men who stood beside him. He set his wine glass down, then dabbed a cloth napkin at the corners of his mouth and said, "May I help you?" He placed the napkin back on his lap.

"Monsieur Castillo, I am Inspector Claude Rousseau, and this is my associate Jon-Luc Boudreaux." He held up his badge. "We would like to speak with you. In private."

"I see, and why must this be in private?" Castillo's manner was calm, self-assured.

Claude looked to the woman sitting beside Castillo, then back at the man himself. "It is of a delicate nature, Monsieur."

Castillo placed his napkin on the table. "Very well." He stood and addressed his friends. "I won't be a moment. Please continue with your supper." Then he looked to the maitre'd who stood by nervously wringing his hands. "It's all right, Sam. Could you please find us a quiet place we can talk without being interrupted?"

"Certainly, Monsieur. Follow me." The group tailed the maitre'd to an empty table far from the other diners in the restaurant. The man bowed, then disappeared.

Castillo pointed to the chairs with his hand.

"Gentlemen." Then he sat himself. "Now tell me what this is about and make it quick." His demeanor had changed dramatically. Gone was the easygoing attitude. This man was all business.

Claude addressed him with the same brusque manner Castillo had used. "Murder."

The man swore in Spanish, then in English said, "Murder? What are you talking about, you idiot."

Without missing a beat, Claude continued. "It has come to our attention that you are the last person to see Sasha Gusarov alive. You were seen leaving the club, BC, with her back in August."

Castillo shook his head. "Who?"

"The Victoria Secret model?" Jon-Luc added.

"You will have to be more specific than that. I have enjoyed the company of many models, but I do not know from where they come." His air of superiority was getting on Jon-Luc's nerves.

"High-pitched voice, green eyes, long blonde hair?" Jon-Luc supplied.

Castillo stared at him.

"Dumb drunk blonde with big boobs?" Claude offered.

"Ah, yes." Castillo smiled and nodded. "I do remember her now." Then as if he'd just remembered what Claude had said earlier, the smile fell. "Wait. She is dead?" The look of surprise in his features looked genuine.

"You didn't know?" Claude said.

"You don't listen to the news or read the papers?" Jon-Luc added.

"I left the next day, flew back to Spain. I had business to attend to," Castillo explained. "What do you want to know about her? She was sweet. I would have given her another chance."

"Another chance?" Jon-Luc commented.

"Si, she had too much to drink. Next time I would have taken her home long before she'd gotten so blotto."

"Where did you two go after you left the club?" Claude asked.

"We got in the back of my car and I told Luis, my driver, to take me to my penthouse. We'd only driven about a half block when she vomited all over the floor. Disgusted, I threw her out, then had Luis hail me a taxi while he dealt with the mess."

"That's very considerate of you," Jon-Luc said through clenched teeth. "Because of the way you discarded her, she was murdered. How does that make you feel?"

Castillo jumped to his feet. "This conversation is over." Then he stomped off back to his table.

Claude turned to Jon-Luc. "Smooth."

Jon-Luc shrugged. "The guy's a fucktard."

"That may be, but this fucktard may have had more information for us."

"I doubt it. That douche could care less about anyone but himself." Jon-Luc stood. "Lets go see if we can find this Luis guy out front."

Exiting the restaurant, they scanned the parking lot for a car with a driver still inside. They found two, neither were Luis. Instead, they found the young man, early twenties, leaning against a black Bentley, smoking a cigarette.

"Luis?" Claude led with his badge. The man's eyes rounded, then he searched the area for a means to escape. Jon-Luc came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. The guy jumped and spun around.

"Boo," Jon-Luc said, then chuckled. "A bit squirrelly, aren't we?" Then he grabbed the guy's shoulder and turned him back toward Claude, keeping his hand on him in case Luis decided to run.

"What is it you are afraid of? What have you done that would interest the police?" Claude asked.

"Nothing. Why do you bother me?" Luis crushed the cigarette under the toe of his shoe, then jutted his jaw.

"I think we should decide that ourselves. Hand over your identification." Claude's hand reached out while he waited. Grumbling, Luis produced a wallet, then shoved his ID into Claude's hand. Luis grunted and crossed his arms across his chest.

Claude walked the hundred yards to his car and disappeared into the front seat, leaving the door open. Jon-Luc couldn't see him through the windshield because of the reflection of the restaurant's lights. Jon-Luc kept his hand clamped tight on the guy's shoulder while they waited.

He turned to the guy. "Nice night, huh?"

Luis spat on the ground in response.

"Classy," Jon-Luc added.

Before long, Claude returned, handing the ID back while staring into Luis' eyes. He said, "No outstanding warrants, but he does have a couple of breaking and entering charges on his record."

Jon-Luc raised his brows dramatically. "Does your boss know about the B & E's?"

Luis's eyes squinted at Luc, then he grunted his response. "Yes."

"And he hired you anyway? What a prince of a guy. I'd think he'd be worried you'd steal from him." Jon-Luc let go of the guy’s shoulder and crossed his own arms. "How did you wind up with a cushy job like this?"

Luis glared first at Jon-Luc, then at Claude, before he stared at the ground and mumbled, "He's my uncle."

"Excuse me?" Jon-Luc leaned forward.

Luis's head whipped up and he glared at Jon-Luc with steely eyes. "Frank is my mother's older brother," he said louder, practically shaking in anger.

"Ah, now it all makes sense." Jon-Luc nodded.

"Why are you guys hassling me? Don't you have anything better to do?" Luis asked.

"Nope." Jon-Luc grinned.

Claude spoke, "We need to ask you a few questions."

"About what? I have not done nothing wrong," Luis said in broken English, his Spanish accent heavier than before.

"Now Luis, that's a double negative which means you actually have done something wrong. What is it?"

Luis furrowed his brow. "I do not know what you mean, ‘splain it to me."

"Pretending you don't know English very well, won't help you, buddy." Jon-Luc patted him on the back.

"I am speaking English. Why do you say that to me?" Luis looked at both men separately.

"Calm down. I just want to know about a night in August, when you drove your uncle to a club called Black Calvados." When the guy’s eyes scrunched up, Claude added, "The locals call it the BC club."

"I know this place, he goes there often. What about it?" Luis crossed his arms over his chest again.

"Castillo got into the car with a gorgeous blonde with big tits who was very drunk," Claude said.

"So?" The guy waited for more.

"She threw up in the car?" Jon-Luc added.

"Oh, her. Very nasty. I couldn't get the smell out of the carpet. It had to be replaced. Frank was very angry." Luis shook his head.

"What happened to her after she vomited?" Claude asked.

"Nothing. Frank made her get out and I got him a cab before I saw to the car." Luis eyed them like they were stupid.

"Jesus, you didn't think to drive her home under the circumstances? It was your uncle who plied her with those drinks that got her sick in the first place," Jon-Luc shouted, his hands fisted at his sides.

Luis shrugged his shoulders.

"Unbelievable." Jon-Luc turned to Claude. "This asshole doesn't give a shit." He stomped back toward Claude's car. Then he did an about face and came at the guy, grabbing the front of his shirt in his right hand, his face a mere inch from his. "You killed her." Jon Luc growled low and as menacing as he could. He felt himself being pulled back and heard Claude's voice as if from afar.

"Luc." Then Claude stood between him and Luis. His hand on Jon-Luc's chest. "Get a hold of yourself."

Jon-Luc blinked and focused on Claude. Then he pulled away and mumbled, "Whatever."

"I didn't kill nobody," Luis yelled.

At his words, Jon-Luc turned back and glared at him. It was all he could do not to take the guy apart, so he stayed put. "You might as well have. You practically handed her off to a murderer, you lousy piece of shit."

"What was she doing the last time you saw her?" Jon-Luc heard the question Claude asked, but not the answer.

He marched back to the car and slid inside the passenger’s side.

One second he was observing Claude and the witness, and the next he was standing in cold pouring rain outside Chateau Beauchamp watching Angie with Lissette through a floor to ceiling window. The employer nodded and replied. The ballroom buzzed with activity all though it was after one in the morning. From where he stood, he could see the entire room. Three women worked feverishly on sewing machines.

Angie was gathering material on a dress behind the woman wearing it and talking to Lissette, who nodded and handed her a straight pin.

"Claude?" Jon-Luc waited for a response. When none came, he yelled. "Claude, we have to go. Now!"

26

As Claude sped through torrential rains, Jon-Luc heard, instead of saw, the tires sluicing through water, and the slap-slap-slap of the windshield wipers working double time.

Jon-Luc thanked God his friend trusted him enough not to ask questions before racing toward Château Beauchamp.

"It's Angie, she's in trouble," Jon Luc said at last. "I need you to take my cell phone and hit the number five and send. I can't see right now." He fumbled in his pocket, produced the phone and handed it in Claude's direction. He felt it being lifted.

The killer paced outside the window like a rabid dog. Watching. Waiting.

Particularly interested in Angie's movements.

As if struggling through a horror film, Jon-Luc repeated, don't go in. Don't go in. Over and over again inside his head.

Claude's voice broke through, interrupting his mantra. "Who are you calling?"

"The guy guarding the front gate," Jon-Luc answered.

"Here, it's ringing." Jon-Luc felt the phone pressed into his hand, he placed it next to his ear hearing the endless drone of the bleep, bleep, bleep on the other end. While he waited for the phone to be answered, he said, "Call your guys for backup."

"Already on it," Claude answered.

Finally he heard a voice. "Bonjour."

Without preamble Jon-Luc rushed his words. "David, there's been a security breach. Lock the place down. Get your guys to the house. Now! Make sure everyone inside is safe. Get them in one room, then leave one guy inside. Shut the drapes. I want two of you to do a perimeter check. Start along the outside window of the ballroom. Got it?"

"Wait. Where are you?" David asked.

"On my way, just do as I say!" Jon-Luc yelled into the phone.

"But, the cameras are not up yet. How do you know this?"

"No time to explain." Jon-Luc hung up before he could ask any more questions.

"What's happening?" Claude asked.

Jon-Luc, as the killer, watched as Angie left the safety of the crowded ballroom. He pulled a knife from his boot and started toward the back door. "Shit, he's making his move."

Then the vision dropped away and Jon-Luc was staring out the rain drenched windshield. "Hurry, Claude. I can't see what's happening anymore and that's almost as frightening as when I can."

"Luc, I'm going as fast as I dare under these conditions."

Jon-Luc gripped the dashboard so tight, his knuckles turned white. He swore under his breath. Soon he heard sirens in the distance. "Back up is behind us. Good."

Coming up on the turn to the chateau, Claude eased off the gas, but the car still spun out. He turned the wheel back and forth until the vehicle corrected itself. The closed gate was racing toward them. He slammed the brakes on the wet road. The car slid ten feet. Twenty. Thirty, then finally stopped just short of the iron bars. Jon-Luc jumped out, scrambled onto the hood of the car, then grabbed the top of the bars, flinging himself up and over.

He landed hard on his feet and rolled. After jumping back up, he sprinted toward the residence. The rain had let up a bit, but the asphalt was slick. He slipped, landing on one knee, but pushed up with his hands and continued on. By the time he reached the front door, he heard the sirens of the police cruisers arriving, then the sound of screeching tires.

He heaved the door open, then jogged toward the ballroom. Skidding on the tile floor as he tried to stop, he collided with the door. His forehead hit the panel, then he twisted the knob, but nothing happened. "It's me, let me in." Jon-Luc pounded on the wood with his open hand.

Greg, one of the guards, unlocked the door and it swung open. "Is everyone okay?" Jon-Luc searched the room as he entered. Startled eyes stared back.

"Everyone's fine," Greg answered.

"And the intruder?" Jon-Luc focused on the guard.

"No word, yet. David and Rick are still securing the grounds."

"Okay. The police have arrived. Go open the gate and let them in. I'll stay here."

"Yes, sir," Greg said as he unhooked his firearm and left the room.

Jon-Luc scanned the group until he located Angie standing off to the side with Lissette. The moment their eyes locked, she rushed into his arms. He pulled her tight against his wet body. "Are you okay?" he asked resting his chin on the top of her head.

"I am now." Her voice shook.

"Hey, I'm here now. It's okay." Jon-Luc stroked her back. "Hopefully they caught the guy, and this will all be over."

He noticed Claude in his peripheral vision, and let her go. The expression in her eyes wounded him. He took her face in his hands. "I'll be right back. I just need to talk to Claude for a minute. All right?"

Angie nodded somberly. Jon-Luc turned toward his friend and led him from the room. Standing in the foyer, he asked, "Did they catch him?"

Claude shook his head. "No."

"Shit." Jon-Luc ran his hands through his wet hair. "What do you know?"

"Not much, yet. David said they saw the shadow of a man by the back door. But he took off and they gave chase. They lost him by the gardening shed."

"How the hell could they lose him? This place was supposed to be locked down." Jon-Luc couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Make sure they search every square inch of the property. The guy couldn't have just disappeared."

"The place is crawling with cops. If he's here, we'll find him."

"Has anyone seen Demetrius or Michael?" Jon-Luc asked.

"I don't know, I will check it out. But before I leave." Claude bent down and pulled a gun from an ankle holster. "You may need this."

"Thanks." Jon-Luc checked the safety before he shoved the gun in the waistband of his pants at the small of his back.

Claude took off leaving Jon-Luc to ponder his next move.

The guards said they’d lost him by the gardening shed. Jon-Luc walked out the front door and observed flashlights bobbing around the property. He had faith they would leave no stone unturned, but he couldn't stand idly by.

He wandered across the property toward the shed where the guy had vanished. On the way, he ran into one of the officers and asked if he had an extra flashlight. The guy produced a penlight and shrugged. Jon-Luc thanked him. It was better than nothing. He walked the perimeter of what they were calling a shed. It was more like a one-car garage, solidly build.

He searched the ground, yet found no footprints in the mud other than the ones leading to the front door, none coming out. Jon-Luc entered and searched for a light switch which he found on his right. He flipped it on, but wasn't impressed by the illumination. Heavy shadows filled the room.

He aimed the penlight to his right and it landed on a large riding mower. To his left were shelves containing pots, rat poison, fertilizer, bug spray, and potting soil. Tools hung on the walls, a proper place for everything. All in all, the room was neat as a pin. The only thing out of character was the floor. It was made from wooden planks. Why not concrete? The riding mower alone must weigh a ton.

The last thought bothered Jon-Luc enough to examine the floor. He wasn't sure for what, until he found it.

Directly across the room was a potting table. Small tools hung within easy reach. Under the table, the dust had been disturbed. He got down on all fours to inspect it further. That's when he noticed the faint lines cut into the floor.

He jumped up and grabbed a trowel, then forced the edges of the wood until he could grip the rim. It was a trap door. He threw back the top connected by hinges on the underside and shined the light into the dark abyss. He noticed a ladder, but his eyesight was limited to the first few rungs. He shoved the penlight into his back pocket, turned around and descended into the hole.

Once he hit bottom, he turned. It was black as pitch.

He snagged the tiny flashlight, shinning it around. He was in an underground cave. It reminded him of pictures he'd seen of mines; wooden cross beams extended to the end of the shaft of light. He followed the tunnel and soon noticed another ladder. He climbed it and pushed the top until it squeaked open. When he emerged, he found himself outside again, on the other side of the concrete wall surrounding the estate. He noticed heavy footprints in the mud and followed them to a set of tire tracks.

Jon-Luc took out his cell phone and called Claude.

"It's Luc. I found a trap door in the gardening shed. It must be how the guy got away. I need you to get a forensics team to the outside wall of the grounds. By my calculations, we're talking directly behind the house. I'll leave the trap door open for them to find it more easily. There are tracks, foot and tire. So tell them to be careful not corrupt the scene. I'm going back in to see where the tunnel leads."

"Be careful, my friend," Claude answered.

"Don't worry, I'm certain the guy is long gone. I'll be in touch."

Jon-Luc stuffed the phone in his jacket pocket, then climbed back into the hole. He shone the light around to get his bearings and proceeded into the unknown. It was quite some time before he came upon another ladder. He put the light in his mouth and mounted the steps. This time when he exited, he was in some kind of closet; brooms, mops, and a vacuum greeted him. He located the door and pushed.

Jon-Luc found himself standing in the chateau's kitchen. Alone. "Holy shit." He pulled out the firearm and released the safety. Although certain the guy was gone, he wasn't about to bet his life on it. With the gun facing the ceiling, he snagged the first closed door he came to and threw it open, then dropped to a squat with the gun aimed into the room. Empty. He closed himself into the half-bath with a sink and commode, then called Claude.

Without so much as a hello, he said, "I need a team inside the house. I can't check this massive structure alone."

"You think he doubled back?" Claude asked.

"Can't be too sure. The passage I followed led me to the inside of the house."

"Say no more." The call ended.

Jon-Luc made his way to the ballroom. Upon opening the door, he searched for Greg. He found him standing by the window. When he spotted Jon-Luc, he walked toward him. The moment he was close enough, Jon-Luc spoke, keeping his voice down. "I want you to keep everyone inside until we clear the house."

"Oui."

Jon-Luc shut the door, then explored the first floor. When he'd finished, he waited in the foyer until Claude joined him. "The house is clear," Claude said putting away his gun.

"Great. Did your men find anything outside?" Jon-Luc asked.

Claude crossed his arms over his chest. "They're still investigating."

"At least the rain has stopped for now." Jon-Luc stood with his hands on his hips, staring out the open door. "When they're done with the shed, have someone pull the riding mover over the top of the trap door so it can't be used again."

"Good idea."

"I'm going to check on the group and give them the all clear." Jon-Luc ran a hand down his face and stared at Claude. "I think I'll insist everyone stay here tonight. We can't take our chances with this lunatic running around."

Claude nodded and headed for the door.

Jon-Luc walked back to the ballroom and made the announcement. The group gave a collective sigh. He found Angie and Lissette. "Is everyone present and accounted for?"

The women scanned the crowd.

"I think so," Lissette said.

"Wait. Did Julietta return?" Angie asked.

Lissette glanced around again, then stared at Angie.

"I haven't seen her since. . ." Lissette's thought trailed off.

"Since when?" Jon-Luc urged.

Angie answered for her. "She left to use the restroom, but that was before we were sequestered in this room."

"Are we talking about Julietta Badeau?" Jon-Luc felt as if ice water were running through his veins.

"Yes, why?" Angie stared up at him and he swallowed.

"Because she's on the killer's list."

27

Jon-Luc snagged his phone. "Claude, check on Svetlana Berggren. Make sure she's safe."

"She has a policeman with her, I'm sure she's fine," Claude answered. His tone said he thought Jon-Luc was losing it.

"Julietta Badeau was here and now she's missing. I think the killer came in and took her. Those footprints outside the wall, they were unusually deep. He must have been carrying her."

French expletives followed, then into the phone Claude said, "I will make a call over to Svetlana's flat. I will ring you back."

Jon-Luc paced the floor while he waited for his phone to ring. It had barely rung once when he answered. "Talk to me."

"She is asleep."

"Did you make sure someone actually had eyes on her?"

"Yes, my man went to her room and checked."

"Okay. What did you find out about Demetrius and Michael?"

"No one has seen either one."

Jon-Luc glanced at his watch, it was three-thirty in the morning. "I want an APB out on both."

"Done. Anything else?"

"Just for shits and giggles, put a BOLO out on Julietta. I'm almost certain the killer has her, but we have to be sure she didn't just duck out because she had a date."

"On it."

Jon-Luc's mind raced while he tried to narrow down the next plan of attack. "By any chance has your crew come up with the type of car parked by the back wall?"

"Just that the tires are wide enough to come from a truck, SUV or van."

"Great," Jon-Luc said sarcastically.

"They will be able to tell more from the tread once they get the molds back to headquarters and run them."

"Can you send someone back now to get on it?"

"I just did. I think you should try to get some sleep. I will handle all I can tonight before I do the same."

Jon-Luc sighed. "You'll call the minute you have something?"

"If I feel you can be of help. As much as I appreciate all you have done, this is still my investigation. I think I can handle things for a few hours on my own." Claude chuckled.

"Right. Sorry. I guess I let the adrenaline get the better of me."

"I understand. It happens to all of us. I will speak with you tomorrow, I mean, later today."

"All right." Jon-Luc put his phone away and glanced around. He was alone. All but one light was off downstairs. He strolled over to the front door and opened it. Greg stood sentinel to his right. The grounds were surrounded by klieg lights as bright as day, and men littered the area, hard at work. Jon-Luc said goodnight to Greg, then closed the door.

When he entered Angie's bedroom, he found it empty, but heard the shower running. He placed the gun in the nightstand drawer on his side of the bed and removed his clothes. A hot shower sounded good. It had been a long day.

He slipped into the stall while Angie was rinsing her hair, eyes closed, facing him. He took the opportunity to taste her luscious lips. His intent of a simple greeting soon turned to passion. The moment she welcomed him into her mouth, the need to devour her took over. It was hard enough to know someone you care about is in trouble, but to see it firsthand and be unable to stop it was crippling. The fear he'd felt of losing her had engulfed him.

With both hands on her face, he broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers. "God, I've wanted to do that since I first laid eyes on you tonight and knew you were safe."

Angie pulled back, placing her hands on his face. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. If the positions were reversed, I don't know what I'd do." She kissed his lips, eyelids, and forehead, then trailed kisses down his body. When she took him into her mouth, his body fell back against the tile. The things she did with her tongue and teeth were so amazing he almost forgot himself.

Almost being the operative word. He pulled her up and spun her around, entering her from behind. Her hands splayed against the tile, her head dipped forward. He traced the line from her neck down to the crack of her spectacular ass and marveled, once again, about this unbelievable woman. The sounds she made as he entered her turned him on more than he cared to admit.

He leaned down, took her breasts in his hands and played with her nipples. Her head lurched up and a cry escaped. He gripped her nipples a bit more forcefully and was rewarded when she began to come.

He drove into her harder and faster until he felt his own release, than collapsed against the tile himself, his hands braced on either side of her, his body now pressed to hers. The sound of their heavy breathing was matched only by the water cascading over them. A moment later, Angie flipped around and faced him. She lightly kissed his lips. "Thanks, I needed that."

He had to laugh. She needed it? He thought he'd die if he couldn't have her again and soon. Instead he said, "My pleasure. Glad to be of service." Then smiled down at her. Damn, he was a lucky guy.

After drying each other off, they snuggled together on the bed. Her head lay on his shoulder, while he stroked her arm. They both were silent in the afterglow. Jon-Luc hated to ruin the mood, but he had something on his mind and had to get it out. "Chere."

"Hmmm." Her hand stroked his stomach in lazy circles.

"Now don't get mad."

Her hand stilled. "That doesn't sound good."

"I know how important this show is to you."

Her body tensed. "Yeah?"

"And I know the date is close."

"If you call tomorrow close, then yeah." Her head popped up and she glared at him. "What the hell are you trying to say, Luc?" Her anger evident.

"Tonight was hell. I thought he'd gotten you."

Her eyes softened and she stoked his cheek. "But he didn't."

His anger mounted. "This time."

"So let me guess, you want me to bow out of the show. For us to bow out of the show. Is that it?"

"Well, yeah." He placed his index finger to her lips. "But before you say anything, listen to me a minute." Her brows arched in response.

"You told me yourself how crazy these things are. And even with guards around and everyone being sequestered in one room, we still lost someone." He closed his eyes a moment and recalled the killer stalking her. He mentally shook the image away and focused on her. "Chere, now that I've found you, I can't lose you." He couldn't believe he was saying what he'd been thinking all night. "I know we haven't known each other long. And I may sound like a sap, but the truth is. . .shit." He ran a hand through his hair and stared at the ceiling. "Oh, dammit it all to hell."

"That's romantic."

He glanced down, she was grinning. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Luc said.

"Yeah, I kinda am. Just spit it out. I promise the sky won't fall."

"You're infuriating, you know that?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

He barked a laugh. "Oh, chere." He stoked her damp hair.

"The truth is, I've never had a real relationship with a woman. I never felt I could trust anyone with my secret, so I put up a wall to keep everyone out."

"Sounds lonely."

"I didn't know the difference, but now I do. You're everything I ever dreamed of but didn't know existed."

"Now that is romantic." She kissed his lips.

That pissed him off. "I'm not trying to be romantic."

"Too bad, you are." She plopped her head back down.

He shook his head. She was not taking him seriously. He was trying to convince her to be safe, but the conversation had turned into a clusterfuck. He'd just given her a confession he didn't intend to give. At least not now, if ever. He didn't know, it's not like he'd thought this through.

"Dammit, chere, would you pay attention here?" He growled.

"I am paying attention. You're falling in love with me and you don't want to see me killed. We're on the same page."

"Love? I didn't say anything about love." This was getting out of hand. He wasn't falling in love with her, was he? How the hell would he know? It's not like it's ever happened before.

"Close enough." She propped her elbow on the pillow next to his head and rested her head in her hand so he could see her now when she talked. "Look. I do grasp what you're saying and where you're coming from. Now you have to realize what you're asking."

"But—"

"Uh, I'm talking now and you're listening." She waited a beat. "This is not a normal nine-to-five job where I can just call in sick. Lissette is relying on me. I'm her right hand. It may sound grandiose, but it's the truth. There is no one who can step in for me."

"Fine, but—" Angie put her fingers to his mouth to shut him up.

"No, she can't just bow out either. Her career and reputation are on the line here. So, I'm counting on you and the fine French police to keep us safe. After tomorrow night, you can hide me away for as long as you like, but the show will go on as planned. Got it?"

"Fuck me," Jon-Luc said with resignation and closed his eyes.

"Sounds like a great idea." Angie's hand slid down his belly, under the sheet and began to do remarkable things to him. He felt himself grow hard under her expert touch.

He opened his eyes to kiss her and noticed the bed was surrounded. Slamming his hand over hers to stay it's progress, he scrambled up into a sitting position.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Angie's voice sounded panicked.

"We're not alone," he said without looking at her.

28

Angie grabbed at the duvet and covered her naked body. "Who's here?" Her voice trembled.

Jon-Luc covered her hand and got control over himself before he answered. It always took him by surprise when someone just materialized out of thin air.

"Don't worry, chere, they're harmless."

"They?" Her voice had jumped an octave.

"Remember, I've been dealing with spirits most my life. I've never been hurt once."

Angie frowned. "Wish I could say the same," she mumbled, then a little louder. "What do you see?"

Jon-Luc knew he couldn't tell her in detail. The ghastly scene surrounding them now was the stuff of nightmares. God knows he'd had a few in his life. "I guess you would say the Seine Slasher's victims." He gulped.

"All of them?" she asked.

He shrugged. "As far as I know."

"Well, what do they look like?"

"Um." He glanced at Angie, then scanned the room. Front and center was Genevieve, the leader of the pack, so to speak. She stood directly at the foot of the bed, black holes for eyes, blood slipping down her arms in rivulets. Each victim looked worse then the last. His eyes settled on Julietta; the killer had indeed snatched her. He couldn't begin to describe the carnage that had once resembled a human being, so he said, "Dead."

"Thanks, that makes it much clearer." Her words thick with sarcasm. "Do they look like in the movies?"

Jon-Luc stared at her. "I guess that would depend on what kind of movies you watch. They don't look like Casper, if that's what you mean."

Angie clucked her tongue in impatience. "Can you see through them?"

"No. That one I can answer."

"Okay, now we're getting somewhere. So they look like the ghosts on American Horror Story, season one."

"If you say so."

Her hands fell to the bed on either side of her. "You're hopeless."

"Sorry, but I've been kinda busy the last ten years catching bad guys. I haven't had much time to watch TV or see movies. Remember, FBI agent?" He hooked his thumb toward his chest.

"Whatever. Can you at least tell me what they want?"

"I don't know, they're just kind of standing there right now."

"No, knucklehead, ask them!"

Jon-Luc couldn't figure out for the life of him what she was so angry about, but he did want to appease her.

He looked back at the spirits standing before him. "What do you want?" Genevieve pointed to him. He glanced back at Angie.

"Genevieve says she wants me."

"Hel-lo." Angie yelled to the room. "He's taken,"      she said indignantly.

Then Genevieve motioned for him to follow.

"Oh." Jon-Luc jumped out of bed and scrambled for his pants.

"What are you doing?" Surprise was evident in Angie's voice.

Fastening the front of his pants, he looked up. "She wants me to go with her." Before he knew it, the ghost had disappeared through the door and the other women trailed behind. Not bothering with socks, Jon-Luc pulled on his boots and gave chase.

"Wait. I'm coming with you!" He heard Angie yell as he flew down the stairs.

Jon-Luc lost the ghosts. He reached the front door and yanked it open. Greg spun around, reaching for his gun, then relaxed at the site of Luc. "Monsieur?"

"How's it going out here?" Jon-Luc said as he scanned the grounds. The sun was just rising, breaking through the clouds. Only a few men remained scattered to the far reaches of the estate.

"Fine. Everything okay inside?" Greg asked.

"Yeah," Jon-Luc said without looking at the uniformed policeman. He spotted movement on the other side of the grass.

"Just needed some fresh air." Then he was off.

By the time he caught up with the women, they were standing in front of the gazebo. Jon-Luc bent at the waist resting his hands on his thighs as he caught his breath. "What's so fascinating about this damn spot?" he said between gasps, to no one in particular. Just then Genevieve aimed her finger at a potted plant to the right of the steps which led to the sitting area.

This time he addressed the pointing woman. "Nice plant. Could you be more specific?" She glared at him and thrust her nail polished digit once more for emphasis.

"Fine." Jon-Luc got down on the damp ground to inspect the area further. The moist grass soaked through the knees of his jeans and his body shivered. That's when he realized he'd forgotten his shirt. The thought drifted away when he noticed the plant had been moved. The earth disturbed. He jumped up and slid the pot a few feet out of the way. Underneath, dry soil mixed with wet. He knelt and began to dig with his bare hands, the loose soil gave easily.

"What is it?" Jon-Luc glanced up and found Angie, fully clothed, standing behind him.

"Not sure yet." He got about a foot down before he discovered the top of a jar. He dug around it, then lifted it up with two fingers in an attempt to save potential fingerprints. When he held it to the light, Angie screamed.

Inside the jar were two eyes and a tongue. Trophies.

Jon-Luc set the jar down gingerly before he took the rattled Angie into his arms. "Go inside. I'll be there in a minute," he said as gently as he could. To his relief, she nodded and wandered off toward the house. The scream alerted the forensic team still working and the policemen walking the grounds. They all stood around him now. Not knowing who was in charge, Jon-Luc addressed the group.

"We have evidence. The killer has stored his trophies here. I need them dug up, cataloged and fingerprinted. I'll contact Inspector Rousseau myself." Several men nodded.

Turning to Greg. "I need you to be extra vigilant. This guy knows the estate inside and out. There could be ways to get in we don't know about." Greg nodded. "I want you to stay at the front door, I want officers inside, and I want someone to contact the men in the unit at the front gate. Tell them to notify me if either Demetrius or Michael show up, or anyone suspicious. And get another cruiser here to circle the estate outside the walls."

"On it," Greg said before he jogged away. The other policemen scrambled in different directions.

Jon-Luc headed toward the house to finish dressing. When he reached Angie's room, she was coming toward him with a cell phone. "Your phone's been ringing incessantly. I didn't answer it, so they could leave a message," she said handing the device over to him.

"Thanks." Jon-Luc checked the memory. Two missed calls from Claude and two messages waiting. He hit send and listened to the voicemail. Claude notified him that they'd found Julietta's body. Jake had information he wanted to share. The dead body could wait. He called Jake first.

"Hey, Luc, sorry it took so long to get back to you. There were complications with the birth and I had to call in the vet. Both mare and foal are fine though."

"That's good news. What have you got?"

"I was just preparing to send you an email, but I'll give it to now. It's not much."

Jon-Luc sat on the edge of the bed. "Lay it on me."

“Okay. Michael Andrew D'Arcy was born in Albany, New York. He grew up there, happy family, two siblings, then he got a scholarship to NYU. Worked in a pizza joint to support himself. Majored in Economics.”

“Whoa, Economics? This kid's smart.”

“He was."

"Did you say was, as in past tense?"

"He died in a car crash a year and a half ago. He and a few guys were out partying after a football game when the driver lost control of the car and hit a tree. Michael was the only one killed, the other boys walked away with minor injuries.”

“Son of a bitch.” Jon-Luc scrubbed a hand down his face.

“Oh, did I mention that D'Arcy was African American?”

Jon-Luc took a deep breath. "No shit?"

"Kind of surprised me too. Sorry I don't have more at this time. I'm looking into the other guys in the car, all Caucasian. I just wanted to give you a heads up so you could watch your ass."

"Appreciate it. I'll see if I can run down a photo of our guy to send you. Might make things a bit easier."

"A bit," Jake said sarcastically.

"In the meantime, let me know if you get anything else."

"Will do." Jake hung up.

Jon-Luc found Angie in the bathroom brushing her teeth.

"Okay, now I'm demanding you stay away from Michael. In fact, we already have an APB out on the guy. So, if you see him, you tell me or any law enforcement type in the vicinity as soon as possible." He stood behind her watching her face in the mirror.

Angie rinsed her mouth and spat. "What's happened?"

"The guy's name is not Michael D'Arcy. The real one is dead. We don't know who this guy is." Angie's eyes widened, she dried her mouth and hands, then turned around to face him.

"Why would he change his name?" she asked.

"I don't know, but it can't be good."

She looked at the floor and shook her head, then stared back at him. Her brows furrowed, worry lines creased the edges of her eyes. "My God. Do you have any idea how many times I've been alone with him?"

"I'd rather not think about it." He took her into his arms and felt her body relax against his. "I have to return a call from Claude. I may have to leave for awhile. Do not go anywhere without a police escort."

Angie pulled out of his embrace. "We're moving to the hotel in a little bit. The show's this afternoon."

"Fine, just don't go anywhere alone. Got it?" Jon-Luc couldn't emphasize it enough.

He returned Claude's call and brought him up to speed on the evidence he'd found as well as filled him in on the D'Arcy imposter.

"So, this guy is most probably our killer."

"Can't count out Demetrius just yet. He's still missing. But the odds are in favor of John Doe."

"Can you get to the city?" Claude asked.

"I'll see if I can catch a lift back with one of the guys working the scene here."

"Thanks. Julietta has been found and I'd like your expert opinion on the body."

Her last image flashed through Jon-Luc's mind. "Ugly sight, huh?"

"Not pretty."

29

The show was halfway over and House de Beauchamp was up next. Still no sign of Jon-Luc, though he'd promised to be there for her. Standing backstage, Angie scanned the crowd through a slit in the curtain. He might have misunderstood and been waiting in the audience. She was eager to point out her work, but if he was sitting out there, she couldn't do it. Surely he would find her as soon as he arrived, if for no other reason than to wish her luck.

"Angie!"

"Shit," Angie muttered under her breath. She spun around in time to see Didi limp across the room toward her. "What is it?"

She shoved a shoe in her face, the heel dangled by a thread.

"Oh, hell." Angie grabbed the shoe. "Follow me." She took off in the direction of her emergency kit, actually a tackle box, and lifted the lid. "Where is it?" She shoved things around, then started emptying everything out on the table. "Crapbasket!" She looked back at the shoe. "Size eleven, narrow?"

Didi's chin jutted out as if she'd been offended. "So?"

"So, take mine. I won't need them until I leave." Angie slipped out of her stilettos and kicked them over to the girl.

Didi stared at them, her nose scrunched as if disgusted.

The music changed. "Put the damn things on now." Angie slapped her thigh. "Hurry!" As soon as the girl had her foot in the second shoe, Angie started to drag her. "You're up next!" She pushed Didi and the model almost lost her footing, but corrected herself before she hit the runway. Angie let out a pent up breath and shifted her position so she could watch the show. Flash bulbs went crazy as the girls strutted by.

Angie's eyes watered watching the expressions of the audience whenever one of her designs went past. Jennifer Lopez elbowed the guy sitting next to her, then pointed at one of her dresses. Elated, Angie thought she might scream. She covered her mouth, just in case, then laughed at her stupidity. No one would have heard even if she screamed at the top of her lungs the music was so loud. She felt an arm wrap around her waist. "Luc!" She tried to turn, but found herself in a tight hold.

"Close, but no cigar," a menacing voice whispered in her ear. A cloth enveloped her face and she couldn't breathe. She kicked and clawed at her assailant, but soon felt the fight leave her body. Then nothing.

Jon-Luc glanced at his watch. "Shit. I'm late. I told Angie I'd be at her show." He and Claude were back at the Beauchamp estate going over the evidence that had been uncovered.

Claude's phone rang. "Oui. Be there momentarily."

"What's up?" Jon-Luc asked.

"The men sent over to Demetrius' room found something. They want us there now." Claude slipped his phone back into his pocket and both men took off at a jog toward the garage apartment.

As they entered the room, a man said, "In the bedroom."

Jon-Luc followed Claude and stopped short. "Holy shit."

The door to the walk-in closet stood open. It was covered in photos of Angie and not the posed kind. "This son of a bitch has been stalking her." He moved closer, his anger mounting. One shot was of her in the bedroom of the cottage here on the grounds. Thankfully she was dressed, but the idea of some sick fuck spying on her in her bedroom pissed him off.

"I want him. Now," he said through gritted teeth. Jon-Luc pulled out his cell phone and called Angie's number. It rang four times before being sent to voicemail. "Chere, call me the second you get this." He turned to Claude. "We're outta here."

"You think he's got her?"

"She's not answering. I'm not waiting around here to find out. Come on, you can call your guys from the car. I want to make sure someone has her in their sights."

They jumped in the Peugeot and took off, siren blaring. It was pretty much a straight shot back to the city. Jon-Luc continued to try and reach Angie, though all attempts failed. Claude pulled his phone away from his mouth and turned to Jon-Luc. "No one can find her. She was there ten minutes ago."

"Make sure they comb every inch of that damn hotel and get your people outside. See if anyone saw a vehicle parked or idling by the back door." While Claude relayed the message, Jon-Luc's phone beeped. He had a text. He watched as it loaded on the screen, and a picture popped up.

It was a Louisiana driver’s license of a Chauvin, pronounced Show-van, Boudreaux, twenty-two, brown eyes, 6'6". He stared at the picture of a younger Michael D'Arcy. His phone rang. It was Jake. Instead of his usual greeting he said, "What the fuck?"

"I take that to mean you got the picture I sent?"

"Good guess. I don't get it, what is this shit?"

"You mean you didn't know you had a younger sibling?"

The image of his mother playing at the park with a toddler filled his head. "Yeah, but we've never actually met. Last time I saw him he was still in diapers."

"Not anymore. This explains the message I received. The killer is close to Jon-Luc."

"Holy shit, not close as in physically, but close as in the same family tree!" Jon-Luc was stunned.

"Yup. You know, I can see the resemblance now."

"Like hell you can," Jon-Luc said, miffed.

"Of course you can't see it, you're too close. He attended NYU as a business major and his best friend was the real Michael D'Arcy. In fact, he was driving the car that killed him. After that, he dropped out of college and was admitted to Our Lady of the Lake Regional Medical Center, a psychiatric hospital in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. He was diagnosed with schizophrenia and Fanatic Narcissistic Personality Disorder."

"That makes things a bit clearer. He must be clairvoyant like me, so obviously they label him a schizophrenic. Being responsible for the death of his friend must have been a catalyst for him. The dead friend probably hung around, reminding him on a daily basis of the accident. Maybe that's why he took his name, to keep him alive. But being a fanatic narcissist means he's most likely our killer. People in this category may have suffered some childhood trauma that resulted in a lack of self-esteem."

"Seeing ghosts from a young age would qualify," Jake interjected.

"Exactly, and having no one in your life who understands," Jon-Luc added. "Consequently, these people fantasize about and put into play grand schemes that will make them appear significant in the eyes of others. When these actions fail to impress those around them, they begin to think of themselves as a hero with a great mission to accomplish."

"I forgot you have a degree in psychology," Jake said.

"Yup, I knew before starting college I wanted to enter the FBI, so I majored in criminology with a minor in psychology."

"So what great mission is he trying to accomplish by killing these women?" Jake asked.

"There was a young model here who took her own life because of the bullying she endured at the hands of the women he's killed. Perhaps he cared about this girl, Melody, so he decided to be her hero and pay back those who've wronged her."

"They wouldn't be the first people he's killed."

"There's more?" Jon-Luc said.

"After six months in the mental hospital, he went on a bloody rampage and escaped. He's smart. He waited until night when they ran on a skeleton crew. He slit their throats with some crude tool he'd made himself. Then changed into scrubs and stole one of their cars."

"So he ran to France. We have some relatives, on my mother’s side, who live over here. Maybe we should check and see if he looked any of them up?"

"I don't think he's the sentimental type."

"What do you mean?"

"I've got some bad news."

"More?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but your parents are dead. Killed about a year ago. Same MO as the victims in the mental hospital, throats slit."

Jon-Luc swallowed the lump in his throat. "You sure?"

"I'll send you the article."

"Save it." Jon-Luc covered his face. For years after he'd run away, he fantasized about his parents searching for him and apologizing. Promising they wouldn't lock him up. Of course, that never happened. There were no flyers put up around the city, no photo on the back of milk cartons. No press release pleading for him to return. But somewhere in the back of his mind, he always thought he'd see them again. The dream in the car. His mother's warning.

"I understand," Jake said quietly.

"Thanks, buddy." Jon-Luc's voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "So he killed our parents and fled the country under his new identity, Michael D'Arcy. You know, this could have just as easily have been my story if I hadn't met Frank."

"Yeah, the thought had crossed my mind," Jake said softly.

"Dammit. I should have been there for him. If he just had someone around to let him know he wasn't nuts. . ."

"Hey, you didn't know."

"But I should have. After all, this shit is hereditary. If I'd just checked up on him, maybe-"

"Don't make yourself crazy over this. None of it's your fault."

"Right, I've got to stay focused. He may have grabbed that woman I was telling you about."

"The one you're romantically involved with?"

Jon-Luc's laugh held no mirth. "That's the one. Her name is Angie and at the moment she's missing. I honestly don't know if anyone has her or not. Yet. And to tell you the truth, we have a more viable suspect."

Jake cleared his throat. "Luc, I think you're missing something important here."

"What's that?"

"Your visions? You said you could see through the killer's eyes."

"Holy shit! Blood ties. How the hell could I have forgotten about that?"

"Gee, I don't know. Maybe because you just learned your brother is a homicidal maniac who killed your parents and untold others?"

"There is that."

"Luc, I need to speak with you." Claude said.

Jon-Luc turned and noticed his friends mouth set in a grim line.

"Jake, I've got to go," Jon-Luc said while staring at Claude.

"Call me the minute you find your girl," Jake added.

"You got it." Jon-Luc hung up. "What is it?"

"They found Demetrius."

"Does he have Angie?"

"Not exactly."

A shock of fear ran through Jon-Luc.

30

Although loath to ask, Jon-Luc did anyway. "What have you learned?"

"The guys processing the tunnel found Demetrius's body. My guess is you didn't search the entire underground."

Jon-Luc let out a pent up breath. "No, when I got to the kitchen, I stopped. How long has he been dead?"

"About twenty-four hours. His throat was cut."

"That means Michael really is our killer." Jon-Luc filled Claude in on his conversation with Jake.

"The Seine Slasher is your brother?"

"Yeah, lucky me." Jon-Luc shook his head. "I'd like Dysfunctional Families for $500, Alex."

"And I thought my family was screwed up." Claude rolled his eyes.

The car came to a screeching halt at the double doors of the hotel. Several police cars were already there. Some stood empty, lights still flashing. When they entered the lobby, they were intersected by a uniformed cop who addressed Claude. The entire hotel was crawling with cops, but Angie had not been found. They did find a cop who'd been knocked out and was missing his gun.

"Have they done a room-to-room search?" Jon-Luc interrupted.

Claude turned to him. "That would not be possible."

"Why the fuck not?" Jon-Luc paced, his adrenaline on overdrive.

"We would need a warrant. The manager would not allow us to search each room without one. This is a prominent hotel, with many influential guests who do not wish their privacy be disturbed. It would be difficult to convince an investigative magistrate without probable cause. We need evidence."

Jon-Luc stopped pacing in front of Claude and glared at him. "What kind of evidence?"

"Maybe a witness who saw her taken, or being dragged into an elevator. Something."

"What about the security cameras?" Jon-Luc asked.

"Already checked. At this point, we have nothing," Claude said in an infuriatingly calm voice.

"We don't have nothing. I know she's in danger, I feel it." Jon-Luc thumped his chest with his fist.

Claude placed a hand on Jon-Luc's shoulder. "We will find her, my friend."

"Fuck that. I'll start knocking on doors myself while you get your fucking evidence." Jon-Luc took off toward the stairs, but before he knew it Claude was in front of him, both hands on Jon-Luc's chest.

"Do not make me arrest you," Claude said sternly.

Jon-Luc pulled up short and stared into Claude's eyes.

"Well I'm not standing around here with my thumb up my ass," he ground out.

Angie awoke with a splitting headache and moaned. She was on the floor of a vehicle and couldn't move her arms or legs.

"The bitch awakes."

The tarp draped over her impaired her vision, but she knew the voice. "Michael?"

"Cha-ching. We have a winner!"

"What's going on?" The haze in her brain began to lift and Angie realized she was hogtied. The bindings around her wrists were tight and her fingers tingled.

"You just couldn't take a hint, could you?"

"Huh?"

"The dog shit?" he laughed.

"That was you?"

"Pretty funny, huh? I got the idea after seeing this woman pick up after her mutt. She was looking for a trashcan and I offered to take care of it for her. She was so honored she'd found a real gentleman. It worked on my college roommate. He switched rooms immediately when I did that to him. But you didn't leave."

"Why would I? It was a childish prank."

"It was not childish!" he yelled.

Angie flinched. This guy's crazier than bat shit.

"Then you moved onto the grounds, getting even closer to Lissette. She loved me like a son. I knew when she died she'd leave me everything. Me!" He screamed the last word. "Then you came along and I was all but forgotten. Everything was Angela this and Angela that," he said in a singsong voice. "Made me want to puke.

"That's when I knew I had to get serious. So I slaughtered that rabbit and left it for you to find, as a warning. If you didn't leave, that's what I'd do to you. But instead of running away, you moved into the goddamned house and started fucking my brother!"

Angie shook her head. "Luc is your brother? But you don't sound the same, you have no accent."

"Damn straight. When I got to NYU I wanted to blend in, not sound like some stupid hick. So I hired a tutor to give me diction lessons."

"Why didn't he recognize you?"

"He ran away before I was born. I don't even know if he realizes I exist. But he will, I've made certain of it."

"Has anyone found her phone?" Jon-Luc asked the cops standing around watching them.

Claude barked an order and the men scrambled.

"Her phone is on. When I call the number, it rings. You can trace it," Jon-Luc told Claude.

Claude made a call. "The number?" Jon-Luc looked it up and gave it to him. Then paced again as he waited for news. Was she being held in one of these rooms? Or are they on the move?

Jon-Luc's vision changed. He was driving a vehicle in traffic somewhere in the city. "Hey big brother, glad you could join us."

"Chauvin? How did you know I was here?" Jon-Luc couldn't believe he was talking in his head to his brother, the killer.

"Because I'm the one who called for you. I want you to watch when I kill your girlfriend like I did the woman from the plane."

"How did you know about her?" Jon-Luc wanted to hear it from him.

"I've been able to see through your eyes for awhile now. You've led an interesting life. I've learned a lot from the serial killers you've chased. Oh, and nice digs. You really scored hooking up with that old man. You're welcome, by the way."

"For what?" What the hell would he be grateful to this asshole for?

"I'm the one who killed him in that robbery gone bad. I read in the paper you inherited his entire estate. Not my intention, of course. I actually just wanted you to suffer."

Jon-Luc felt as though he'd been sucker punched. "Why? What have I ever done to you? I don't even know you!"

"Oh please, Jon-Luc the fucking saint. You may not have been physically in the house I grew up in, but your spirit never left. From the moment I was able to realize it, mother mourned your absence. I came upon her one day sitting on her bed, crying. She was going through a box. When I got closer, I noticed photographs, a pair of baby shoes. I asked about them and that's when she told me about you. Her firstborn." Chauvin's voice dripped with malice.

"I never knew." Jon-Luc choked up. She'd loved him after all.

"Getting sentimental are we? Don't bother. I burned it all. I snuck in one day and found the box. I even located your birth certificate and destroyed it as well. But that didn't stop her hero worship. Later I found the box filled with newspaper clippings and articles printed from the internet, all about the famous FBI profiler, Jon-Luc Boudreaux, and all the bad guys you'd put away. That's why I sent for you."

"Sent for me?"

"You were under the impression the idea of coming to Paris was yours? That's rich," he said with contempt.

"What do you mean?" Jon-Luc asked.

"I put that thought in your head. Jeez, you're even dumber than I thought. You think it's just a coincidence you're in the same city as me? I brought you here. I wanted to see if the almighty profiler god could catch me, but even when I took you along on my kills, you still didn't have a clue."

"You've known I could see through your eyes the entire time?"

"Of course, I choose what I want to share, not you."

At his words, a chill ran the length of Jon-Luc's spine. His brother had forced him to watch as he butchered those women.

"Didn't you notice I never let you see where I live? I only shared the good stuff. I wanted to gauge your reaction. I hoped, like me, you'd enjoy witnessing life being snuffed out. But no, you're the pathetic loser I always thought you'd be. Instead I relished the times you flinched and squirmed, it added to the excitement. I must say, I truly enjoyed being able to share my hobby with someone." Chauvin laughed, the sound evil.

"So what's your plan now?"

"You mean after I make you watch me kill your girlfriend?" The sinister laugh followed. "I'm going to kill you, dear brother. After that I have one more loose end and I'll be done. Then Melody will be avenged."

"So the reason you've massacred all these women is revenge for Melody, I thought as much. But what was she to you?"

"Beautiful, sweet, kind, Melody. I loved her like I've never loved anyone in my life. Kind of like the way you feel about the stupid cunt I have in the back. I planned on killing her anyway, but the fact that you care about her makes it all the more delicious. I get to kill two birds with one stone. Ha ha, I crack myself up."

"Did Melody feel the same about you?"

"Of course!" The words screamed through Jon-Luc's head and he grabbed his temples. "You doubt me?"

"Luc, what's wrong?" Claude's voice floated through the air from a great distance. He was torn between answering his friend, or his brother. He didn't know how long he'd have the connection with Chauvin and he needed to glean as much information as he could.

Jon-Luc addressed his brother. "Then why did she kill herself and leave you?"

"She didn't leave. She's sitting next to me right now."

"Ah, but can you touch her, kiss her?"

"Of course," Chauvin said with certainty.

"How is that even possible?" This perplexed Jon-Luc to no end. He'd never had the ability to touch one of the spirits who'd haunted him. Then again, his little brother seemed to have more abilities than Luc had. He couldn't discount a thing.

"So you plan to live happily ever after with a ghost?"

"What the hell are you talking about? Melody is not a ghost, she's flesh and blood, like you and me."

Chauvin had lost all grip on reality, which made him more dangerous than any other killer Luc had hunted. It made him more unpredictable.

"Tell me where you're going. You can't kill me if we're in two different places."

"Right. So you can bring in the cavalry? I'd rather find you, big brother."

Then the connection was severed. Jon-Luc found himself standing in the lobby of the St. James & Albany hotel, Claude staring at him. Concern etched his features. Luc lowered his hands from his head.

"What is wrong? You looked like you were in pain, but you wouldn't answer me," Claude said.

"Chauvin has Angie and he plans on killing her."

"How do you know?"

"I just had a very informative conversation with him. Come on. We have to go." Jon-Luc grabbed Claude's arm and steered him toward the exit.

Claude followed. "How did you manage this?"

"In my head. He found a way to talk to me through my mind."

"Where is he now?"

"He's driving, he has Angie in the back of an SUV. It's gray."

"Did you get the license plate?"

"No, how are we doing on that trace?"

"I'm waiting-" Claude's cell phone interrupted, "Send it to my GPS." He tucked his phone away and slipped into the car.

Jon-Luc did the same, after slamming the door, he asked, "Do they have a line on the vehicle?"

Claude started the car and pointed to the screen between them. "That red dot is them."

"Shit, they're on the other side of the city and moving at a good clip. How will we catch them with all this traffic?"

31

"I have a picture of him on my phone, let me send it to you," Jon-Luc said.

A moment later Claude said, "Got it, I will send it on to headquarters so they can distribute it." After pocketing his phone, he snagged the police radio and in rapid French barked orders. Jon-Luc understood enough to conclude he'd called all units to the vicinity of the red dot, describing the vehicle as best he could and informing them the driver's photo would follow shortly.

After hanging up the mic, Claude hit the siren and flashing light, then took off. Jon-Luc leaned forward on pins and needles as he watched the progress of the vehicle that held Angie. Out of nowhere a man's voice filled the car, a siren blared along with it through the speaker. He had eyes on the vehicle, the dot on the screen sped up.

Claude found a gap in the traffic and floored the accelerator. Jon-Luc flew back in his seat, then fumbled for the belt. He listened to the chatter of several excited men as they chased the vehicle, now known to be a silver Mercedes Benz SUV Class GLK registered to Lissette Marie Beauchamp.

"She probably has so many cars, she doesn't even know it's missing," Jon-Luc said once they heard the news.

"Oui," Claude said, distracted.

Several men started yelling at once. "What is it, what's happening?" Jon-Luc couldn't understand a thing as they shouted over one another.

"They have lost the vehicle," Claude explained.

"Lost? How the fuck can they lose it? The car is stopped. We can see it right there!" Jon-Luc tapped the screen.

"No. That is her cell phone. He must have figured out that is how we found him, so he dumped it."

Jon-Luc hit the dashboard. "Shit!" His body flopped back in the seat.

"Do not worry, they are in the general area where they last saw the SUV. Someone will pick it up."

Jon-Luc heard a malevolent laugh in his head. "What's wrong, big brother? Aren't you having fun?"

"You sick son-of-a-bitch. We will find you," Jon-Luc said aloud.

"You forget, I'm calling the shots," Chauvin replied.

"Yes, we will," Claude said at the same time.

"He's back, Claude. He's talking to me."

"In your head?"

"Yes"

"Can you see where he is?"

"No, I only hear him."

They drove for ten long minutes before that changed. Jon-Luc was in the killer’s body in a wooded area, huffing and puffing. He searched for signs of something that gave away his position, but nothing stood out. The trees were in full fall mode, the colors a spectacular mix of yellow, orange, and red.

Angie came into view as she dropped to the ground in front of him, the killer, his brother. Her arms and legs were tied in back. She was out cold. Jon-Luc was certain she was not dead, because he knew Chauvin wanted him to witness the deed. He needed an audience. At least he'd learned that much about his sibling.

"Glad you could join me," Chauvin's cocky voice sounded in his head.

"Leave her alone, Chauvin, this is between you and me."

"That's where you're wrong. The fact that she is your little chickadee is just an added bonus. I've been wanting her gone for some time."

"What did she ever do to you?"

"She fucked up my plans with Lissette. I'd been working on that bitch for quite awhile. Charming her with my poor orphan act. Being the perfect son and heir to her fortune. Doing everything she asked and more to win her favor.

"After all, she had no one to leave her riches to, it might as well be me. Then this bitch came along. At first she was no threat, but the more she wormed her way into Madame Beauchamp's good graces, the bigger a pain in the ass she became."

"You can't know what Lissette had planned. Maybe she did put you in her will."

"Oh, I know, big brother. I overheard her talking to her lawyer. She set it up that Angela Henderson was to inherit the bulk of her estate, naming her the heir apparent. So obviously she has to die. I will not have all my hard work wasted."

"But the authorities know who you are. You won't get away with this, so it's a moot point. Kill me instead. You can get your revenge that way," Jon-Luc pleaded.

"Oh, I'll kill you too. Don't worry about that. But she needs to die in the most imaginative way possible. When I'm through, even her own mother won't recognize her. This one is personal, this one's for me. She fucked with the wrong guy."

A knife appeared.

Jon-Luc's heartbeat ratcheted up. "Claude, I've got visual. He's in some sort of park. It's wooded. I can't see anything of use to indicate where."

"Can you see the river?" Claude's voice came at him.

"No. Just a lot of trees. But if he's keeping true to form, the river can't be far."

"Okay, keep watching and report if anything changes."

"I have no choice." Jon-Luc gripped the armrests tight. He was helpless, all he could do was observe while Angie was in the hands of a deranged killer.

"I'll start checking the parking lots of the nearest parks for the Mercedes," Claude said.

Jon-Luc heard Claude speaking French and knew he was alerting the cops to the latest development. He was not a religious man, but he figured asking God for help at this point couldn't hurt. "God, I know we haven't talked for some time, but if you protect Angie now, and help her make it out of this alive. I promise to help those in need, in your name. Amen."

The killer’s hands came into view. He turned the unconscious Angie on her side and cut the zip ties binding her wrists and ankles, then rolled her onto her back. Dressed for the show in evening attire, her royal blue garment shimmered in the rays of sunlight that streamed through the heavy branches above. She looked serene, just a beautiful woman sleeping in the forest. Under other circumstances, the image would be considered lovely.

A hand gripped the hem of her dress and the knife appeared once more. Jon-Luc cringed as the sharp blade ate its way up toward the neckline swiftly. Easily. Hands pulled the material aside, revealing a black lacy bra and matching thong. Jon-Luc couldn't stand watching Angie in such a vulnerable state.

"Stop. Please. I'll do anything you want. I beg you. Just leave her alone." Jon-Luc knew deep down his words were meaningless to their intended target, but at this juncture they were all he had.

"Oh, this is even better than I imagined. Listening to the big bad FBI agent whine like a little girl. Priceless." The revolting voice grated on Jon-Luc like nails on a chalkboard.

He felt a hand on his arm. "Luc, I see the car," Claude's voice whispered. Jon-Luc nodded. It was all he could think of to do. From far away he heard his friend calling his men to their location and instructing them to come in quiet. No lights, no sirens.

"Luc. Do you hear me?" Another man's voice echoed through his head.

"Frank?" Shocked to hear the voice of his dead mentor, Jon-Luc sat perfectly still, barely breathing.

"Listen to me carefully. I want you to imagine a brick wall around yourself, with Chauvin on the other side unable to see or hear you," Frank Thibodaux instructed.

"Will that prevent me from seeing Angie?"

"No, this will only make your brother blind to your thoughts and actions. To get your sight back, you will need to concentrate hard, willing the vision away while holding tight to your St. Michael medal. When the time comes to face Chauvin, call upon the power of Michael, the archangel, for the strength and power to fight the evil before you." Frank's voice softened.       "Luc, I know you're conflicted, but don't be fooled. Your brother is no longer there, it is a demon who wears his face. He must be killed quickly, without hesitation. It's the only way to set your brother free."

"How did this happen? Was Chauvin into devil worship or something?"

"No, nothing like that. After the death of his friend, he blamed himself. His depression was so great, he fell into a catatonic state. Because of his gift, the door between both worlds stood open. He floated from the physical to the spiritual plain and back again. This lasted for seven days. His defenses were so low he didn't care if he lived or died. A demon attached itself to him and woke him up, slamming the door shut in the process. The demon has been with him ever since, dueling inside your poor brother until the beast finally won."

The voice fell silent.

Alarmed, Jon-Luc cried out, "Frank? Are you still with me?"

"I am here, my son." The response comforted Jon-Luc like a warm blanket.

"Don't leave, I might still need you."

"I can't make any promises. The level of your distress was so great, it reached out and pulled me to you. I don't know how I made it here, or how long I'll be able to stay. That's why I needed to share all I knew before the tether is broken."

Jon-Luc had to act swiftly now more than ever. He refocused on Angie. In the time he'd spoken to Frank, her body had been carved with strange symbols, one above her breasts, then two more leading down her stomach, all the size of his fist.

The fiend had just begun another carving above her pelvic region. The edge of the knife blanched the skin just enough to produce a scarlet outline, without actually damaging her body. Blood bubbled up, chasing the tip of the blade as it danced along the surface making another bizarre design.

A deep throated chant accompanied the act in a foreign tongue. Jon-Luc knew Latin and this was not it. It must be one of the lost languages from centuries past. He thanked God Angie was still out cold, unable to witness the atrocities being done to her, or feel any pain.

Jon-Luc shut his eyes, clutched the medallion and forced the image from his mind. Instead he replaced it with a thick brick wall, imagining the beast on the outside. He then circled that wall with the white light for further protection.

"I call upon the power of God to merge with the power of the Archangel Michael for the purpose of giving me the strength and power I need to defeat Lucifer and his minions." While crossing himself, he said, "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen."

When Jon-Luc opened his eyes, his regular vision had been restored.

"Well?"

He heard Claude's voice and turned toward his friend. "Sorry?" Jon-Luc asked.

"Are you ready?" Claude's fingers rested on the handle of the car door. "Back up should be here momentarily."

Jon-Luc opened his door. "Let's do this." Both men grabbed their guns before moving stealthily through the woods. A tricky thing to do without snapping a twig, but they did the best they could under the circumstances. Watching their footing made their progress slower than Jon-Luc would have liked. The adrenaline pumped through his body, putting all his senses on high alert.

His heart thumped a quick staccato in his ears, then he heard a low mumbling off to his right. He stopped and held a hand up to Claude. He pointed to his ear, then in the direction of the sound. Claude nodded and followed Jon-Luc off the path. Once close enough to see movement through the brush, Jon-Luc belly crawled until he could see both the UNSUB and his victim.

Jon-Luc had to distance himself from the circumstances if he wanted everyone to make it out alive. So he stuffed his emotions deep, and went into special agent mode, treating the scene like he would any other hostage situation. He turned back to Claude and motioned him to go around behind the suspect. Claude nodded, and keeping low, took off.

From where he lay, Jon-Luc had full view of the UNSUB and his victim. She, still on her back, eyes closed, scantily clad in undergarments. He, clad only in jeans, hunched over her right leg. The handle of the switchblade skated along the surface like a felt-tipped pen. Completely engrossed in his ritual, Jon-Luc felt nearly certain he had no idea he had company.

Jon-Luc itched to go in, but waited instead until Claude was in position. Once he received the sign, Jon-Luc stood, pulled the gun from his waistband and led with it into the clearing. The UNSUB's head flew up, eyeing Luc cautiously, then he snapped to his feet with lightning speed. The thing took a wrestler’s stance; crouching slightly, one arm arched on his left, the other arm arched to his right. The knife was clenched in his fist.

"Well, look at you. You snuck up on me, Special Agent Boudreaux." A foul stench wafted toward Jon-Luc the moment the demon opened its mouth.

As Jon-Luc eyed it warily, the thing changed back and forth from his brother to a horrifying hairy beast with the body of a wolf standing on its hind legs and the head of a goat that snarled and snapped, drool dripping from its fangs. The image flickered back and forth like an old-fashioned silent movie.

From his peripheral vision, Jon-Luc spied movement below. Angie stirred. He willed her to keep silent and stop moving. He had to keep the beast's attention on him.

"Leave her be. Take me instead. Look, I'm lowering my weapon." Jon-Luc bent forward, gun held out sideways and set it on the ground, then kicked it toward the thing. The creature's head tilted back, its mouth wide. The sound that escaped was half-laugh half-growl, depending on the face it showed.

Jon-Luc covered his nose with one hand and grasped his St. Michael medal with the other.

"You humans are all alike. Stupid."

Archangel Michael, I need you now!

Just as the thought ran through Jon-Luc's mind, all hell broke loose. The demon/Chauvin dropped the knife, and his hand disappeared behind his back.

Claude screamed, "Gun!" Jumped to his feet and fired.

Jon-Luc saw the barrel of the Glock staring at him from just ten feet away while the synapses in his brain unscrambled Claude's words. He started to drop, but it was too late. The force of the bullet hit him square in the chest while he watched the demon's head explode in slow motion. Blood and brain matter spewed in all directions.

Jon-Luc felt its warmth as it hit him in the face. His body flew through the air backward several feet until he landed. Hard. Then he felt nothing more.

32

"Luc. I have to go," Frank Thibodaux said.

Jon-Luc started to panic. "No, not yet. There's so much I didn't get to say."

"There's nothing you could say that I don't already know." Frank laid his hand on Luc's head lovingly. "You couldn't have been a better son if I'd fathered you myself. I am so proud of you. Of the man you have become. I want you to know that I thanked God everyday for bringing you into my life. You enriched it more than you can ever know."

Tears welled up in Luc's eyes. His love for this man was so overwhelming, he didn't know if he could survive losing him again.

Frank said, "You will go on to do great things, my boy."

"Frank, you saved my life. You taught me unconditional love. I wouldn't be the man I am today without you. Please don't leave, I still need you in my life," Jon-Luc pleaded.

"I have no choice, my son. I'm being pulled away as we speak. You'll be fine. Now I must go." Luc watched as Frank was sucked backward into the vortex.

Jon-Luc awoke to find Angie wearing scrubs and sitting on the side of his bed, staring down at him. He was lying in a hospital room. "What's going on?"

"St. Michael saved you," Angie said with a grin.

Jon-Luc remembered his prayer to the archangel Michael, but couldn't imagine how Angie would have known about it. "What do you mean?"

"You were shot, but the bullet hit your St. Michael pendant and saved your life. I've got to get me one of those."

Jon-Luc feigned innocence. "You plan on getting shot?"

"No, for good luck, dummy." She slapped his arm.

"Hey, no abusing the patient." He rubbed his arm where she'd slapped it as if it hurt. "Since I don't have a gunshot wound, why am I in the hospital?"

"You have a couple of cracked ribs," Angie said matter-of-factly.

"Shit, I've broken a rib before. It's really painful." He tilted his head down, afraid to move too much.

"Well, considering the alternative, I think you'll live."

There was that sassy sarcasm he'd grown to love.

"Thanks. Your sympathy overwhelms me," he teased her with a frown, then something else occurred to him. "Wait. That still doesn't explain the bed. There's nothing you can do for cracked ribs, so why am I in the hospital?"

Angie's expression turned serious. "The force of the blast was so great, you were airborne–"

"Chere, you've been watching too many movies. A bullet doesn't have the power to make someone fly through the air. You get shot, you fall down. End of story."

"For your information, smarty pants, I saw it." Her demeanor grew serious. "It was horrifying. When you landed, it knocked you out. I thought you were dead." She blinked back tears. "The doctor says you have a knot on your head the size of a tennis ball and fears you may have a concussion. He wants to keep you overnight." Angie turned her head away.

Is she mistaken, or was the blast from the gun powered by some supernatural force?

"Hey." He grabbed her hand in both of his and waited until she looked at him. When he saw her face, tears stained her cheeks.

"Luc, it was just awful. Please don't do that to me again." She sniffled.

He stifled a smile. "I'll do my best." He leaned forward a bit and grimaced at the pain, then took her face in his hands, drying her tears with his thumbs. "Chere, I'm sorry you had to go through that. But I don't see me taking on anymore cases like this in the future, so you don't have to worry."

"You'd better not," Angie said with an exaggerated pout. "I couldn't live that way."

"Does that mean you plan on staying in my life?" Luc asked hopefully.

Angie's eyes grew wide. "Well, duh."

Jon-Luc laughed and brushed her lips with a kiss. "Good."

"But it might be hard with me living here and you in New Orleans."

He leaned back gently against the pillows again. "We'll work it out, don't worry. After all, I kinda like you."

"You mean you love me," Angie said, with a straight face.

Luc barked a laugh. "That too."

Angie grabbed a tissue, dried her eyes, then blew her nose. It was the most unladylike sound he'd ever heard. She sounded like an elephant calling the herd. Jon-Luc started to laugh, then grabbed his ribs.

"Are you laughing at me?" Her brows arched and she acted offended. The face she made only made him laugh harder.

"Stop. Don't make me laugh. It hurts." Jon-Luc fought for control.

When his hysteria finally died down, he dried his eyes and changed the subject. "What about you, chere?" He placed his hand on her leg. "What did the doctor say about your wounds?"

"Oh, that," Angie replied as if they were talking about a paper cut.

Jon-Luc shook his head and grinned. "Yeah, that." Life with this woman would never be boring.

"Did you see the shit your demented brother did to me? What a whack job, that one." She pulled down her shirt in front to show her dressed wound. "I was this close to becoming the bride of Satan." She held up her thumb and forefinger. "But don't worry. I had a consult with a plastic surgeon and he didn't think there would be any permanent scars. Thank God. Can you imagine if I had to live with devil signs all over my body for the rest of my life? You'd never want to have sex with me again!" she said dramatically.

"It would take a lot more than that to keep me from wanting to have sex with you." He assured her.

Her brows arched. "Really?"

Luc chuckled. "Really. What else did the doctor say?"

"You mean after he gave me that nasty tetanus shot?" She scrunched up her face and rubbed her arm. "Damn, but that sucker hurt!"

"I'm sorry. So after that horrible doctor tortured you with that big bad shot, what did he say?"

"I'm supposed to have my regular doctor check the wounds in a day or so. But I don't have a regular doctor here in Paris."

"Don't worry, I'll get you one."

"You'd do that for me?" There went those brows again.

"Of course. As you so readily informed me, I'm in love with you."

"Damn straight." She nodded.

"Does that mean you're in love with me?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"What?"

"Kidding. Of course I love you, what's not to love? You see ghosts. You're hot, great in the sack, hung like a horse—"

Luc cleared his throat.

Angie rolled her eyes. "Okay, and a really great guy."

"Gee, thanks." Jon-Luc now focused on the spirits that had surrounded his bed. He'd seen them immediately upon opening his eyes, but he’d had more pressing matters to deal with first.

"Now, I'm not trying to be difficult, but I will need to leave this hospital sooner, rather than later," Jon-Luc said as he watched the crowd of newly departed souls grow.

The hardest part of being in a hospital for Luc was the fact that these people were confused, they didn't know they were dead. Just that no one could see or hear them. They were trapped in a nightmare until they either figured it out, or moved on. It broke his heart he couldn't help them.

Earthbound souls had to learn to use the energy around them to communicate. Until they did, they could not be heard or nor could they hear a word Jon-Luc said. To just lay idly by with their sad faces imploring him, was sheer torture.

"What? Why?" Angie asked.

"Because we're not alone," he answered simply.

Three days later, Jon-Luc, Angie, Claude, and Mimi sat in the dining room of the Alain Ducasse au Plaza Athénée in the Champs-Élysées. They'd just placed their orders for supper and were enjoying their cocktails.

"Bring me up to date on the case. What happened after I was knocked out?" Jon-Luc asked.

Claude set his wine glass on the table and stared at Jon-Luc across from him. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but your brother is dead."

Jon-Luc instantly flashed to that night. The beast flipping back and forth. One second Chauvin, the next a hideous demon. Then his head exploded. "That thing was not my brother," He ground out.

"As you wish," Claude said. "I'm sure it would be hard for anyone to find out their sibling was a serial killer."

"Ya think?" Angie interrupted.

Jon-Luc put his hand on her thigh to calm her down.

Claude cleared his throat. "They found Melody Waterston's corpse belted into the passenger side of the SUV he had stolen. The level of decomposition had advanced to the point that she needed to be identified by dental records."

That's what he meant when he said she was sitting next to him, flesh and blood. And I thought he meant her spirit. Jon-Luc scrubbed a hand down his face.

"Ew, so I was riding around Paris with a corpse?" Angie scrunched up her nose. "At least that explains the smell."

Luc chuckled and put his arm around her shoulders, then turned back to Claude. "What about her family? Didn't they know she was missing? I would have thought they'd had her shipped back to the States a long time ago."

"I looked into that. Evidently her body was stolen from the morgue and they were trying to keep it quiet. They thought by stalling the family with a bunch of red tape, it would give them time to locate her corpse and return it. Evidently there was a lawsuit pending from the Waterston family. The head of pathology has been suspended until the results of the inquiry come out." Claude took a sip of wine.

"Did you learn anything more about Demetrius? Since he wasn't the killer, why had he wallpapered his room with Angie's pictures? And why did he butcher a rabbit for her to find?"

Angie interrupted. "Oh, that wasn't Demetrius, it was Michael. He was trying to scare me away. To get me to leave France. At least that's what he told me."

"As far as we can tell, he was in love with Angie. Obsessed," Claude answered.

"What?" Angie said. "Then why was he always so mean to me? He'd never looked me in the eye when we spoke."

Jon-Luc turned to her. "I think I can answer that. He was over-compensating. He was so afraid you'd be able to detect his true feelings, that in an effort to hide them he was brusque. Answering in short replies and averting his eyes."

"How would you know that?" Angie asked.

"I have a degree in psychology," Luc answered.

"Man, there is so much I don't know about you," Angie said.

"We have a lifetime to correct that," Jon-Luc said as he pulled her close, Angie smiled and laid her head on his shoulder.

"So, what have you two got planned for the future?" Mimi asked.

"For now, we're going to travel," Jon-Luc answered.

"Yup. I've taken the month off and Luc and I plan on heading to the States. First to his home in New Orleans, then my hometown in Washington state. And I'm renting a bunch of DVD's to educate this boy." Angie patted Luc's leg.

"What does he need to be educated in?" Claude asked with a grin.

"He needs to learn to enjoy life. This guy hasn't watched an entire movie or seen a TV show in at least ten years. I'm going to see he makes up for that."

Jon-Luc stared at Claude and rolled his eyes.

"Hey, I saw that!" Angie elbowed him.

Luc grabbed at his chest. "Ouch. Chere, watch the ribs."

"Baby." Angie smiled and gave him a peck on the lips.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Morgan Hannah MacDonald writes Romantic Thrillers that are NOT for the faint of heart. She has held many positions , including  a teller where her hands and feet were bound while armed robbers took over the bank.  Then a few years later she learned she'd dated a serial killer. That's when she began writing, because strange things do happen to real people. She belongs to Romance Writers of America, the San Diego Chapter, as well as the Kiss of Death Chapter. She resides in San Diego, California where she is busy working on her next novel.  She loves to hear from readers.

Write to her at morganwrites@yahoo.com.

Don't forget to LIKE her on Facebook for all upcoming announcements: http://www.facebook.com/#!/MorganHannahMacDonald.Author.

She can also be found at www.morganhannahmacdonald.com.

JUMP TO...

NEW REVELATIONS by HEATHER TOPHAM WOOD

ARMAND by APRIL AASHEIM

TUESDAY’S CHILD by DALE MAYER

JUST A LITTLE NUDGE by JESI LEA RYAN

HAUNTED ON BOURBON STREET by DEANNA CHASE

SPIRITS AMONG US by MORGAN HANNAH MACDONAND

LONDON by JC ANDRIJESKI

AMONG THE LIVING by JORDAN CASTILLO PRICE

VAMPIRE VACATION by C.J. ELLISSON

TOUCHED by HAZEL HUNTER

LONDON

Allie’s War Early Years

~ A Revik and Allie Prequel Novel ~

BY JC ANDRIJESKI

If there was ever a race-traitor job, this was definitely it.

Revik arrives in London with a new job, a new home…and new people watching him, seemingly more than he has helping him watch the Bridge, a holy warrior hidden among humans to keep her safe from dark Seers called the Rooks. To hide his role as the Bridge’s protector, and the Bridge herself, Revik is told to use his real name to establish a public identity in London, to distract anyone watching him from his true purpose. The problem is, Revik's name is known already, either as defector and traitor, or as the evil ex-lieutenant in the Rooks’ dark army.

Meanwhile, in San Francisco, Allie has no idea that she’s the Bridge…or even that she’s a Seer. She’s struggling with her own issues after she meets Jaden, a musician and tech savant who is drawn to her on first sight when they meet at a party. The problem is, no one in Allie’s life seems to like Jaden very much, including her brother, her mother, and even her best friend, Cass.

Revik doesn’t like Jaden, either…or the relationship that begins to develop between them…well before Jaden gives him a really good reason.

Heat Level: 4

For Cindy B., who is still trying to convince herself she’ll be content with a normal life.

Fly with the eagles, my beautiful friend.

And yeah…fuck normal lives.

1

HALLOWEEN

“That guy’s still staring at you,” Cass said, leaning close to my ear. She continued talking in an intensely not-stealthy way, I guess to be heard over the music. “He’s been staring. At you. Only at you, Al. For like...an hour!” she added, even louder.

She was pretty drunk.

Drunk enough to have forgotten that we’d barely been here, meaning at this particular party, for an hour, so I doubted the black-haired guy Cass was staring at currently had been staring at me all that long. Drunk enough to forget we were both in costume, and this guy probably had no idea what I even looked like. Drunk enough that between her talk-shouting in my ear and motioning towards the guy with her beer-clutching hand and grinning like a loon, my best friend, Cassie, was about as subtle as if she’d yelled from across the room and waved her arms for him to look over at both of us.

Drunk enough to embarrass the hell out of me, in other words.

But Cass had started her drinking well before we left the house.

Her and her jerky boyfriend, Jack––her on-again, off-again boyfriend of more years than I could count––got in another big fight earlier that day.

Which I guess meant they were probably off-again at the moment.

I hadn’t been able to get much that was coherent from Cass on the subject, though. She knew I didn’t like Jack, so she tended to keep her comments on him short and cryptic, since both she and I knew Cass would probably be back together with him again in a day or so.

Also, yeah, she started drinking a few hours before I even got off work.

Cass was my roommate at the moment.

That happened the way a lot of things happened with my best friend, Cassandra Jainkul. Meaning, I told her she could crash with me at my crappy apartment on Fillmore Street for a while if she needed to. I said she could stay as long as she needed, even for a few months, if it took that long, while she got her shit together and figured out what came next for her.

That was two years ago.

My brother, Jon, warned me back at the beginning that Cass would never leave, barring some unforeseen Act of God.

Since neither of us could think of what that might be, apart from her winning the monthly state raffle or one of the city prizes, it was the same thing I guess.

Jon also warned me that my drama quotient would go way up if Cass moved into my place, even apart from the drinking and Jack and her lack of money and whatever else. Knowing Jon, he was probably worried about my grades, since I’d just gone back to art school and Cass was freewheeling it without that whole higher education nonsense. And yeah, I knew Jon was right, even then, but what could I do? She was Cass. She was my best friend. And while Jon was right about the drama, she was also a lot of fun. We could drink wine and paint and laugh about stupid shit on the feeds and she would drag me out of my cave once in awhile.

Even I knew that was good for me.

Without Cass living with me, I knew I’d be home alone a lot more, not depressed or anything, but definitely more broody and artisty and that wasn’t great for me, either.

So a little drama came with that? Seemed like a fair trade to me.

Anyway, I wasn’t going to let her end up on the street, even if she had terrible taste in men and got fired more often than anyone I knew. At that point I would have done just about anything to keep her away from her crazy family...or from moving in with Jack, who I suspected had a lot bigger issues than Cass’s tendency to over-drink, whatever b.s. she fed me.

Since Cass was now staring at the guy with the black hair and the light blue eyes hard enough for both of us, I didn’t let myself look over at him, not even when she did the shout-whisper thing in my ear. Instead I stared at the far wall, like there was some other guy staring at me from that part of the room.

Or like I wasn’t all that interested, maybe.

I tried to keep my face blank, too, but I doubt it was all that convincing.

It was easy to forget I wore full-on face paint, given my Space Girl costume...a character from an obscure comic book Cass and I fell in love with a few years earlier, and the reason I got more puzzled stares than recognition when people saw my get-up.

The silver metallic foundation, black, raccoon eyes and black lipstick made me pretty difficult to recognize.

It also made the subtler expressions hard to pull off.

Given that I also wore a skin-tight, rubber shirt with a big, neon “S” on the front, a black micro-mini, fishnets and thigh-high vinyl boots, it was to the guy’s credit that he looked at my face at all. Or that he wasn’t leering at Cass, really, given that she’d opted for some kind of weird clown-nurse-slut costume that had her looking both mildly frightening and full-on sex kitten all at once. I knew hers was from some B-horror flick Cass thought was funny. As I hadn’t seen that particular gem yet, I had to admit, the get-up looked schizophrenic, even for her.

In addition to Cass’s normal, dyed, neon-green hair, she wore a crazy-short white nurse’s dress open almost to her navel in front. The latter showed off a lace white bra and most of her cleavage, which was about four sizes bigger than mine and usually got her attention even in regular clothing. To complement the white maybe, Cass also wore spiked, white, fuck-me shoes, a nurse’s hat, a stethoscope...and full-on clown make-up with a neon-pink frowny face over most of her cheeks and chin.

It was pretty terrifying, honestly.

Also, as per usual with the two of us, Cass’s get-up pretty much guaranteed that every guy in the room would blow past me with hardly a glance in favor of staring at my best friend.

And yeah, while I was used to that, tonight it stung a little.

Maybe because, for me, my own costume was definitely on the sexy scale.

Trying, anyway.

Next to Cass’s, though––and, more to the point, Cass’s body––I knew I might as well have come dressed in garbage bags, or maybe as a farmer in ratty overalls and straw in my dark brown hair. Every guy within visual range paused to check Cass out––girlfriended or not, straight or gay, alone or in a group––and it wasn’t because of the dummy meat cleaver covered in fake blood that she gripped in her free hand, either.

This guy was staring at me for some reason, though. Not Cass.

And Cass was punishing me by making me look like an asshole in front of him.

Not on purpose, of course.

Well, my mind muttered cynically in the background. Probably not on purpose.

I decided to ignore that voice, though.

Truthfully, more than anything I wanted Jon to get here and save me from trying to wrestle drunk clown nurse hooker alone, in the event she decided to get either or both of us in trouble. I knew the Jack thing genuinely bothered her, which made her unpredictable at best.

But Jon just pinged me via my headset to let me know he’d be another hour.

Luckily, it was pretty danged loud in there.

The other costumes in the room were easier to identify than me and Cass’s, for the most part.

Dressing up as a seer was all the rage this year, just like it had been the year before, and the year before that. It seemed like every other person I saw wore funky contact lenses, a fake sight-restraint collar, leather clothes of one kind or another, or military gear, if they were going for some kind of historical version. I’d seen a few seer Nazis, and one guy with the big sword and sun sign on his chest, who I’m pretty sure was supposed to be Syrimne, the telekinetic seer who fought with the Germans in WWI.

Since a lot of seers worked as sex workers downtown––the ones that weren’t owned by corporations or rich douche bags, that is––dressing up as a seer was one of those cool, “alternative” costumes that gave people an excuse to show some serious skin.

I thought it was pretty tacky, honestly.

Moreover, I’d love to see one of these bozos wear something like that anywhere near the real deal. Meaning an actual, real-live seer, like at one of the ritzier clubs on Broadway or whatever.

Even as I thought it, I found myself rubbing the “H” tattoo on my arm.

A nervous tic, I suppose. Now that more seers lived full time in the United States, we all had to wear those as part of the Human Protection Act, in addition to the barcodes...at least once we turned eighteen. Before that, we had to wear implants, which were worse.

Implants didn’t just verify race-cat; they could be used to track your every movement. Worse, your parents could access that information if they wanted. We all learned to jack them and distort the signal even in grammar school, but still, yeah, I’d been grounded more times than I could count because I’d failed to jack my implant correctly back in high school.

So yeah, the dual tats weren’t awesome, but they were an improvement.

I’d had nightmares where someone had burned both tats off me and threw me in a cage with a bunch of human-hating seers.

My mom said it was because I was a worrier.

I hated the seer thing, though...I really did.

I don’t mean seers themselves. I mean, I didn’t know any actual seers, did I?

I hated the system, and how we were all supposed to pretend it was normal. I didn’t care what anyone else said. It wasn’t normal. I didn’t care how the government spun it, or what they said in those public service ads on television, either. It was screwed up and it was wrong, and it was pretty much slavery, whether they were human or not.

Jon 100% agreed with me on that, by the way.

He also agreed with me that the government was full of shit when they droned on about how “safe” it was, integrating seers into human society.

Cass agreed with me and Jon, too, but I honestly got the sense she more didn’t care all that much. Cass thought seers were sexy. The slavery aspect of that maybe struck her as sexy, too, knowing her, although I hadn’t wanted to ask her outright.

I did know there was an all-seer band out of Seattle, End of Times, owned by one record label or another, that Cass had been obsessed with for like five years. In particular, Cass crushed on their lead singer, Darvon, an Asian-looking seer with light purple eyes splattered with bright gold flecks. She wasn’t alone in her crush, either. A lot of girls I knew lusted after that guy, even though I read on some feed station fan site that he was something like two hundred years old, which, to be fair, is supposedly like thirty in human years.

They had up-close images recs of his eyes, though, on that same station.

And yeah, he was pretty damned beautiful.

He also had a body to die for, whatever age he might be.

Because he was seer, they could show his real face and body on the feeds, too, meaning without distorting his appearance or voice via an avatar. Since seers don’t fall under the image ban protocols of the Human Protection Act, they showed a lot of their real faces and bodies on the feed stations...unless there was some security reason not to, I guess.

Cass wanted me to go with her to the next End of Times show at the Fillmore in two weeks, so she could see Darvon up close. I knew the place would be mobbed, but I was curious, sure. Since the Fillmore was a pretty small venue, we could probably get right up next to the stage, depending on what they had in the way of security.

And yeah, Darvon was pretty hot.

Even so, it struck me as pretty weird to want some guy owned by a corporation.

I mean, he wasn’t even human.

Brushing the thought out of my mind, I took a longer drink of beer and looked around the room, that time trying to get a sense of the crowd as a whole. A lot of college students and recent grads were there, like me, but I also saw a fair few people in their late twenties and early thirties.

More Jon’s crowd, in a lot of ways.

A lot of them looked straight, though.

The first band cranked up the sound from about a dozen yards from where we stood, sliding into the chorus of a song that sounded vaguely familiar from the local college station. I looked towards the make-shift stage and saw the lead singer sing-shout-spitting through the mike, his face bright red from the exertion between that and strumming his dual-necked guitar.

They played a metal-rockabilly-punk-new wave type of thing, one of those mish-mashes of the old, new and ridiculous that seemed unique to the San Francisco underground music culture.

And yeah, I’m from here, so I’m generally open to weird, but these guys were seriously giving me a headache.

Maybe I needed to do like Cass and drink faster.

“What do you think?” Cass said, beaming at me. “Pretty cute, right?”

Before I could stop myself, I gave the guy a casual look, and indeed, caught him staring at me again. When he saw me looking him over in return, he met my gaze, a smile teasing the edges of his lips. Before I could look away, he raised his beer to me, too, a mock-toast.

I returned his smile, caught off-guard as much as anything.

As I did, I had a sudden flash of how creepy that grin must look on my silver face.

“So?” Cass said. “What do you think?”

I’d already averted my gaze, so I only shrugged.

“I think you’re really loud,” I muttered, taking a sip of my own beer. The black lipstick left a dark stain around the lip of the bottle.

Cass laughed, somehow hearing me over the chaos.

A big guy wearing a leather jacket covered in spikes slammed into me just then, drifting out past the circle of the dance-mosh-whatever pit just in front of the stage. Cursing as I tried to surf my beer bottle to safety, I felt my face grow hot under the silver make up after I glanced up and caught the black-haired guy grinning in my direction.

“Okay,” I said to Cass as I shook out my wet, beer-covered hand. “He’s cute.”

“You need to go talk to him,” she announced, looking me up and down. “You look awesome in that dress, by the way...no wonder he’s gawking.”

“He’s not gawking,” I said. “He’s just...looking.”

“He’s confident,” Cass said, looking over at him. Her gaze grew more shrewdly appraising. “...Cocky, maybe. That could be a good thing,” she added, tilting her head as she continued to look him over. Glancing back at me, she smiled. “...Or he could be an arrogant asshole.”

“Awesome,” I said, grunting a laugh. “Thanks for that.” Watching her look at him again, I rolled my eyes, irritated in spite of myself. “Why don’t you go for it, Cass? You clearly think he’s hot. Why not give Jack something real to worry about for a change?”

Cass frowned. She put her hands on her hips.

“I have a boyfriend,” she said.

“Would serve him right,” I returned, undaunted. “You told me what he did just the other night. With that girl at the bar. He’s an asshole, Cass. He’s not even hiding it from you anymore.”

She waved me off, but I saw her mouth tighten.

“He didn’t mean anything by that,” she said.

“He never does,” I muttered, taking another sip of the beer to hide my frown when she looked over at me. “Doesn’t make him any less of an asshole.”

“...Besides,” Cass added, clearly deciding to ignore my snide remarks. She smiled. “This one’s not my type, Al...I like blonds, remember?” Her grin widened, even as she wrapped her cleaver-holding hand and arm around my shoulders. “If I was going to find someone to play with tonight besides Jack, it wouldn’t be a dark broody gothy type with pretty eyes. It would be a hot, hung, kung fu instructor who happens to be between boyfriends...”

I rolled my eyes at the reference to my adopted brother, Jon.

Cass had been crushing on Jon since we were kids. She couldn’t seem to get it through her head that it was never going to happen. For a lot of reasons.

“Jon’s gay, Cassie,” I said, sighing. “Jeez. Get a grip. I’ve known Jon was gay since I was twelve. So have you.”

“Cass,” she corrected, frowning deeper. “Don’t call me Cassie. I hate that.”

I fought the impulse to roll my eyes a third time. “Sorry. Forgot.”

“It’s only been...what? Five years?” she grumbled.

Taking another sip of beer, I didn’t answer.

I glanced again at Mr. Blue Eyes instead, who’d clearly been watching our little back and forth. His eyes shone with overt curiosity, like he was trying to figure out what we were talking about, or maybe like something in the dynamics between us fascinated him.

Either way, he wasn’t bothering to hide his interest at all now.

I was just about to drag Cass off to some other corner of the room, maybe just to get a breather from all of the staring and silent back and forth...when Mr. Blue Eyes surprised me. Almost as if he knew I was about to leave, he started walking straight toward us, sidestepping a few other groups along the way to reach where me and Cass stood.

Clusters of costumed party-goers ignored him walking and me watching him walk.

I glanced behind me, maybe just to stop staring, but only saw the ugly, shit-brown couch we’d been standing next to for the last twenty or so minutes. Someone had pushed the couch against one wall, presumably to make room for more people. For me and Cass, it had been a reasonably safe spot compared to the chaos in front of the stage itself. On the other side, a few groups of people stood near the dance floor, closer to the band.

The guy with the black hair and the blue eyes didn’t seem bothered by the noise. Or the people in the nearby dance pit.

He walked right up to me.

He moved confidently, like Cass said, almost like we knew each other.

The next thing I knew he was holding out a hand, giving me this killer, sexy smile under his disheveled black hair. I admit, I felt that smile and the light of his blue eyes somewhere pretty far south of my brain.

Cass was right. I did have a thing for dark-haired guys.

“Hey,” he said, right as I took his hand. “...I’m Jaden.”

2

AVOIDANCE

She met someone... he says into the blue sky.

Revik’s thoughts are carried briefly by a Barrier wind.

Even so, he mutters the words almost, using his light and mind to speak into the nonphysical space. He looks around, unsure if he is alone or not.

Barrier spaces can be confusing like that.

According to his perceptions, he stands alone in a grassy field filled with wildflowers.

It looks like places he remembers, if only at a distance, lurking at the edges of his conscious memory. Definitely Asia. Tibet maybe. Or maybe some part of India, the northern part, like Kasmir. The high parts of Asia, in other words, but not the Pamir.

He pushes aside emotions that want to rise, even as they come.

Here, inside the Barrier construct Vash built, the view stretches further off into the distance than Revik can perceive. He imagines he sees a lake in the distance, sparkling in Barrier sunlight, and a steep canyon beyond that. Forests live there, what feel like animals.

Revik knows if he concentrated, he could be there, instead of here.

He remains where he is.

The land and its accompanying flavors feel so familiar, so visceral with presence, that just being here at first catches his breath. Jagged, snow-topped mountains jut out of the plain in the distance, but here, in the valley below those peaks, it feels like spring, like new growth and buzzing warmth, like he can feel the roots themselves growing under his feet.

The familiarity hits him like a punch to the chest.

The same thing happens every time he lands here...and even though he knows the field and lake and the snow-covered mountains behind them aren’t real.

Moreover, Revik can’t even clearly remember what place they depict...although some part of him feels strongly that he should...that he should know this place specifically, and not only the country or broader mountain range. He doesn’t know if the fact that he doesn’t is from losing part of his memory when he left the Rooks, or if he never knew it at all.

Regardless, this place calls to him. It feels like home.

He knows it’s likely why Vash summons him here, for their regular check-in meetings. Knowing Vash, it could also be some means of assessing his emotional state, giving him a place and a frequency of light likely to create an emotional reaction or opening in Revik’s aleimi, or living light. Or, also knowing Vash, he might have done it as a courtesy.

Regardless, knowing the old seer, or not-knowing him, as it were...Revik knows it could be either thing, or some combination of both...or some other thing entirely.

That is the problem with a seer like Vash. It is nearly impossible to know his true motives for anything, given how far he sees, how much he knows.

Vash himself would only laugh, however, if Revik were to voice such a thing to him.

Revik also strongly suspects the old seer would call him paranoid.

He would further point out how Revik was reading a myriad of motives and meanings into something that was, at base, little more than a pretty landscape.

In any case, and whatever Vash’s motives or not-motives in summoning Revik here, no one could build a Barrier construct quite like Vash.

Not a lot of seers built constructs like these at all, anymore.

During his time in the Pamir, Revik learned that such Barrier-only constructs used to be commonplace. That had been particularly true during what is often considered the height of seer civilization, around three thousand years prior to First Contact, when a number of famous barrier architects lived. Some spent decades designing and building Barrier-only environments, to capture particular Barrier flavors, to relive historical periods or to increase different forms of psychic vision. Some were created purely for the beauty of it...to evoke emotional or intellectual reactions, or simply to stretch the bounds of the architect’s vision.

Unlike Barrier constructs of the modern era––meaning those used for more functional purposes, generally purposes related to the physical world on Earth––those past constructs had an element of pure art to them, of creating a space wholly removed from physicality. Those old constructs were designed to change consciousness itself.

The value of that had diminished over time, particularly in the younger generation of seers. Revik’s generation, especially. The post-First Contact seers.

They wanted to survive. More and more, they also wanted revenge.

Waxing philosophic already, brother? a gentle voice says from behind him.

Revik turns. Really, he shifts the attention of his light, but that translates as him turning his Barrier head, focusing on the tree beneath which he stands.

Vash sits against the trunk of that tree, barefoot, wearing a sand-colored robe. He tucks part of that robe under his feet, looks up at Revik and smiles.

Would you not rather sit, brother? he says politely.

Revik hesitates...just long enough to see the old seer’s dark eyes flash with gold-tinted light, reflected from the setting sun. Even where he stands, he sees bleached hairs on the old seer’s arms, a scar on one forearm that Vash told him once that he’d gotten as a child in the physical world, back before humans knew about seers as a race and just called them devils.

Once more, the sheer detail awes him.

He walks over and feels the grass crushing under his feet. When he reaches the same spread of roots, he sinks down to cross-legged, sitting directly across from the old seer.

She met someone, you said? Vash’s eyes now hold a glimmer of humor.

Revik tries to smile back, but the other male’s words make it stiff, unconvincing.

Yes, he says only.

Vash reads something behind his silence, however, even though Revik shields his light now, at least in part.

You do not approve. It isn’t really a question.

Revik clicks softly, already irritated. I didn’t say that, he mutters. It is not really for me to approve or not approve, is it? She is an adult.

And yet, your demeanor...implies it, Vash says, gently. Am I wrong in thinking that you dislike her choice in suitors?

Revik shakes his head. No.

The silence between them deepens.

Vash chuckles.

It will be difficult to report back on the wellbeing of your charge if your thoughts on this matter are a secret, brother. Is that all you plan to tell me of this new development? His voice holds a faint rebuke, but it comes through mostly as teasing.

It irritates Revik anyway.

Even so, he shakes his head.

I haven’t had time to do a thorough assessment yet, he says, noncommittal.

But you don’t like him.

No, Revik says, giving the old seer a harder look. No, I don’t like him.

May I ask why? Vash inquires politely.

Revik feels another flush of irritation, but this time, he attempts to answer the other honestly. He is...arrogant. But it is more than that. I don’t... He looks up, seeing the older seer watching him closely. He feels his light close. ...I don’t trust him, he finishes. If you expect me to defend that, I cannot. I have nothing tangible at this point. I will report back when I can provide you something beyond my own initial impressions.

Revik stares at the Barrier ground, watches a honeybee circle lazily over wildflowers. The bee stops to pull nectar from a bright orange blossom. Revik keeps his attention on it, noting the detail down to the pollen collected on fine hairs on the tiny thing’s legs.

He purposefully keeps his mind blank. He knows it might not work––probably won’t work––with a seer at Vash’s level, but he does it anyway.

He knows, too, that it is technically breaking their agreement.

Vash warned him from the very beginning that full disclosure would be required, if Revik were to accept the post they’d given him in overseeing the wellbeing of the Bridge. Disclosure of his more volatile and negative feelings is also technically required of his penance. At the time, both things had seemed easy promises to make.

Back then, he felt stripped clean. Nothing to hide.

Lately, it grows more difficult.

Brother, Vash says, his thoughts gentle that time.

He lays a light hand on Revik’s arm, pulsing warmth towards his chest. Revik flinches. He has to fight to let the other seer’s affection in.

Have a care, brother, Vash says only.

I am, Revik retorts.

Are you?

Revik gives him a hard look. I take my position seriously enough.

Of that, I have little doubt, Vash returns with a smile, undaunted. Are you also still telling yourself you dislike her, brother? That you have no interest in her wellbeing, or who she chooses to take to her bed?

Revik feels his light clench as his mind fights the old seer’s words. More than their surface meaning, he dislikes what he feels behind them. He struggles to blank out his mind again, but it grows more difficult the longer the ancient seer’s light pulls at his.

He feels the rebuke there, louder than before.

The reminder that he is in penance, that they are watching him.

Thinking about this, Revik lets out a bitter-sounding laugh.

Bitter-sounding to him, anyway.

So you’re monitoring my sex life now, too? he says only. Is monastic life really so dull?

But Vash pretends not to hear his words.

It is not particularly safe, he says. ...This confusion you are feeling in regards to your charge. It is clouding your judgment, brother Revik. Worse, it is causing you pain. But more than either of these things, I fear it is part of a larger pattern of avoidance with you. Avoidance of things that you should not avoid...not if you are sincere about wanting to change the things about yourself that caused you to join the Rooks in the first place.

Avoidance? Revik looks at him, fighting another dense flush of anger. Avoidance of what?

Of forming more meaningful attachments in your life, Vash replies at once. Attachments and connections that you are able to express in more healthy and appropriate ways than you have in the past. At Revik’s silence, the old seer prods him again. Has there been anyone at all, brother? Anyone since Dalejem?

Revik flinches at the name.

I really don’t want to talk about that, he says.

And yet I am asking you.

Yes, Revik says. But I would still prefer not to answer.

Revik keeps his directed thoughts as polite as possible those last two times, but even he hears the edge as he sends them into the Barrier space. He winces a little from that, feeling the other seer do the same, but he doesn’t apologize.

You know it is my duty to ask you these things, brother, Vash reminds him.

Revik gestures an assent with his light hand. I know.

Even as he does it, Revik feels himself continue to resist. His light is already beginning to close down, to withdraw even more from the other seer’s...to avoid, as Vash has already accused him of doing. Vash must feel it, too. Even so, Revik resents the intrusion, more than he has in as long as he can remember. More than he has since he left the Pamir.

He hears the old seer sigh, clicking softly.

Vash is disappointed in him.

Somehow, that understanding is the thing that shifts Revik’s light. Maybe because it is more than he can stand right then, in addition to everything else.

More than his temper can stand, anyway.

Do you really want to hear about my masturbation habits, brother? Revik sends, flushing with fury that he knows is half embarrassment. Or shall I simply record my few liaisons for you, so you and the rest of the Council can watch and discuss at your leisure? Would that convince all of you that my equipment is working properly? Or does it not really count, if I am forced to pay for it? When the other doesn’t speak, Revik lashes out again with his light. I could document my sexual fantasies as well, brother, if you require it of me ––

I know she features in far too many of them lately, brother, Vash returns unflinchingly.

Revik flinches, however.

He also feels his anger worsen.

Brother Revik, Vash sighs. You can pretend you dislike her all you like.

He does not sound angry, Revik notices. If anything, the old seer seems relieved that Revik is being more honest.

...I know you are growing possessive of her, Vash continues. And that your light is becoming more entangled in hers as a result. You must complete the tests with her, so the danger of entanglement already exists, purely in the nature of your relationship...

Revik doesn’t answer.

He looks at the mountains that time.

It is making her too visible, brother... Vash adds, hammering the words a little harder that time. It risks her life. I know you do not want that, whatever you say you think of her. It also risks awakening her too soon. She will become too aware of you, and we will be forced to separate you...something else I would very much rather not do. But not all of the elders agree with me on this point. Some in the Council have already advocated such a separation.

As if feeling Revik’s reaction, Vash hesitates before adding, ...They believe she already feels your presence in her light. More than she should.

Revik doesn’t answer that, either.

Vash watches his face, patient, as always.

I understand, brother, he sends finally, touching Revik’s arm. More than you perhaps realize. Perhaps more than you do, in certain respects...given your determination to dislike her, whatever your light’s reaction to hers. But the timing must be correct in this.

At that, Revik lets out a disbelieving laugh. He can’t help himself.

He doesn’t voice his thoughts explicitly, however.

He strongly suspects there is no need.

Revik opened his eyes, staring up at a high ceiling above the leather recliner.

It was the same view that met him whenever he returned from a Barrier jump these days, since he had a tendency to work from roughly the same spot in any home he inhabited. For this house, in this city, that spot was here.

Even so, his mind stuttered briefly, reorienting around where he was.

Old habits, he supposed. It wasn’t the room he got used to outside of Moscow, which had been a dingy white, colored with water stains, smoke stains, even cracks. That ceiling had been equally high, in an equally old building, but one that hadn’t been anywhere near as well maintained. In Russia, unlike here in London, he spent far more of his time in his shabby, Party-maintained apartment.

Here, he did not have that luxury.

Here, the ceiling was wood-paneled, a rich, aged oak that still managed to surprise him.

Revik had lived in the penthouse flat of this old house for several months now...ever since Vash told him it was no longer safe for him to remain in Moscow. It still felt like sleeping in someone else’s home.

Having a manservant didn’t help.

Revik had neither wanted nor needed one, but he hadn’t been given any choice in that matter, either. The humans watched him, too. Not in the same way Vash and the Council did, but between the lot of them, Revik felt more inclined to cut and run every day.

Fuck penance. Fuck working for worms.

He pushed the thought out of his mind.

Truthfully, he took penance seriously, despite how much the constraints and invasions to his privacy grated on him. He hadn’t forgotten the lessons of the Pamir yet, nor would he be likely to, at least not anytime soon. He still wanted to contribute good to the world...even if being back in the real world made it harder to believe he ever truly could. It made some of the monks’ words feel a lot less relevant, for certain.

Or less practical, perhaps.

Rubbing his eyes with a forefinger and his thumb, Revik fought to pull the rest of his light back into his physical body, to calm himself in the process. Someone had come in here while he’d been out, he realized, glancing around the bookshelves. He knew that, in part, because whoever it was, they’d built a fire inside the stone grate that the leather chair faced.

Revik stared at the fire, frowning.

It had to have been the aforementioned manservant, Eddard.

The thought didn’t reassure him. Nor did he like the idea of anyone he didn’t know very well being that close to his physical body while he wasn’t in it.

His mind drifted back to the conversation with Vash, then to the incident a few days earlier, with Alyson. Due to the time difference, Revik had jumped in the early morning here, in London. It had been the first day of November on his side of the Atlantic.

In California, where Allie was, it had been around eleven o’clock at night, and still in the dregs of October.

And yeah, Revik knew exactly what Vash had been warning him about.

Even so, he felt a little sick at the idea that the Council had been watching him through all of that. He knew some of that feeling stemmed from shame, but not all of it. He hadn’t done anything wrong, not technically...not really. He hadn’t walked in on her on purpose.

Unlike most of those monks, he also wasn’t yet dead below the waist.

He’d been keeping an eye on her because she’d been at that party, because Cassandra was drunk, because Allie’s adoptive brother, Jon, wasn’t there...because she was wearing that damned costume that could have doubled as hooker-wear, even with the silver paint on her face.

Honestly, he’d been surprised she’d worn that out, even with Cassandra there to goad her on. Usually Alyson stayed pretty low-key when she went out drinking, in part because she had a tendency to attract a lot of attention no matter where she was...and no matter what she wore...although not all of that attention was sexual.

She got a fair few religious nuts. Schizophrenics.

The “full moon” crowd, as her brother, Jon, termed it.

Truthfully, Alyson herself seemed to be in denial about the effect her light had on a lot of humans. It irritated Revik that she could be so willfully blind about who and what she was...but Revik supposed that wasn’t particularly surprising, either, given the implications for being seer in the current climate of the world.

More than anything, she just seemed to want to blend in, be normal.

He could even understand that.

Either way, Revik hadn’t been watching her for his goddamned health. He’d been trying to keep her safe...which of course was his fucking job.

He had a tendency to err on the conservative side when it came to the Bridge, but he assumed that was partly why they’d given him the job. Regardless, he thought it would be a few hours, tops, of watching her at that level of detail, mostly just keeping an eye on her in case something dangerous happened, or any seers happened to be anywhere in her vicinity.

Really, his main concern had always been other seers.

Initially that had been more in terms of her being ID’d by some outside group––the Rooks in particular. Now that more seers lived and worked among humans, however, her risks of exposure proliferated. She could be ID’d by a random seer with better vision than most, or enough resonance with the Bridge’s light to be able to see through the Council’s shields. She could be hunted for bounty by random traders if word of her incarnation ever got out.

Hell, the Chinese might go after her if they knew…or the Rynak.

Because the precise nature of the danger remained difficult to anticipate or track, he always had some kind of line to her, whether he watched her directly or not.

He also had lines to her brother, Jon...as well as her friend, Cassandra, Allie’s mother, Mia Taylor, and several others in her life, both at work and at her art college. He did that mostly to ensure he could intervene in time, in the event anything went seriously wrong. He had people on the ground he could call in, too, of course––meaning people actually living and working in San Francisco––but mostly those acted as back-up for whatever Revik couldn’t do himself from the Barrier. After all, those back-up infiltrators were seers, too; they might ID Allie, even with the blocks around her light. The Council wanted no one apart from Council members and Revik himself to know Allie’s true reincarnation status.

In other words, calling in back-up was another last-resort kind of scenario.

No way would Revik have involved them for a human holiday party.

Revik himself only hovered like that when she was unprotected in a public place; that night, he figured he’d cut out as soon as Jon showed up. Jon had advanced belts in martial arts, which Revik himself had subtly influenced the human to get, back when Jon was still a junior in high school. The Council warned Revik that he couldn’t be ID’d by Allie, either, which meant he had to do the vast majority of his work from the Barrier.

Luckily, Jon had taken a strong liking to martial arts, and had pursued it on his own for years after Revik’s initial nudge. Jon now worked as an instructor at one of the larger kung fu schools in San Francisco, which suited Revik just fine. Jon and Allie remained close, especially after their human father died, so Revik trusted her to be safe when Jon was around.

So yeah, if Jon had gotten there sooner, Revik might not have seen anything at all.

Jon didn’t get there until well after midnight, though. More than an hour earlier, that punk musician started eyeballing Alyson from across the room. Feeling something off with the guy, Revik paid more attention again, unsure if he liked the guy much, even before he opened his mouth. Revik liked him a lot less after he had.

“Hi, I’m Jaden...”

The guy clearly wanted her.

The rules were etched in stone with that kind of thing, though, and Revik agreed with them, both in practice and in spirit. No interference in anything consensual. No interference at all, if the Bridge wasn’t in immediate, physical danger. Revik was there solely to protect her, not to impinge on her free will, or to dictate the course of her life in any way.

Occasionally, there were more ambiguous things, though.

Revik had gone to the Council a few times for direction when they stopped him from intervening in situations that struck him as dangerous.

We need her to learn, they’d cautioned him. You cannot intervene in all matters, brother Revik, simply because you are there and it is uncomfortable to see a fellow seer in emotional distress. You cannot keep her from learning about the realities of her world...and in particular, the realities of our human cousins and their less-savory predilections towards one another and other species. It would defeat the entire purpose of the Bridge being fostered with a human family, if you were to protect her from any ill-effects of being raised as one of them.

Revik understood that reasoning, too...mostly.

It still angered him, though.

It particularly angered him in one notable case with a neighbor who collected train sets.

The neighbor used those same trains to lure over neighborhood kids when their parents weren’t around. That piece of shit all but fucked her when she was about nine years old, and probably would have if Alyson’s human father hadn’t picked up on something wrong and forbade Allie from ever going over there again.

Revik had been fairly new on the job back then, and he’d been shocked...and angered, almost beyond reason, truthfully...when the Council told him not to intervene. They’d even directly thwarted him when he ignored them and tried to intervene anyway.

That had been Revik’s first warning.

Luckily, Allie’s adoptive father wasn’t a complete idiot and picked up on something wrong on his own. It took him a few weeks, however. During that time, Revik tried to tip him off...twice...and again got thwarted by the Council.

During most of that time, Revik argued with the senior monks at length, trying to convince them to let him intervene, even after they warned him. He pointed out that she didn’t even have the advantages a human would in those situations, that her race made her vulnerable to certain kinds of manipulation, more so than any human, no matter what their age. He argued further that she would inevitably blame herself if she didn’t understand this.

Revik still felt strongly that if she learned the truth of her race, she’d know to protect herself better. She’d certainly know more about weaknesses of hers that weren’t about character or predilection or even naïveté, but pertained directly to species variation.

Revik got overruled.

So he knew even without asking what they would have said about the situation with Jaden. She hadn’t been in physical danger––even Revik could admit that much, although he almost wished she had been so he could have done something directly, maybe gotten one of the drunk party-goers to break in there and beat the hell out of that little fuck while his pants were down around his ankles.

But Jaden hadn’t hurt her.

She’d more or less consented to what occurred.

To Revik, however, the not knowing what she was part of things meant she was still being taken advantage of. The Council was letting her be manipulated, in effect...leaving her highly vulnerable to being used in various ways by humans who didn’t mind pushing on or even trampling over her boundaries. The situation of her race more generally was only compounded by the effect her light had on others, as the Bridge.

And yeah, it pissed him off.

Even so, he’d been surprised when Jaden took her hand and pulled her off the dance floor and into the bathroom of that rundown, artist hovel of a house. He’d been even more surprised when that little shit had been so forward with her...and more so when she’d been turned on by his forwardness, rather than annoyed.

Granted, she was...what? Twenty-one, now? Twenty-two?

So hardly a kid. Especially by human standards.

Even so, Revik knew he probably didn’t see her clearly, despite his near-constant proximity to her light. He also occasionally got confused by how different she felt behind the Barrier versus how she acted in the world with her friends. It didn’t help that she’d grown up physically about three times as fast as a normal seer. He’d already been forced to adjust to changes that wouldn’t have occurred for another ten to twenty years in an ordinary seer.

He’d been forced to deal with watching her light develop exponentially, too, presumably because of who she was, and the fact that she really was different from most seers.

All other seers, really.

She was the Bridge.

According to the elders, the Bridge only came when a new evolutionary jump was required in the continuum of living beings. For the same reason, seers generally felt ambivalent about her coming. Many would welcome the Bridge as the savior of seers from the humans. Many might also want her dead, if they worried she might wipe out seers along with the humans.

The seer religion had many human converts over the years, as well. Most of those converts redrafted the Myth in their own image, with humans at the center of life’s continuum. Not that surprising, really, from Revik’s experience of humans.

Either way, many of those humans would also want her dead.

The Bridge was supposed to be the harbinger of a new world…for seers and for humans. Her even being here, incarnate on Earth, meant that a Displacement rapidly approached. Similar to the human word, “Apocalypse,” a Displacement meant that everything would change, and really damned fast. Also similar to the human concept of Apocalypse, it implied many, many beings would die in the process.

Those left would be forced to evolve.

Knowing all of that didn’t help Revik at all, however, as he watched Jaden fuck her on that countertop in a dingy bathroom filled with dirty towels and half-empty beer bottles.

Revik understood Vash’s warning, of course.

He’d been a little shocked by his own reaction to the whole thing, too.

After all, he’d been determined not to get emotionally close to his charge in any way, pretty much from day one of his assignment to watch over her. Revik had his reasons for that. In his opinion, damned good reasons. Not all of them were strictly rational, however...and none of them were really her fault. Revik didn’t much care.

Even so, he’d jerked off after seeing her with Jaden that night. Twice.

Okay, maybe three times.

It hadn’t really helped. Nor had it diminished the shame he felt from the separation pain that coiled off his light whenever he let himself remember the look on her face as she’d been getting off. Shame didn’t come close to covering it. For one thing, shame implied he’d done something wrong, and Revik couldn’t honestly decide if he believed that or not.

He’d watched every minute of their liaison from the Barrier.

Truthfully, he hadn’t been able to make himself look away. He’d been nearly mesmerized at the sight of Jaden pounding into her, Allie gasping against his neck with that silver paint smeared on her face and his skin, her leather boot-clad legs wound around his waist. Revik still couldn’t quite get over his shock that she’d let him finger her then fuck her after talking to him for a total of maybe twenty minutes.

He’d never seen her do anything like that before.

Hell, as far as he’d known, she was a virgin. He’d witnessed a number of drunken but relatively innocent fumblings in the backseats of cars, but that was about it. She’d never even had a real boyfriend.

He knew why she’d been hesitant to date much. Revik could feel that she was nervous about the reactions others had to her, even if she didn’t understand what those reactions actually meant. Whatever she pretended, she knew those reactions could be dangerous...she understood that much, on some level at least.

That same realization forced Revik to face his own changing perceptions, too…as well as a truth he’d been trying his damnedest to avoid for months now, maybe even the past few years.

He didn’t see her as a kid anymore.

Not at all.

More than that, he’d been jealous of that smug little prick to the point of wanting to snap his goddamned neck.

3

NOT NORMAL

“Hey, Al...Al! Earth to Allie!”

I glanced up from where I’d been refilling salt and pepper shakers and saw Cass standing there, a hand parked jauntily on one hip, her black waitressing apron askew over a too-short mini-skirt. She grinned at me.

“Did you see who just showed up?” she said.

I let my eyes fall to her skirt.

“You’re going to get fired if Jeff sees you wearing that,” I told her. “Didn’t he already warn you about that? About wearing that exact same skirt?”

Cass exhaled, blowing bangs out of her eyes with an exaggerated huff. She’d dyed the ends of her hair blue this time, which I still hadn’t completely gotten used to. It looked cool, but I liked the red better, maybe because it made the tips of her hair look like flames against the black of her normal Asian hair, which fell like a heavy curtain around her face.

I’d always loved Cass’s hair.

All through high school, I’d wished my hair looked like that.

“He seems to be A-okay with staring at my ass whenever I wear it,” she grumbled.

She paused long enough to glare pointedly over the partition at another waitress, a dark-haired girl named Dania who seemed to get off on tattling on the rest of us. She was convinced no one pulled their weight here but her.

And, well, in Cass’s case, she might have been right.

“We need to quit this fucking place,” Cass muttered, once Dania was out of range of her death stare. “...And hey, did you even hear me? That guy’s here.”

I didn’t look up that time. Just went back to pouring salt into glass shakers.

“What guy?”

“Over there,” she said, jerking her head sideways.

I watched Cass stare over the partition again, this time focusing somewhere on the main floor of the restaurant. I hated it when she withheld information to get me to pay attention to her. It was totally high school to try and pique my interest all the time instead of just telling me things outright, but it also seemed to be a habit she was incapable of breaking.

Even so, I hesitated, curious in spite of myself.

I really needed to get the side work done. I wanted to get the hell out of there.

Curiosity got the better of me, though, as it often did––which is probably why Cass did it, incidentally, I was a sucker. In the end, I put the salt container down, and walked over to where Cass stood with a sigh. Once I got near enough, I peered around the partition, since the part in front of me was too high for me to see over. It took me a few seconds more to zero in on the right table. Once I had, I realized he was staring right at me.

When he caught my gaze, he grinned outright, raising a hand in a short wave.

I waved back, then retreated behind the partition, giving Cass a dirty look.

“Jeez. Thanks a lot for that,” I said.

“What? I thought you liked him.”

I ground my jaw, not answering. Still feeling like a jerk, I went back to pouring salt into the row of little glass salt-shakers, not looking at her.

“How the hell did he even find me?” I muttered.

“Didn’t you tell him where you worked?” she said.

I fought to remember. I must have been more buzzed that night than I’d realized. I remembered something about where each of us worked, from back when we were first talking near the dance floor, half-shouting in each other’s ears to be heard over the band. I seemed to remember him saying something about computer games. But it’s not like we’d done a ton of talking. Besides, I’d had all of that make-up on.

“How does he even recognize me?” I said, more finishing the thought than really aiming the question at Cass.

“Maybe it’s not your face that stuck in his mind,” she smirked.

I gave her a lifted-eyebrow and a look, and Cass laughed.

“What?” She walked over to the table where I worked. “What’s your problem? You’re not telling me something.”

When I didn’t answer, I could feel her stare burning into my profile.

“You’re blushing!” she pronounced. When I gave her another dirty look, Cass laughed outright. “Oh my god! That’s where you went that night. You were blowing him in the bathroom! Little miss ‘I don’t date’ got down and dirty with cute goth boy...after knowing him for a total of thirty minutes. You bad, bad girl, you!”

“Would you shut up?” I hissed, motioning for her to keep her voice down. “You’re like the town crier. Does everyone need to hear this...?”

When she laughed again, a smile fought its way onto my face, in spite of myself.

“Seriously,” I said. “Shut up. Before I beat you senseless with my check pad.”

“Admit it...and I might.”

“I didn’t blow him, okay?”

“So, what? You fucked him?” Cass said it lightly, clearly a joke. I must have reddened more because she burst out in a louder laugh. “Oh my god! You did! You totally fucked him! And you call me a slut!”

“Shut up! Seriously!” I hissed, motioning again for her to be quiet. “It was...an accident.” Cass laughed even harder, and that time, I couldn’t help laughing with her. “He’s going to hear you...along with everyone else in this damned place. Unlike you, I don’t want to be fired.”

But Cass didn’t seem to hear that part. Or, more likely, she didn’t care.

“An accident?” she said. “You fell on him, or what? He must be big if you ‘accidentally’ ran into his cock with your vagina...”

“Shhh...Cass! Shut up, I mean it.” I couldn’t help laughing that time, too. “I am so going to get back at you for this. Just wait.”

Before I could go on, another voice interrupted us.

“That’s something I’d like to see,” it said.

I froze, feeling the blood drain from my face, despite the casualness of the words.

I glanced towards the opening between the two partitions sectioning off the waitressing station from the main dining area.

“...You getting back at her, I mean,” Jaden finished, smiling at me from where he gripped each of the side partitions. He leaned forward a little, rocking his weight, each hand holding one side of the narrow opening. “Maybe I’d better not get on your bad side.”

Cass stared at him, blank-faced.

Then she turned and raised her eyebrows dramatically at me, making her mock surprise face, one hand poised comically over her mouth. When she glanced back at Jaden, she winked, right before giving him a knowing smirk.

“Hi there,” she said.

“Hello,” he said back. He nodded to her politely but made his disinterest in her crystal clear. He looked back at me, his blue eyes even lighter and more intense than I remembered. “Hey,” he said. “When are you off?”

I fought to keep my expression more or less normal. “When I finish up back here.” I motioned towards the salt and pepper shakers.

“You got plans?” he said, not missing a beat.

I stared at him, feeling my brain whirl around the question, thinking through my half-assed musings around what I’d do when I got off work. Most of those involved my couch, a feed-player, or maybe, if I was feeling really ambitious, music blasting out of my old, crappy speakers while I worked on a few new sketches.

Ice cream had figured in there somewhere, too...and probably a few beers.

Before I could answer him, Cass aimed her smirk at me.

“She does now,” she said cheerfully.

“Fuck...”

The word came out in mostly a gasp, even as he gripped my bare shoulder in his hand. I watched his face as he came, my legs wrapped around his, my arms coiled around his waist. For a long moment, I couldn’t think at all, but only watched him, realizing it was the first thing he’d said since we’d gotten back to my apartment.

It’s probably good Cass had gone over to Jack’s.

I hadn’t been as quiet as Jaden.

It was also really good Jon was working late tonight, and therefore unlikely to pop by unannounced, as he had a tendency to do on his early nights and his days off.

Jaden smiled down at me when he caught me looking at him. I felt myself blush, even as he rolled off. He was still grinning as he landed on the mattress next to me. I had my bed on the floor for now, not on a real frame or anything, but Jaden didn’t seem to care about that, either.

It hit me again that I knew next to nothing about the guy.

Why the hell had I slept with him? Twice?

“I love it that you get so embarrassed afterwards,” he said. He leaned towards me, kissing me on the cheek. Grinning, he slid closer, nuzzling my face with his. “It’s fucking adorable. You’re like a wildcat in the sack and then as soon as it’s over, you turn all mortified...” He kissed me again, his sweaty face pressed against mine as he murmured, “...It’s making me hard all over again.”

I felt my face grow warmer, but I looked up at him, meeting his gaze anyway.

When he smiled at me that time, I smiled back.

“Are you hungry?” he said.

I nodded. “Starving.”

“Me, too,” he said cheerfully. “Wanna go out? I couldn’t make myself eat the food at that shitty diner where you work. Even the menu pictures looked pretty scary.” He winced a little, and his voice grew borderline apologetic. “...Sorry.”

I laughed at that, I couldn’t help it.

“Don’t be,” I said, smiling more naturally that time. “And yeah...they do. Look scary.”

“I want to actually talk to you this time,” he said, kissing me again. “Maybe it won’t be a real date, but maybe close. Closer, anyway.”

He caressed my face with his fingers.

I was still trying to decide if I wanted to get to know him, honestly.

Some part of me wanted to not make more of this than it was. I knew my reactions to him hadn’t exactly been “normal,” but I also knew I was doing my best not to go all gushy on him because of that, doing the girl thing just because we were attracted to each other. I didn’t know him well enough to know if I even liked him yet.

Clearly, some more animal side of me liked him...but I wasn’t going to kid myself that it meant anything more than that, whatever he said. Unlike a lot of my friends, it had always been pretty easy for me to separate the physical stuff from the emotional. I didn’t say anything most of the time, since I knew how that sounded to a lot of people, but I really didn’t have to like people I slept with all that much.

Not like I’d had a lot of experience or anything, but I knew that about myself, seemingly from when I was a kid. Sex was just sex.

It could mean more than that, but it usually didn’t.

I certainly didn’t need to treat my sex partners like some kind of soul mate or whatever.

Watching Jaden glance over at my naked body with appreciative eyes, I did the same to him, letting myself really look at him for the first time since I’d met him at that party. Despite my determination not to get weird about this, I still felt pretty confused, honestly. I wasn’t sure what it was about him, exactly, that had caused me to break every single one of my unwritten but previously ironclad rules.

I mean, I’d never really decided not to date––whatever Cass said––but truthfully, I hadn’t really decided to date anyone before, either. I wasn’t anti-guy or anti-sex or anything. I just knew I had a tendency to attract weirdos, so I learned to be wary of anyone who came on too strong. My dad warned me I’d always need to be careful about that because, as he put it, “I was just one of those lights that attracted a lot of moths, for good and ill.”

I was pretty wary of having sex with someone I didn’t know for the same reason.

I was definitely wary of having sex with people around my friends, or in a way my friends might find out about. Cass, in particular, didn’t need to know that stuff about me. Not because I didn’t trust her, but more because I knew she’d make more of it than it was. I didn’t need the drama, frankly. Usually, my affairs, or whatever you wanted to call them, didn’t last long enough to warrant much drama, but I knew Cass had a tendency to make sex and romance the center of her world, in a way that made no sense to me.

But yeah, I’d ignored all of that stuff with Jaden.

I didn’t even know why. Not really.

I’d been sort of serious when I told Cass that had been an accident. I mean, I hadn’t planned any of it...not the letting myself get picked up right in front of Cass or letting her see me with him afterwards. It embarrassed me, too, especially when it hit me that Jaden himself would have no idea that I didn’t do this with every hot guy I came across.

Although, yeah...normally I wouldn’t care about that, either.

Meaning, I wouldn’t really care what some random guy I happened to have sex with thought of me, or my motivations. Maybe it was the fact that Cass knew about it now. Or maybe I really did care what he thought. I honestly couldn’t tell for sure.

So yeah, mostly, I was embarrassed. And confused.

And wondering why I’d done it at all when I’m pretty sure I could have gotten info on Jaden and who he was some other way and gotten ahold of him later...when Cass wasn’t around. When Jon wouldn’t have been likely to even hear about it.

But I hadn’t wanted to wait, apparently.

Even now, I found myself getting turned on again, just looking at him. He was on the lean side, but had a really sexy body, at least according to my tastes. He was tall, which I’d always liked. Six pack abs. A muscular chest, nice arms and hands. Long fingers. Black hair, thick and kind of messy, but I liked that, too.

I’d always had a thing about black hair.

And joking or not, Cass had been right about something else. He wasn’t exactly small in the important places, either. I slid my hand down his body and closed my fingers around him as I thought it, almost without thinking about what I was doing.

Jaden sucked in a breath.

But nothing about his looks, or his dick size, or the fact that he’d tried to have sex with me the first time we were alone together, explained why I’d done this, either. Truthfully, I hadn’t had a lot of sex...with anyone. I didn’t enjoy admitting that fact to my friends, all of whom seemed to think the sex and romance thing were the end-all and be-all of the universe...but Cass was right. I’d never had a real boyfriend.

The few guys I’d dated, Cass hadn’t known about. Or Jon. Or my mother.

I definitely wasn’t a virgin, though, by any definition. Sex wasn’t a morality issue with me, more a gut reaction and a complication. I didn’t care what other people were doing. I didn’t even care what they thought of me, not really.

I wanted to feel it, and usually I just...didn’t.

I guess I figured I hadn’t met anyone I liked well enough, yet.

Jaden didn’t need to know any of that, though.

His cock jerked to attention under my fingers when I didn’t take my hand away.

“Damn, Allie-girl,” he said, groaning softly. “You drive me fucking crazy, and I don’t know anything about you. What is it about you? Are you bewitching me or something...?”

I couldn’t help smiling. I didn’t stop touching him though, and a few seconds later, he rolled to his back, gasping again, his fingers wrapping around mine where I held him.

“I had to ask someone what your name was,” he said, looking up at me. He wrapped his free arm loosely around my back. He kissed my mouth, then said, softer, “I remembered the Allie part, but I was so fucking drunk I couldn’t remember your last name. I asked a lot of people about you, Allie-girl-Taylor. I found out what high school you went to...where you go to college. I looked for pictures of you on the feeds. I looked at a bunch of your art…the charcoals with those pyramids...” He let out another gasp when I continued to touch him. “...They told me you don’t go out with anyone...some of them thought you were a dyke, but no one I talked to had seen you with girls, either. You’re not a dyke, are you?”

I laughed, quirking an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

He gripped me tighter, pulling me against him.

“I think you like cock an awful lot for a dyke,” he said, smiling when I laughed again. “I also think I’m a lucky bastard, if you don’t normally fuck guys. I may have to find more creative ways of keeping my good luck going...”

I massaged him harder, and he closed his eyes, groaning again.

After another few minutes he was panting, thrusting his body up against my hand.

“If you want me to take you out, this isn’t the way to get me to leave the house with you,” he murmured. “It really isn’t...”

I slid more of my weight on him, leaning on his chest. He let out another gasp when I stroked him harder, then he was panting again, pushing down lightly on my shoulders, asking a different question with his hands and eyes as he tried to guide me further down his body. I felt the urgency in him again, although I couldn’t hear it in his voice.

“On the other hand,” he murmured, his words low and teasing. “If you’re hungry, I might have a short-term solution for that problem...”

I could already feel what he wanted.

I was okay with that, too.

Especially now, feeling his desire wash over me, almost like a tangible force, like something I could feel in my body and breath, or maybe just see in his light blue eyes. Those eyes grew softer as I watched, but I glimpsed flickers of that demand there, too, growing denser as he continued to grip my shoulders, his hands taut with restraint.

In either case, I’d stopped second-guessing why I was doing this.

I couldn’t even remember why it mattered, really.

Jon blinked, clearly startled when he saw me.

I was dressed, though. Well. More or less.

I had a blanket wrapped around my upper body, boxers on down below. I’d shoved my feet into calf-high boots lined with fake fur, so yeah, the outfit was a bit random, but serviceable. Definitely not nude. Not even close to nude, really.

“Hey,” Jon said.

“Hey.”

He looked me over again, then frowned. “Are you alone?”

I glanced over my shoulder, hesitating, then looked back at Jon, whose frown had deepened in that pause.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he said. “Who is it? That guy Cass told me about?”

I hesitated, then shrugged. No point in hiding this thing now.

“Do you want to just come in?” I asked him, holding open the door. “We were just ordering pizza. I was going to find a movie on the feeds...you’re welcome to join us.”

I kept my voice casual, like me having some dude over for a movie and pizza was no big deal. Like it was normal me and Jon hanging out time.

Jon looked past me, as if thinking the same thing. He looked less annoyed now, maybe because of the invite, but he also made no motion to come inside. After another pause, he motioned with his head for me to come outside instead. Feeling myself tense a little, I did, holding the door closed behind me without letting the latch click into place. I couldn’t exactly carry keys on me in this outfit and I didn’t want to risk getting locked out.

“What?” I said, still standing there, and now feeling self-conscious about the blanket. “What is it? Are you seriously freaked that I have a guy here?”

“Is Cass telling the truth?” Jon said. “Did you really fuck him in the bathroom at some party? That one on Octavia...on Halloween?”

I blinked. Then I looked up, staring Jon in the face. When he didn’t flinch, I let out a laugh, more surprise than humor.

“I can’t believe you just asked me that,” I said.

“Cass is worried about you.”

“What?” I let out another surprised laugh, not hiding my incredulity. “Bullshit. She practically gloated about it.”

“Who is this guy, Allie?” Jon said.

“What difference does it make?” I said, feeling my humor evaporating. “Are you seriously grilling me about a guy I like? I’m twenty-two fucking years old, Jon!”

Jon hesitated at that. Then, taking another step back, he frowned again.

Putting his hands on his waist, he stared down at me, his hazel eyes strangely light even in the shadow of my Victorian porch. I still wasn’t entirely used to him all buffed out like he was now. In my mind, Jon was still the skinny kid with glasses I’d grown up with, the one the neighborhood kids used to call “Bug” and stuff in garbage cans.

“That’s why I came over, actually,” Jon said, his voice gruff.

“Which part?” I said. “To give me dating advice?”

Jon let out a humorless snort. I could almost see the sarcastic comment he bit back, as if it floated between us in the empty air.

Since when does fucking a total stranger on a countertop qualify as dating, Al...?

He didn’t say it, though. Not out loud, anyway.

“I wanted to give you your birthday present,” Jon said, his voice gruff. He motioned towards a box I hadn’t seen, sitting on the wooden chair that lurked near the railing of the porch. “You don’t have to open it now or anything.”

“Why don’t you just come in?” I said, exasperated. “Meet the guy you’re going to have a hissy fit about, at least.”

He shook his head, once. “No. We’ll hang later. How about tomorrow?”

I nodded, biting back my frustration. Shaking my head, I voiced it anyway, maybe because Jon had still made no move to leave.

“Why is everyone so weirded out by this?” I said. “So I like a guy. So what?”

“Who’s weirded, Al?” Jon said.

I gave him a flat look. “Really? You’re going to play that, now?”

“It’s fine,” he said, his voice neutral. “I was just surprised when Cass mentioned you’d actually seen the guy again. Forget I said anything, okay?”

I frowned, not answering at first. Cass hadn’t just “mentioned” Jaden to Jon; he and Cass had talked about it, whatever Jon was pretending. And Jon was right about something else, I realized, as I turned over his words. Cass might think the whole thing was funny, but she was weirded out by it, too. Neither of them would talk smack just to be assholes, so if Cass said something to Jon, she must genuinely be worried.

Given that, it was hard not to feel touched, too...although the fact that they’d been talking behind my back annoyed me. They didn’t usually do that.

Well. Not that I knew of, anyway.

“Just ask me next time,” I said. “As in me. Directly. Not Cass. Cass doesn’t know anything about it, okay? Hell, I barely know anything about it.” When Jon grunted, folding his tanned arms, I sighed, folding mine, too, only around the blanket. “Jesus. What’s the big deal?”

“Who is this guy?” Jon said, his voice sharper. “What the hell is he doing, trying to fuck you after knowing you for thirty minutes?”

“What makes you think it was all him?” I shot back.

“Was it?” he said.

“That’s none of your damned business!”

“Really?” he said, his voice edging on angry now. “That’s how you want to play this? Like I’m Dad or something? Like we don’t talk about stuff like this?”

“We don’t,” I said.

Jon’s eyes narrowed, his stance stiffening, growing closer to how he looked when he sparred in the ring. “Really? We don’t? Since when, Al?” His voice turned into a near-growl. “Did I get my name crossed off a list? Because I don’t think I got that particular memo, little sis.”

“This isn’t the same, and you know it!” I sharpened my voice but kept it low, glancing back at the front door. “Jeez, Jon. Creepy much? Is your own sex life so boring that you have to ask about mine?”

“Fine.” Jon’s expression hardened, right before he nodded, as if still thinking. “Fine,” he said again.

Turning, he began to clomp purposefully down the wooden stairs in his boots, heading for the street.

“Jon!”

He stopped, looking up at me.

That time, I could see his expression clearly since he was out of the shadows and back under the orange street lights. He looked pissed off. More than that, he looked hurt, and embarrassed, and...worried. He looked worried.

Jesus. More than anything, he looked really worried.

I exhaled, still watching his face. “Jon...I’m all right, okay? I swear.” Hesitating, I walked to the edge of the porch, at the very top of the stairs. “I know it’s weird for me, to be with someone out of the blue like this...but it’s not the first time, okay?” Seeing Jon’s eyebrow go up, I exhaled again, in exasperation that time. “It’s fine, okay? Really. He’s a good guy.”

Jon looked like he wanted to say something else, but didn’t, shaking his head. His long, dirty-blond hair was tied at the base of his neck in a rubber band over a dark t-shirt and torn blue jeans. From the looks of him, he’d probably just gotten off work. He didn’t look like he’d even been home to shower yet, and he didn’t wear socks with his sneakers.

I flashed back to that Halloween party, remembering Jon’s questioning look when I came out of the bathroom with Jaden. Thinking about that now, and remembering how guilty the two of us must have looked with my smeared make up and torn stockings and Jaden’s rumpled shirt and whatever else, I flushed again.

“Stop being such a big brother,” I told him.

I’d been trying to lighten things, but Jon only glared up at me.

“Then stop being an asshole,” he said.

I frowned. “Jesus. Thanks a lot.”

“You know the kind of people you attract, Al.”

I couldn’t really argue, but it pissed me off anyway. Maybe it pissed me off even more because I couldn’t argue.

“Yeah,” I said. “Well. That’s not exactly my fault. Or are you saying it is?”

“I didn’t say it was your fault!” Jon snapped. He unfolded his arms, hands curling into fists. “Damn it, Al! You’re not stupid...far from it. Why can’t you just be smart about this? You don’t know anything about this asshole...and he’s not exactly off to an auspicious start! From what Cass said, he practically dragged you into that bathroom, after barely asking your name. Now he knows where you live? Where you work? Did you tell him that stuff, Al? In the twenty or so minutes you were screwing in that bathroom? Or did he stalk you to find it out later on his own...after he decided he might like a repeat performance?”

Remembering what Jaden had told me about how he’d been asking about me, I shrugged, keeping my voice neutral. “What do you want me to say, Jon?” I said. “No matter how I answer that, you’re going to tell me I’m an idiot.”

“Well, maybe you are an idiot!” he said angrily. Stopping, as if biting back more he would have liked to say, he motioned towards me again with one hand, indicating the blanket. “Jesus, Al. You let this guy into your house...into your house! Why?”

I just looked at him, emotions warring in my chest.

Anger mostly, by then...partly for the idiot comment, but more because he clearly thought me incapable of making my own decisions in regard to my personal life. Frustration because I could tell he was genuinely worried about me. Guilt because since Dad died and Mom went into her alcoholic funk, Jon and I pretty much only had each other.

And yeah, more anger because he was acting like he had some say in who I dated.

Or who I fucked, for that matter.

“Go home, Jon,” I said, the anger winning out. “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

My voice sounded cold, even to me.

“Yeah, whatever, Al...say hi to your new stalker for me.”

I didn’t answer that time.

I just walked back towards the house.

I didn’t realize until then that Jaden stood in the doorway, listening.

As soon as I saw his face, I realized he’d heard every word we’d said.

4

NOT PASSING

Revik adjusted the collar of his shirt, trying to loosen it from the other’s ministrations, only to have Eddard push his hand away. It wasn’t quite a slap, but it felt like one.

“Kindly stand still, sir,” the human said crisply.

Revik resigned himself, letting his hands fall to his sides.

“It still seems like overkill,” he muttered, glancing at himself in the mirror.

“It is the Royal Academy, sir,” Eddard said, his tone unchanging. “To dress in formal black and whites for such an occasion is tradition.”

Revik didn’t answer, but sighed internally. He fought to just stand there, submitting to being dressed like a monkey, knowing it wouldn’t be the only time he felt that way tonight.

Normally, he could pass around humans.

He’d worn an “H” tattoo for years, ever since they first required race-cat tattoos in select Western countries. Now all of them required it with the exception of the People’s Republic of China, which had their own way of managing the local seer population.

Oh, and Argentina, for some reason.

Revik’s unique blood type helped, in terms of the passing thing.

Unlike the vast majority of seers, Revik had a blood type that came up human in routine blood scans, which meant all but those conducted by SCARB in screening for seer terrorists, or for some of the more tech-savvy of the human militaries where they looked for high grade blood patches and genetic variants and whatever else. Even those, Revik normally passed, although he’d been held a few times since he fit most of the secondary characteristics for seers––including height, unusual eye-color, bone structure, and organ placement.

Some anomaly with his genetics, Vash told him. Apparently, only something like one in a million seers shared that anomaly with him, if not fewer.

Luckily, Allie...meaning the Bridge...had the same blood condition Revik did. That, or she had something similar, related to her being the Bridge. Either way, if her blood didn’t come up as human in scans, the decision to hide her among humans while she matured would never have happened. Nor would it if she aged the way a normal seer did.

Revik had always known himself to be lucky in regards to his own blood type.

It was the primary reason he’d been trained for infiltration in the first place.

He also had a fairly nondescript eye color, which could pass as light blue or gray, although they really were neither. Instead, his irises were nearly colorless and clear as glass. He’d been told they carried just the faintest tinge of blue-green, at least in the right light, but most humans didn’t get close enough to notice that, either.

He had features that could be European, or even Eurasian, depending on who looked...unlike the vast majority of seers, who resembled Chinese humans and the various ethnic minorities that encompassed. Other configurations were more rare than others among seers, of course.

In human terms, seers carried roughly the following known human secondary characteristics, or ethnicities, in descending order: Chinese, Southeast Asian, Indian, Middle Eastern, Eastern European and/or Eurasian mix, Japanese, some variations of Native American...then finally light-haired Europeans.

Traits considered African and native Australian were the most rare of all, with the latter being almost unheard of.

Being roughly in the mid-range of the rarer of the appearance brackets, people didn’t often immediately ID Revik as seer.

The only thing really calling out his race to a normal civilian was his height, and many humans were as tall as he was, especially nowadays, with the drastic improvements in nutrition and health care over the past one hundred or so years.

As a result of all of these things, Revik had grown accustomed to walking invisibly among humans. Hell, he had been extensively trained to do just that.

So he wasn’t exactly thrilled when the current head of the British defence program called out his name across the crowded room filled with uniformed humans.

Up until that precise moment, Revik had been happily lurking in the corner by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the main reception hall, which also doubled as lecture space when courses were actually in session. He’d fully expected to remain in more or less that same corner, with a few trips to the bar to break up the tedium, for the remainder of the night. No one knew who he was and he had every intention of keeping it that way.

Also due to his training, he had grown adept at not being seen, particularly by humans, particularly when he had no special purpose in being wherever he was.

As far as Revik was concerned, he was there as window-dressing only.

Therefore, when Durenkirk spoke his name into the microphone, Revik flinched. In the process, he spilled the drink he’d managed to get off the bar...also without actually talking to anyone. Now he just stood there, feeling like a spotlight had just been shone on him.

“Dehgoies Revik?” the British ex-Lord of the Admiralty said, speaking even more loudly into the microphone. “He is here, is he not? I could have sworn I saw him walk in, earlier...” He motioned to one of his aides. “Go have a look for him, will you?”

Revik felt his neck warm.

He glanced around at the humans standing not far from him and realized that while some remained oblivious to his presence, a few were looking at him curiously, probably because of the spilled drink. One woman, a human perhaps in her fifties, smiled at him. She was tall for a human, wearing a floor-length white dress that highlighted her graying hair.

Revik paused to stare at her, feeling her pale, human light exude a pulse of real sympathy towards him. He felt in that same whisper that she hated crowds, too, and was only here because her husband...no, her son...had dragged her out to attend.

Revik also felt a sharper dagger of irritation from her aimed at Durenkirk for outing Revik’s race in front of all of these people.

In that split second of information transfer, Revik could have kissed her.

The brief warmth he felt towards her brought a surprisingly dense flush of emotion to his light. Maybe too much, given where he was. Acting too seer around all of these humans wouldn’t do him any favors, Revik knew.

So he didn’t return her smile before averting his gaze.

Instead, he downed the rest of his drink and set it down on the edge of the nearest windowsill before he straightened the tuxedo jacket he wore. Summoning back his infiltrator’s blank expression, he began walking towards the front of the room.

He had to, he knew. And better to go up there on his own than let himself be found by one of Durenkirk’s aides.

He didn’t look at anyone as he walked. Even so, he felt every eye in the room on him now.

“Ah,” Durenkirk said, smiling at him in an almost comical relief. “There he is. Come on up here, lad. Let the new members get a look at you!”

Revik stiffened, but didn’t break or even change stride, and his expression didn’t move.

More training, he supposed.

Even so, the “lad” comment rose his hackles a bit, even knowing how little it meant. He also knew it would hardly do to remind the ex-Lord of the Admiralty that he probably had a good thirty years on the human...if not more.

Revik also knew he was being overly sensitive.

He looked young to human eyes. Certainly he looked young compared to Durenkirk, who had to be in his seventies, which came close to the equivalent of seven hundred years in seer age. Anyway, and more to the point, from a seer perspective, the label still applied, which is probably the real reason it irritated Revik.

For a seer, he was young...only just over one hundred years.

He walked directly up to the podium.

Not seeing the stairs immediately, he made a split second decision and leapt up to the stage instead, realizing his mistake only after the move elicited a few audible gasps from those standing close to the front of the room. Flushing more when he realized that the jump might have looked strange from a human perspective, Revik kept his expression still as he approached Durenkirk at the podium.

“That was...athletic,” the tall Brit smiled, glancing around at the audience with a wink.

When scattered members of the audience tittered in response, Revik decided to play oblivious, versus attempting to pretend he got the joke.

And yes, he stayed in good shape.

He had to, given his job. A lot of that meant work in the ring, including some acrobatics, but he wasn’t about to explain that to a room full of humans in formal wear, most of whom looked like they hadn’t been physically active in at least a decade, if not more.

When Revik attempted to hang back from the podium itself, if only to disguise his height somewhat by avoiding standing directly next to the tall but still significantly shorter-than-him human, the other male motioned him forward a second time. Clearly, Durenkirk refused to let him lurk, even up here. When Revik got close enough, the human leaned back over the microphone, smiling down at the crowd as he patted Revik’s shoulder affectionately.

“We are quite lucky to have Mr. Dehgoies here with us at the College,” Durenkirk said, patting him again, almost like he wasn’t sure what else to do with Revik, now that he stood so close. “I am assured that Mr. Dehgoies...despite his youthful appearance...has extensive experience in human forms of conflict and warfare. Some of that experience dates all the way back to the very beginnings of World War II, if you can believe it, where he was employed by the Germans, if I am not mistaken...?”

He gave Revik a questioning look at the end of that.

Revik nodded, once.

He nearly made a hand-gesture in seer to connote the same, but stopped himself, realizing he might be drunker than he realized, if he was about to use seer sign language up here.

He saw a few frowns at his nod, anyway.

It took him a few seconds more to realize that the frowns weren’t about his age, or even about him being seer...but pertained to the fact that he’d worked for the Germans. Once he realized that much, Revik had to fight a dark-humored smile. He was just drunk enough to have a sudden, perverse desire to shout out “Heil Hitler!” just to see what they would do.

He, of course, did not do that.

Just having the thought, even in passing, made him wonder just how many times he’d been to the bar already that night, however. He tried to remember if he’d eaten anything, which was usually the thing that got him in trouble when it came to alcohol. Trying to count drinks backwards didn’t help. Nor did it help him to have the reminder of why he’d started drinking so early in the day in the first place.

In any case, Revik had no love of the Nazis, either.

He knew his humor would make no sense to the humans in this crowd, however, most of whom had some connection to the British military, or at least connection to those harmed in the bombings of London in the thirties and forties. Revik had no intention of explaining the fact that he’d probably overseen more gassings of his own race than he had of human ethnic and religious minorities...or that the Germans felt the need to remind him of his place in the overall scheme of things, too. Repeatedly.

Revik nearly had his head severed from his neck as a function of one of those “lessons.”

But even letting his mind drift that far into the past brought up a sudden flood of emotion and memory. He couldn’t process any of that standing on a wooden stage, either.

So he folded his hands at the base of his back, wiped his expression and did his best to look professorial. Or, at the very least, unapproachable.

“...He is a documented expert in inter-species warfare and defence,” Durenkirk continued, now reading from a small, transparent feed monitor placed directly below the microphone set into the podium. “...Further, Mr. Dehgoies has participated in over ten human and inter-species wars in official and unofficial capacities. Those wars spanned continents and covered multiple terrains and tactical approaches, including the jungles of Vietnam and Panama under the Americans, high desert terrain and lowlands of Afghanistan under the Russians, Pakistan under the Turks and drug cartels under the Mexican military authority. He’s even recently spent some time in South America with our own Mi5...”

Revik saw the frowns relaxing on some of the faces in the wider crowd.

So they no longer saw him as a Nazi.

Just as a paid fence-hopper. Or, more accurately, a merc.

Revik couldn’t be sure which was better, personally...but clearly the latter was preferable to the majority of this crowd.

Revik had already surmised that many older English still had less than fond memories of the Germans. He’d noted that much even while passing as human, due to the accent he still carried from learning English in Bavaria, back in the early part of the last century.

“...As the first instructor we’ve ever had on staff of his race, we would like to extend a warm welcome to Mr. Dehgoies, and thank him for joining us to improve and aid in more comprehensive inter-species understanding!”

Revik stifled another snort.

Inter-species understanding, his ass.

Learning how to kill seers more efficiently using one of their own as a patsy consultant was a lot closer to the truth.

Before he got very far in that line of thought, however, the entire room full of well-dressed humans began to applaud, still looking up at the stage and at Revik himself. Revik winced, looking around in bewilderment as they did it. For those few seconds, he could only scan faces, trying to understand what they were clapping about.

Then he realized they meant the applause as a compliment.

In their eyes, he was “one of the good ones,” a seer who had taken the side of humanity in the endless-seeming struggle between the races.

Revik had no idea how to respond to that, either.

So he didn’t. He only stood there, unmoving.

It hit him again, however, as he caught the gaze of the sympathetic woman with the graying hair and the floor-length white dress, that he might as well have painted a target on his chest, taking a job like this.

If there was ever a race-traitor job, this was definitely it.

Blending after that little scene up on the podium was impossible, even though Revik figured he’d only been standing up there for about three minutes, tops.

Now that they all knew what he was, Revik felt eyes on him wherever he went in the room. He also picked up on flickers of light, which was worse: some of them curious, some disgusted, some aroused, some angry. He fought to avoid all of them, and only half-succeeded.

He didn’t stop drinking, either, which didn’t help.

Drinking didn’t so much block impressions as distort them...even amplify them strangely, popping out some flavors more than others, and dulling Revik’s ability to interpret anything he felt, whether the initial impression was more or less accurate...or not.

Still, he must have been doing a better job blocking impressions than he’d realized, because he jumped nearly a foot when a hand stroked deliberately and unambiguously along the length of his crotch while he’d been leaning against the bar.

He’d decided to count drinks at that point, which was sort of delusional given that he’d started before Eddard called him up to get ready for this thing. He knew he was beyond tipsy and solidly into drunk at this point, although not messily so, thanks to his seer constitution. If he’d been a human, Revik suspected he’d be under the bar by now, not standing next to it.

He’d had at least two before they called him up on that stage, and Revik felt reasonably sure he’d had at least two more since that time. He’d wedged himself against one corner of the bar, choosing to hide in plain sight, so no one would be actively looking for him. He’d chosen a public place, too, where people would be less likely to try and pin him down with those inevitably awkward and overly-personal questions that humans seemed to be incapable of not asking seers. Revik could feel it was nerves and ignorance and whatever else, and sometimes he could even be gracious about it...but not tonight.

Really, he was counting down the minutes before he could get the fuck out of there and make his way home where he could get drunk for real.

Therefore, when he got groped, quasi-publicly no less, he jerked enough to spill his drink for the second time that night. Stepping out of the way of the hand, he looked at who it belonged to, fighting to keep his infiltrator’s lack of expression in place when he saw Durenkirk standing right next to him, smiling like he’d just pulled a little girl’s hair in school.

Revik gave him an openly angry look, quirking an eyebrow.

“Can I help you, sir?” he said, his voice cold.

“You work on the side, don’t you?” Durenkirk said.

Too loudly, Revik thought.

He couldn’t quite keep his eyes from darting to either side, to see if anyone else stood close enough to hear the human’s words. Of course, he realized...too late...doing that only made his interaction with Durenkirk more conspicuous.

“...Most of you icebloods do, am I right?” Durenkirk added, smirking.

Revik stared at the other man, fighting somewhere between real offense and confusion. Then he caught a flicker of Durenkirk’s light, and realized the male human was drunk. Too drunk. Even so, for the first time in what felt like a long time, anger won out.

“Fuck off,” Revik said.

The human flinched, but didn’t move away. His voice did grow more cautious, however.

“You haven’t heard my price yet,” Durenkirk said.

“I don’t need to hear it,” Revik snapped. He saw a scattering of heads turn in his direction, reacting to his raised voice, and likely also to the charge that expanded off his light. For once, he didn’t care. “I’m not for sale. Do you get that?”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m really fucking sure. And you couldn’t afford me if I was.”

The aged human smiled at him knowingly.

Revik didn’t wait for any more words. He knew he’d be likely to hit the human if he did. He wasn’t so drunk that he forgot how that would likely turn out for him, given what he was. He’d find himself collared and sitting in a cell, probably naked...definitely beat up...and hours before his hangover got a chance to well and truly kick in.

Of course, that would be after getting tasered to the ground in front of all of these people...or maybe hit with a tranquilizer dart by Defence College security.

Because of all of this, and a few other reasons, Revik didn’t wait.

He slammed his glass down deliberately on the bar and walked away.

He didn’t look back.

He didn’t breathe, really, not until he’d crossed the length of the chandelier-decorated ballroom. By then, he at least had some idea of where he wanted to go. He aimed his feet straight for the double glass doors leading out to the outer balcony. A large part of him wanted to walk out altogether, but, barring that, the priority was to get outside, out of that cloying room and the light of all of those humans and into less suffocating air. Since he doubted he could get away with leaving altogether, he went for the short-term exit instead.

Well, that...and it was closer.

Walking through those slightly ajar balcony doors, Revik opened them wider just long enough to get all the way through. Then, turning, he closed the glass doors behind him so that they latched with a loud click. He exhaled only then, feeling an almost exaggerated amount of relief. He turned a few seconds later, to look out at the night sky, and the moon he saw reflected in the closed glass doors...

...and jumped, realizing he wasn’t alone.

The woman in the white dress stood there, smoking a long, dark cigarette.

She smiled at him, but Revik caught a flicker of nerves, probably from the closed doors. He felt something else on her, too, what might have been guilt. Something in the combination of those two things relaxed Revik at once. Especially once he realized the guilt came from the smoking itself. The rest of the story came to him from one swift pass over her light.

She was hiding from her son, who would throw a fit if he caught her out here.

It wasn’t a human cigarette, either, he realized, smelling the air. She was smoking hiri, a seer habit, and one significantly less toxic than the human variety. Even so, Revik was surprised. Despite the changes of the past few decades, it still wasn’t common to find humans smoking hiri, even the expensive kind, like she obviously had.

“Can I have one?” he said, walking towards her.

The woman smiled, and Revik smiled back.

He felt the pulse of relief off her light, too.

He was tempted to joke that he wouldn’t tell her son that he’d caught her out here, but stopped himself in time, reminded again that he was drunk. Drunk enough that he’d almost forgotten that the majority of humans weren’t enamored of reminders that seers could read their light, and therefore, their minds.

“Thank you,” he murmured, feeling her assent as he approached the wall where she stood.

While she pulled out the pouch of hiri, he smiled a little at the brand. The expensive kind, indeed. She bought the real deal, grown and cured only in Seertown, India. He watched her fingers as she fumbled with the container, which she’d smuggled in via a sequined white purse that matched the long dress.

Even so, he didn’t get any closer.

Revik stood a few feet away, instead, albeit along the same balcony wall, hands in his pockets. He also made an effort not to stare. He knew the importance of being non-threatening around humans, especially female humans...especially the older ones and the very young. Some habits were pretty well ingrained, no matter how drunk he was. While he waited for her to fumble with the hiri, he looked out over Belgrave Square, making out shapes in the moonlight that shone over the park in the center.

The woman handed him one of the dark-wrapped weeds a few seconds later, and he nodded a thanks, putting it to his lips.

Before he’d asked, she lit it for him, almost shyly.

“Don’t tell my son,” she said, smiling again.

He exhaled hiri smoke, grinning at her, in spite of himself.

“Which is he?” he said, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders as he took another drag of the hiri. He motioned with the hand holding the hiri stick, indicating towards the closed balcony doors. “...I confess, I know very few of the attendees.”

“He is the new professor of counter-intelligence,” she said, taking a drag of her own hiri. “Stevenson. Garrett Stevenson.”

Revik nodded again, leaning his hands on the white stone balcony.

He remembered the name, and took a snapshot with his light of the image that came to the woman’s mind as she spoke it. He’d need to learn the current faculty anyway.

Taking another drag of the hiri, he looked down the length of the building itself that time, and its white, ionic columns. It hit him again that they were alone, and that it might not be particularly safe to be alone with a female human out here. He wondered if he should put more space between himself and her, just in case, but she seemed to be at ease with him for some reason.

It made him relax his guard more than he normally would have.

“Did something happen?” she asked him, after a few more seconds. “...Besides your fear of public speaking, I mean?”

Revik gave her a sideways look.

She was smiling again, though, a faint curiosity wafting off her light.

“You looked angry,” she added, motioning towards the door. “...Quite thunderous, really, when you first came out here. If you hadn’t been so startled to see me out here after you closed those doors, I might have been afraid.”

“Might have been?” Revik said, clicking softly.

“I wasn’t afraid of you,” she said. “I’m not.”

Revik hid another smile, but said nothing.

Even so, he was amused, in spite of himself.

Not only that, he was flirting with her...with his light, at least...and he knew it. Dialing it back a bit, he leaned his backside against the railing. Exhaling in a tired-sounding sigh, he took another drag of the hiri before answering her.

“Yeah,” he said finally. For some reason, maybe alcohol or maybe some other reason, he told her the truth. He even looked at her directly while he did it. “...Your kind seems to think my kind are all whores,” he said, blunt. “It gets old sometimes.”

“Was it Durenkirk?” she said casually.

Revik turned again, sharper that time. He watched as she took a drag of the hiri.

Seeing his expression, she smiled.

“Everyone knows he’s a pooft,” she explained, waving the hand holding the hiri towards the sky. “All but his wife, apparently, but I suspect she has her own diversions.” Her smile crept up wider, even as she propped an elbow on one arm. “...Besides,” she said, motioning towards Revik’s body. “He was staring at your bum earlier. Pretty intently, I should say. Even after he embarrassed you up on that stage.”

Revik let out a surprised laugh, then nodded.

“Noted,” he said.

“You’re quite beautiful,” she remarked next, looking him over with a studied casualness. Flushing a little when Revik gave her a direct look, in her light more than her complexion, she added, “Not conventionally so, of course...but you must know you’re extremely attractive, even without the whole ‘seer mystique’ thing you have going for you.”

When Revik didn’t answer, her smile grew more wry.

“I’m not surprised Durenkirk took his chances,” she said. “Frankly, you’ll probably get a lot of that, working here...from men and women. But technically, it’s harassment. Especially if he did it the way I suspect he did, given the number of bourbons I saw him downing earlier.” She paused, then added more cautiously, “I’m on the board. For the college, I mean. I could report it, if you like. They won’t do anything, but it might discourage him…embarrass him, at least.”

Revik felt his shoulders stiffen.

It hadn’t occurred to him she might be in a position of authority, not with her hiding out here, getting buzzed on seer weed and looking guilty when she got caught. He started to stammer out a reply, but she waved him off, laughing a little.

“You should see your face,” she said, clearly amused. She held out a hand to him, the one not holding the hiri. “Miranda Stevenson,” she said.

Revik remembered the name. Putting it together with the son’s name she’d given him earlier, he felt his face heat slightly. He only shook her hand, though, saying nothing.

“Ah,” she said, watching him shrewdly. “You’re not going to talk to me anymore.”

“I’m drunk,” he said, looking back out over the balcony. “I’m sure I’ve said more than I should have already, Ma’am.”

“Ma’am,” she murmured. He heard a stab of annoyance in her humor that time. “So it’s ma’am now, too? You really know how to hurt a woman, Mr. Dehgoies.”

He shook his head, folding an arm over his chest. “We don’t use those titles. Seers,” he added, by way of explanation.

“So how do you call one another?”

“Dehgoies,” he said at once. “Formal, anyway. Or military. Informal would be Revik, my given name. You may call me either.” He kept his voice carefully polite that time, borderline expository, but she grinned at him again, seeming to relax.

“So if I call you Revik, will you go back to flirting with me?” she said.

Clicking again softly, he shook his head. A darker flavor pulled at his light, though, even as he did it. For some reason, his mind returned to earlier that night.

That afternoon, to be precise.

“I’m too drunk to flirt, too,” he said.

He felt her flinch, but didn’t know how to talk over it.

When the silence grew more awkward, he cleared his throat. Stubbing out the last of the hiri, he gave her a short bow, thanked her for the hiri, and returned back into the main room, closing the glass doors behind him.

That time, he decided, formalities be damned.

He left.

He didn’t tell anyone. He didn’t even call ahead to alert Eddard he was going, although he didn’t think about why that was, either, not at first.

It was only after he’d been walking for about ten blocks, his breath steaming out in front of him in the late autumn air, his arms wrapped around the relatively thin tuxedo jacket as he walked...that he admitted to himself that he wasn’t going home.

Vash’s words still knocked around in his head, too.

Maybe it was the old seer’s words that he heard the loudest when Revik found his feet taking him to the tube train at the top of the Heath. He wasn’t thinking about that consciously though, not when he entered the tube station, not when he walked onto one of the cars...and not even when he eventually got off, walking out of a second tube station that dumped him more or less in the middle of Soho.

Either way, it didn’t seem like much time passed before Revik found himself standing outside a bar he’d never seen the inside of before, although––like every other seer living in London––Revik had long known exactly where it was, and what happened inside.

Staring up at the flashing neon, he fought to think.

Then he decided he didn’t care about doing that, either.

Thinking, that is.

Blanking out his mind, which was only marginally sobered-up anyway, he walked directly to the black-painted door, giving a short nod to an orange-eyed bouncer who sat on a stool outside. Without bothering to ask the seer sitting there, Revik gripped the iron door handle in his hand, giving a hard yank to separate it from the frame.

Seconds later, he found himself inside a dark, dungeon-like corridor.

The walls of the club ran narrow in the entryway leading to the main floor, despite the twenty-foot ceiling. Those same walls had also been painted black on one side; on the other, a dark purple, Victorian-style wallpaper with black velvet patterns shimmered faintly where it caught the candlelight. Revik trailed the velvet briefly with his fingers, still focused down the corridor where he could feel and hear others past where the space opened.

His eyes tracked iron sconces at irregular intervals, brackets dripping white candle wax below guttering flames, the guttering likely from the opening and closing front door. A gas chandelier hung high above his head, and the carpet was new-looking and patterned with dark and light greens.

He didn’t slow or speed his pace down the narrow corridor.

When he entered the main floor of the club, he found it even dimmer than the corridor. Lit primarily by candlelight, the room’s lesser illumination was largely due to the size of the space and the distance between the walls.

He didn’t enter all the way, not at first.

He paused at the entryway instead, standing just inside the opening of the wall and outside the nearest arc of candlelight.

He didn’t intend to linger there long. Just long enough to case the range of the room’s occupants. Even as he told himself he didn’t strictly need to do any such thing, he stood there anyway, filing information away methodically in his mind.

Over a hundred persons, seer and human, visible.

At least half of those were drunk. He could feel another few dozen in back rooms, also drunk and some high on wires and other human substances, probably cocaine. He felt more than a few seers on Iluvren, too, that so-called aphrodisiac drug. He felt another, larger room to the side, with an audience of some kind...something specialized.

Revik hoped it wasn’t snuff. He didn’t want to look closely enough to find out.

Maybe forty percent seers. Eighty percent of those were working or owned by clients visiting the bar from outside, at least if the collars were any indication. The others were likely employed directly by the club as security or other non-sex work staff.

Revik happened to know this was one of the few seer-owned and operated clubs of its kind, albeit illegally, since seers technically couldn’t run businesses without a human “patron,” or owner. Seers couldn’t own property at all above a certain dollar amount, even gifted.

Seers had their own underground economy, however, and had since the end of World War II. They also had their own ways of getting around human laws...particularly those of the Human Protection Act, which regulated the rights and restrictions pertaining to seers.

Revik heard rumors that this particular club utilized blackmail as its currency of choice, some of aimed it at the highest levels of government and the financial sector.

That, and a number of quasi-legal arrangements existed with the local human mafia. The combination kept the enforcement arm of the Human Protection Act––called Seer Containment, or SCARB––off the backs of the seers who owned this place, and off their clients, as well.

Revik heard rumors of a connection to the Rynak, too.

Meaning the international seer black market.

Revik had run into those people before, too...meaning the Rynak types. Mostly in Moscow, but also years ago, in the Ukraine. It happened enough times in those years for Revik to know better than to start a fight in a bar that had even peripheral ties to the Rynak or its money.

Revik noticed weapons, too. He counted those, as well.

Fifteen. Twenty, if he counted the two security-types he could feel in the back.

Most of those were handguns, and lived in shoulder holsters on seer staff that Revik marked already with his light as having some skill at infiltration. Even knowing they were probably security and hired by the club, Revik tensed at each ping he got of a concealed weapon...even though, logically, he had no reason to think those weapons might be used on him.

Moreover, he understood the precaution––even approved of it––but the part of him that brought his fingers to the inside of his own jacket in rote, looking for a holster and a weapon that weren’t currently there, didn’t much care.

Old habits, he supposed.

Some he couldn’t even shake while drunk, apparently.

A decade in the monk caves of the Pamir, trying to repent for past wrongs, didn’t seem to do much to dispel Revik’s habits in certain areas, either.

Eventually, he had to leave the shadowed enclave of the corridor, though.

When he felt a breeze at his back, saw the candle to his left flicker violently in the same wind, Revik moved. Walking out onto the main floor, keeping his light close to his body and as nondescript as he could, he caught a few eyes flickering in his direction, anyway. He’d expected that, given his height and what this place was. Whatever barcode tattoo he wore on his arm, the seers in here would know him for what he was...and likely a fair few of the humans, too.

Again, out of habit, he headed for the bar.

He found a seat at the far right end, where he could have his back more or less to the wall. Once perched on the stool, he relaxed somewhat. He’d just managed to get a bourbon out of the bartender and turned to once more check out the room, when a tall seer slumped onto the bar stool next to him.

He smiled at Revik, ignoring his flinch even as his light snaked out, assessing Revik’s almost openly.

“Buying or selling?” the seer asked, his voice friendly.

Revik fought to swallow the mouthful of alcohol he’d just taken, the first he’d managed since he left the reception at the Defence College.

He got the swallow down, then lowered the glass.

“Buying,” he said.

The seer’s light exuded a pulse of disappointment.

“You’re sure?” he said, his voice as light as before.

Revik felt his jaw harden. “Brother, I mean no offense, truly. But I don’t do that kind of work. And I’ve been asked one too many times tonight.”

The other didn’t so much as blink at Revik’s tone. Instead, he looked Revik over, not hiding his appraisal.

“That’s too bad,” he said, a few seconds later. “I mean no offense either, brother, but I confess to a strong temptation to try and change your mind. We need an extra for a show we’re doing in the back, and you’d be...” He tilted his head, smiling apologetically. “...Popular, I suspect. Very popular.”

He relaxed deeper into the stool, still staring unapologetically at Revik’s body and face with dark gold eyes. Revik couldn’t help but notice the seer was handsome, tall and well-built, with Eurasian features and coloring. His light also flickered with flavors of infiltrator, giving it a sharpness that pulled at Revik’s own.

Even so, the seer’s words made him scowl.

Before he could say more to discourage him, the gold-eyed seer spoke, perhaps to preempt being told off a second time.

“What’s your name, brother?” the seer said, his voice still casual, but more polite. “You don’t look familiar to me...are you visiting London?”

Revik hesitated. He considered giving a fake name, since he could feel infiltration markers on this seer even more strongly now, and he knew infiltration was still a relatively small world. Still, he knew he couldn’t hide his identity here forever.

Moreover, Vash told him to use his real name here, meaning in London. In effect, Revik was meant to be hiding in plain sight, as well as establishing a public residence a continent away from Alyson the Bridge.

“Dehgoies Revik,” he said, blunt. “I just relocated here. Two months ago.”

For the first time, a reaction skirted across the male seer’s face. It was subtle, but Revik saw it and immediately knew the source.

The male seer knew who he was.

So the next words out of the seer’s mouth didn’t particularly surprise him.

“Dehgoies Revik...not the Dehgoies Revik? The defector?”

Revik frowned, turning slightly so he faced the bar. More to the point, so he was no longer facing the other seer. He lifted his drink in the same set of motions. He knew they called him “the defector” behind his back, but he couldn’t for the life of him understand why some seers thought it was fine to say it to his face.

Immediately, the other seer leaned towards him.

“Hey,” he said, lowering his voice as he spoke nearer to his ear. “No offense meant, brother...truly. You caught me by surprise, is all. The rumor was that you’d gone full-fledged Seven. That you were in the caves of the Pamir somewhere, taking vows of celibacy and silence...chanting to the Ancestors and so on.”

Revik’s mood didn’t improve. Nor did he look over.

The other seer didn’t take the hint, though.

Well, maybe he took note of it. But he didn’t leave.

After another few swallows of the Woodford in his glass, Revik gave the gold-eyed seer a harder stare, sending a pulse of much less ambiguously-flavored light.

“Can I help you, brother?” he said coldly.

The other had gone back to that thoughtful stare, however. “You really just want to buy?” he said. “That’s absolutely non-negotiable?”

Revik shook his head, snorting as he raised his glass. “Fuck. Drop it, will you?”

“Three thousand,” the other seer said, his voice blunt. “One night’s work. That’s pounds, brother, not rupees...or even dollars. But I’d want to set it up in advance.”

“Three thousand?” Revik stared at him, then broke out in a humorless laugh. “You really think I’m an idiot, don’t you?”

The other seer didn’t blink. “Not at all, brother. Not at all. I’m dead fucking serious.” At Revik’s second incredulous snort, the seer leaned closer to him again. “Don’t you realize what kind of cache your name has still? I put your name out there, and I won’t just sell human tickets, friend...but seer ones, as well.”

Revik turned again, in spite of himself. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Rather than looking apologetic, or even nervous, like a lot of seers did once they heard Revik’s real name...this fucking seer just grinned at him like they were old pals.

“Brother,” he said, clapping his arm with a hand and then motioning around the dark room. “Do you have any bloody idea how much some of these jokers would pay to see me do a sex show with ex-Rook, Dehgoies Revik? Hell, they’d pay just to see your cock. Trust me, I’d make the three-k back. And then some. Are you okay with pain at all?”

Revik fought with words, but the other seer went on before he could speak.

“Torek,” the gold-eyed seer said, holding out a hand. “Clan Bulresch. I own this place.”

That news made Revik pause.

He took the proffered hand in silence, his mind sifting through the new information as he shook with the other seer. If this “Torek” truly owned the place, he had some connection to the Rynak...at least, if the rumors were correct.

Just to keep this place open, he had to be deeply connected in other respects, too, including with the local police and at least the local-level SCARB authority.

Revik thought all this as he shook Torek’s hand, studying the gold-colored eyes.

It didn’t occur to him until the handshake ended that to touch hands like that was a purely human gesture, not at all customary among seers. This Torek had a strong British accent, human-sounding, so maybe he’d been raised here. Revik didn’t hear even the smallest trace of the faint Asian flavor and cadence that touched the English of most seers. If he hadn’t been raised here, he’d managed to scrub his origins from his accent entirely.

Both things suggested that he was young, possibly even younger than Revik himself.

He looked young, too. Young enough that being raised here, among humans, was possible. He could be the kid of a domestic...or even the kid of a sex worker from the early part of the century. Given the business he’d entered as an adult, Revik’s money was on the latter.

In any case, if he did own this place, he wasn’t someone to piss off.

It explained his utter lack of fear of Revik, too.

“...I could find you someone, sure,” Torek added shrewdly, still looking Revik’s body over as he leaned his elbows and back against the bar, so that their bodies faced opposite directions. “You could pay a few hundred quid to get an extension fuck...a hundred less for a blow job or human.” Torek met his gaze, his expression shrewd. Confident. “Or you could work for me for a night and walk out of here three thousand richer. More than satisfied in other respects, too...I promise you.”

At Revik’s silence, Torek rolled his eyes, seer-fashion.

“What’s the difference, brother...truly?” he said, sounding borderline exasperated. “A fuck is a fuck. There’s no insult in doing it this way, no loss of face, not among our people...and I promise you, I won’t let you get hurt.” Torek flicked his fingers towards the seers carrying concealed weapons in different parts of the room.

“Ask anyone in here. I run a clean shop...and I protect the hired help even more than the clients. Could be a one-off for you...and it’s win-win for me, even if it still leaves me short a stage act tonight.” He gritted his teeth, shaking his head. “Just got word my headliner got hit by a local, anti-seer gang last night. He’s alive,” Torek clarified, as if seeing the reaction in Revik’s expression, or maybe his light. “…Just arrested. It’ll take my people until tomorrow to sort that mess out. He’s in the tank right now, downtown.”

Torek continued to watch Revik’s face, as if trying to read his light.

“If you’re good with the terms,” he added, gesturing with one hand. “I’ll post it now, send out a notice on the feeds and the Rynak, see if we can get a push on the numbers from the local Sark colony. I have a feeling they’d come out of the woodwork if I put your name out there...which is why I’d like the delay.”

Torek’s grin widened, even as the seer bounced his back lightly against the black-padded bar, slapping the counter with his hands.

“It’ll be a few hours’ work, of course,” he added, inclining his head. “...And I’d like a few weeks, since I’ll want to give it enough time to hit the circuit.” He glanced again at Revik, his eyes shrewd once more, assessing. “We’d make you comfortable tonight, though...drinks on the house. Anything you want to eat, brother. I’ll throw in a fuck for tonight, too, of course. Although a part of me would love to leave you hurting...I suspect that cloud of separation pain coming off of you would allow me to double the admissions price.”

He winked at Revik, grinning again.

“Your choice, though...and I’m assuming you won’t want to wait, given that you came in here for that already. I’ve got some really talented brothers and sisters working for me. And we can talk about what you’re okay with and what you’d rather I didn’t do for the act itself...tonight, if that works for you, or sometime next week, if not? Oh, and I don’t know if you have a preference? In terms of gender, that is?”

Revik stared at him. “Female,” he said, almost before he knew he’d say it.

The Sark grinned wider, nodding. “Noted. Can’t say I’m not disappointed, though,” he added, giving Revik’s body a harder stare. “So are we good?” he said, standing up straight. “I can write it up, if you’re the contracting sort.”

Revik felt his head pounding, even as he stared at the gold eyes of the seer standing in front of him. He knew he’d been maneuvered into this place by someone who clearly knew how to get what he wanted. At the same time, Revik knew he could still say no, just walk out, find another club, or hell, pick up someone on the street and just take them to a hotel.

But why?

A fuck was a fuck, like Torek said.

He could use the money.

And if they got off on seeing him up there, just because of his name, so what? Vash warned Revik that he’d never successfully hide here, or anywhere in the seer world, no matter how many fake names he gave out. In fact, the Council of Seven had strongly suggested he not even try to hide, as it would likely only draw more attention to him. They suggested that Revik find ways to distract those watching him, instead...anything he could think of that might obscure Revik’s true job under the Council in guarding the Bridge.

Revik could think of fewer things more distracting than doing live sex shows under his real name. In a different circumstance, it might even be funny. From a certain perspective, one might also say it was weirdly appropriate...from a penance perspective, at least.

And yeah...he needed the money.

Revik shook his head, snorting a little before taking a long drink of the bourbon, maybe just to buy himself a few more seconds before he felt the need to answer.

Could he seriously be contemplating this? He’d have to stipulate with Torek that his club couldn’t use any kind of image capture. In addition to all the other rules on him, given his job as the Bridge’s official bodyguard and monitor, Revik had been warned to keep his real appearance out of the feeds at all costs, whether his name was out there in common usage or not.

He would also need to be a hell of a lot drunker, the night of the show, that is.

Like seriously, shit-faced drunk.

Remembering watching Alyson that morning, while she’d been on her quasi-date with the human, Jaden...a date that lasted approximately four minutes before said human dragged her into her bedroom and proceeded to fuck her brains out...Revik’s wry smile drifted back to a frown.

That time, he found himself speaking almost before he knew he intended to.

“All right,” he said. “Sure.”

Torek broke out in a grin, clapping him on the back. “Brilliant! That’s bloody brilliant! Thank you, brother.”

Revik didn’t look at him, though.

Instead, he tilted his head back, sucking the last of the bourbon off the ice cubes rolling around the bottom rim of his rocks glass.

So much for principled refusals.

5

BAND SHOW

“What is with the two of you? Seriously?”

My mother, Mia Taylor, looked between her two kids––that is, me and Jon––her dark eyes sharper than I’d seen them in months. No trace of the alcoholic sheen I’d gotten used to being there flickered back at me when I returned her stare.

Seeing a glimpse of the mother I remembered...meaning the one I thought of as my real mother, the person who’d been there when my father was alive...took me aback. Then, just like it had when she used that tone on me in high school, it immediately made me defensive. It was like the past six years had just been wiped away with a magic sponge.

Folding my arms, I looked at her, then at Jon, who was scowling, his muscular arms also crossed in front of his chest.

Noting his expression, I looked back at Mom with a shrug.

“He hates my new boyfriend,” I told her. Hating how teenaged I suddenly sounded, I chose to ignore that, too, spearing a piece of lettuce with my fork and stuffing it in my mouth. “...And he’s being a dick about it,” I added.

Next to me, Jon grunted.

The sound didn’t have a lot of humor in it, though.

We were doing our off and on Sunday dinner thing, like we did most weeks when all of us were around and could make it. It was the first one since the Halloween party where I met Jaden. It was also the first one since my last birthday, where I turned twenty-two.

Of course, my mother missed that last part due to one of her unscheduled, balls-out benders that wiped her out for about three days.

I spent the day after my birthday cleaning up after that little mess. I still couldn’t quite stomach thinking about some of the crap I saw in her bedroom when I got here, after trying to call her for twenty-four hours and getting nada back from her headset.

In particular, I wanted to know less than nothing about the two used condoms I found in her bathroom trash can. In fact, I wished I could scrub the memory from my mind altogether with Comet and steel wool.

Luckily, whoever the loser of the week had been, he’d cleared out before I got there. If he hadn’t, I might be facing assault charges right now, instead of just the prospect of spending my thirties in massive amounts of therapy.

My mom hadn’t said a word about any of that, of course, since we were still playing our own version of the denial game, with me as head enabler.

She did greet me at the door with a present when I showed up that Sunday, and had the grace to look embarrassed as she handed it to me. She didn’t thank me or even acknowledge the fact that I’d been the one to clean her up after her bender, though. Or apologize for the fact that, on the actual day of my birthday, I’d spent over five hours looking for her in the bars around her neighborhood and along Divisadero, freaking out because she wasn’t answering her headset.

Then again, maybe she didn’t know about that part.

I hadn’t told her, so unless Jon had, which I seriously doubted, she probably didn’t.

So I did what I always did and acted oblivious.

Well, at least when I wasn’t blowing up and screaming at her to check herself into rehab...or crying when I found her passed out on the bathroom floor, yet again.

I noticed I tended to have only two speeds with the mom thing these days: “on” and “off.” “On” generally meant I was trying to threaten or guilt her into quitting and getting help. “Off” was oblivion, avoidance, silence...and pretending I didn’t see the shit she lied about and tried to hide from me, even when the evidence stared me right in the face.

I think mostly I just felt powerless, though. The extremes were just two different ways that powerlessness manifested. The feeling itself never changed. Ultimately, there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about anything Mom did...and believe me, I knew it.

Jon was a lot more zen about the whole thing.

Well, on the outside, anyway.

I knew he tried to talk to her periodically. I knew he did it a lot more gently than I ever had. He’d try to reason with her, even coaxed her to go to meditation classes and yoga with him, knowing she had some predilections in those areas already, at least back when she was younger. I’d heard him rant and yell at her, too, of course...and he was a lot better at playing the guilt card than I was. I’d also seen him avoid the whole thing, mainly by only coming over here about half as often as I did, maybe less.

Definitely less, come to think of it.

I, on the other hand, idiot that I am, elected myself “get Mom’s ass out of bed every day” butt monkey. Which usually involved me waking her up semi-gently with coffee and breakfast...and trying to get her to leave the house for at least part of the day, usually to walk with me in the park or to go visit friends.

Sometimes it involved air horns...or pots being banged together, or forced cold showers. At least once, it also involved me dragging her bodily off the couch, naked, while yelling at some bar loser she picked up to find his pants and get the fuck out of there before I hurt him.

Door A, Door B, Door C...the view behind each of them was depressingly similar, and no matter how I handled it, it never seemed to change.

I don’t think I realized how used to drunk mom I’d gotten, though, until I found myself staring my old mom in the face. Not only that, I was almost unsure what to say to this sharper, more alert, and heart-achingly more familiar version of my mother who sat across the table from me now.

“What’s wrong with him?” Mom asked, looking at me, then just as sharply at Jon. “This boyfriend. What’s the problem?”

Neither of us answered, but Mom wasn’t willing to drop it.

“Jon?” she prompted.

Jon gave me a dirty look. Then, thinking about Mom’s question, he shook his head. I watched what might have been a blush turn into anger a moment later.

“He’s a perv,” Jon said finally.

I stared at him. “What?”

“Guy’s a perv, Al. He treats you like a prostitute.”

I smacked Jon’s arm. Hard. “Jesus, Jon. Really? And how would you know that, exactly?”

Jon gave me a death stare. “You really want me to answer that, Al? Here? In front of Mom?”

“No,” Mom cut in, holding up a hand. “Please don’t.”

Sighing, as if we’d already managed to exhaust her mothering abilities with our one back and forth, she looked at me, as if unsure what to say to me next. Stalling, she used her fingers to tuck her curly dark hair behind one ear. I watched her do it, seeing the threads of gray now woven in with the darker brunette I’d always loved.

I’d always thought my mother was beautiful.

Something about that thought closed my throat. It also reminded me of Dad, sharply enough that I looked away, feeling that pain in my chest worsen.

“...Allie-bird,” she said, sighing again. “Are you sure Jon’s not right? Your brother usually has good instincts about people.”

“Fuck. Not you, too,” I burst out, before I could stop it. “You haven’t even met him, Mom.”

“Still. Your brother––”

“Doesn’t know as much as he thinks he does,” I said, glaring at Jon. “Jaden is not a perv. We like each other. He’s a musician...and he has a good job. Which is more than I can say for anyone in this fucking family...”

Mom winced at my language, which only made me feel worse. It also managed to push me further into my angry, defensive place.

“A job?” Jon countered. “Doing what?”

“He works for MediaTek, designing video games,” I snapped, facing him. “He’s working on the sequel to that one they just featured on the Texxi feed last Friday...and he probably makes more in a month than you do in a year.”

Jon snorted, clearly unimpressed.

“Look,” I said. “What is your problem?”

“You, Al,” he said, glaring at me. “You’re my problem.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’ve been acting weird for weeks now!” Jon said, throwing up his hands and sitting up taller in his chair. “What the hell has gotten into you lately? You totally blew me off the other day...when we were supposed to go to that gallery thing. So I go looking for you, thinking you got called into work and didn’t have time to warn me, and I find out from Cass that you and your new guy just...I don’t know...took off. She said she hadn’t seen you at the apartment for something like three days. That you’d been calling in sick...”

“Jon. Again,” I said, biting back my anger with an effort. “I’m twenty-two. You get that, right? I’m twenty-frickin’-two!”

“So you can just blow people off? You can pull a disappearing act and not let me know you’re all right...Miss ‘I’m twenty-frickin’-two? Because I thought that was common courtesy. I thought that was what adults do, versus kids who can get away with acting like irresponsible, narcissistic assholes...”

I stared at him, half in disbelief.

Even so, I fought to remain silent...mostly to avoid saying something as harsh as what I wanted to say. Things about his own romantic past that I highly doubted Mom knew. Things Jon would be mortified to hear me say out loud, even if we were alone.

But I didn’t say those things.

Maybe the sibling bond is stronger than I thought.

Or maybe it was because I could definitely tell that whatever was bugging him, it wasn’t exactly what he was saying. Well, it wasn’t only those things, anyway. More lived behind Jon’s hazel eyes than he was willing to express right then, maybe because Mom was there, or maybe he just didn’t want to say it aloud to me.

I knew Jon didn’t like Jaden. He made zero secret of that.

I pushed them into meeting finally, and Jaden hadn’t exactly taken to Jon, either, so I knew the dislike was mutual...presumably in part because Jaden overheard Jon calling him a stalker the night Jon stopped by unannounced to give me my birthday present.

And as much as I liked playing dumb, I knew part of Jon’s problem was the perv thing, as he called it. Knowing him, with his big-brother crap, he thought Jaden was taking advantage of me.

And okay, something weird was going on with me and Jaden in that department, I knew that...but Jon assuming it was all Jaden really pissed me off.

So maybe I was different with Jaden than I had been with other guys. So what? How was that a bad thing? They all gave me shit when I didn’t want to date guys, so I really didn’t get why they were freaking out now that I’d more or less been open about seeing someone in particular. Jon should be happy for me. Both Cass and him should be happy for me. It was the first time I’d had any kind of anything really...with anyone. Compared to Cass and most of my friends from school, that practically made me the Virgin Mary.

Well, not the sex part, but the boyfriend part, anyway.

Moreover, I happened to know for a fact that Jon had already had more than a few pretty full-on sexual relationships of his own. That had been true all the way back in high school, when he started sleeping with his first kung fu instructor, a Chinese guy named Liko.

More than any of that, though, I knew Jon was remembering my high school years, not the fact that I’d grown up a lot since.

There were definitely times when I wished Jon didn’t know so much about my life.

Parts of it, at least.

As if he heard me, Jon looked up, glaring at me again.

“Your track record sucks, Al,” he reminded me.

So he was thinking about high school. Great.

“Yeah, and you always manage to make me feel like that’s my fault,” I shot back.

“I’m not entirely convinced it isn’t at this point,” Jon muttered, folding his arms tighter across his chest. I must have had a look on my face, because when Jon glanced over that time, he flinched. I saw guilt there, too, but only for as long as it took him to look away.

Then Jon got to his feet.

I followed him with my eyes as he headed for the entryway and the front door of the purple Victorian where we’d both grown up. I bit my lip to keep from yelling after him, not to stop him that time, but to tell him off.

I didn’t, though. I just sat there, borderline stunned.

Jon had been my best friend for most of my life. I thought of Cass as my best friend, too, but the truth was, Jon was the person I went to for anything big, and anything real. Cass was my friend, but Jon was more than that. More than my brother even.

Jon was like my conscience or something.

He and I had never had a major rift about anything important to one of us.

So yeah, as much as I tried to blow it off that Jon hated the whole me and Jaden thing, I knew I wasn’t blowing it off...that I couldn’t, really. And as much as I pretended that I thought Jon was overreacting, or that he was full of shit, or that he was reading things into things that weren’t there...I couldn’t make myself believe that, either.

At the same time, I knew I wouldn’t stop seeing Jaden.

I knew it, without even knowing why exactly.

I walked into the club feeling more self-conscious than usual.

The clothes were a lot of it. I wasn’t normally the mini-dress type, and the one I wore now was only a few millimeters longer than what I’d worn for that Halloween party.

I hate to admit it, but having a boyfriend––or realistically, someone I was sleeping with on a pretty regular basis, since me and Jaden still hadn’t talked at all about what we were beyond that––had vastly improved my grooming habits. Especially my wardrobe. And whether and how much makeup I wore. And yeah, my wardrobe. I even wore heels.

They weren’t crazy high or anything, but yeah…heels.

And, okay, they were pretty high. High enough that I had to practice walking in them.

Not like I was a total slob before or anything, but my clothes had tended towards retro-artist-punk since I got out of school…not hottie club chick, which was closer to how I’d dressed lately, meaning since I’d met Jaden.

Truthfully, I was a little relieved Jon hadn’t taken me up on the invite. He’d give me shit about the clothes, if nothing else.

We’d made up from the Sunday dinner thing. More or less.

Jon apologized for walking out...and for what he’d said in front of Mom. I told him it was okay. So more of a truce than any real resolution of our mutual shit. We’d stopped talking about Jaden in the days since, but some perverse part of me kept trying to get Jon to come out with me and Jaden anyway, maybe to try and force him to get over it. I knew I really wanted Jon to like Jaden...for both of them to like one another, really, instead of just humoring me...but I was beginning to think I was dreaming.

I didn’t know Jaden that well yet, given our “thing” had only been going on for a few weeks, but I knew Jon. I knew when he was keeping the peace versus real peace between us.

Despite his zen exterior, he was stubborn as hell.

He was also tactical.  He apologized solely as a diplomatic and strategic move and I knew it. He’d probably done it so I wouldn’t shut him out, and would still come to him if something went wrong, particularly with me and Jaden.

Which he definitely seemed to think would happen.

I also knew he intensely disliked Jaden, and not just in a “I don’t trust this guy” kind of way, like he’d claimed at the dinner table with Mom. No, Jon actively disliked him. It baffled me, really, given how little contact they’d had. It wasn’t just some prejudice against Jaden’s type. Jaden was basically a tech hipster…Jon had friends exactly like him.

Hell, most of the under-thirty-fives of San Francisco were like that.

Moreover, Jon didn’t seem interested in learning anything more about Jaden, either.

His dislike was almost visceral, animal to animal, so maybe it was some guy-testosterone thing that vibrated at a frequency only males could hear.

I got the protective part of that...I really did. I used to joke that Jon had PTSD from trying to protect me from stalkers over the years. I’d had problems with that pretty much since I’d been old enough to walk. My parents worried about it. Jon worried about it. Even a few of my teachers worried about it...although none of them could really explain it.

Jon jokingly called it my “full moon mojo.”

But yeah, it really wasn’t all that funny.

The bottom line was, I picked up stalkers. Some of them had actually abducted me for short periods of time when I was a kid. Religious nuts, mostly. But also guys, of course, given that I was a female under forty who had mostly working parts...and occasionally, I would get harder-to-explain things, like the woman who was convinced that I was her long lost daughter who’d been abducted as a kid.

But even with all of that, Jon’s reaction to Jaden was weird.

He’d never taken such an instant dislike to anyone interested in me before.

Jon wasn’t the jealous friend/sibling type, either. I don’t mean that in a gross way...we might not be blood related, but Jon was 100% gay, even apart from the sheer weirdness of that.

I more meant, he wasn’t the type of friend to resent if I focused on someone else. Cass was a lot more like that than Jon was. In fact, Cass had already grumped about my “obsession” with my new “boy toy” and how it was sucking up all of her fun girlie time with me.

With Jon, it was different. Jon really seemed to think Jaden was some kind of predator.

Or just not a very good person, maybe.

He wouldn’t say that to me, of course. Well...not since our blowout at Mom’s. I could feel it on him, though, so tangibly sometimes I couldn’t help getting annoyed pretty much any time I tried to talk to him about me and Jaden at all.

So, yeah…zero surprise from me that Jon didn’t show.

Tugging the fabric of my dress further down over the tops of my thighs, I walked through the mostly-empty bar, glancing periodically at the even emptier stage. I knew I was a little late, but got stuck covering part of another guy’s shift when he was late into the diner. By the time I rushed home and did the shower and makeup thing, it was already twenty minutes past when I said I’d be here.

So I wasn’t all that surprised when I heard the piped recorded music begin to go quiet before I’d gotten halfway across the main floor. That was accompanied by the wince-inducing harshness of an activated microphone spitting out feedback from the stage.

Glancing that way without slowing my pace, I aimed my feet for the bar, figuring I’d get a beer while I waited for Jaden’s band to start.

I didn’t plan to hang out in front, anyway. To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t even positive Jaden wanted me there. We were pretty new, after all, and he made it sound like this was kind of a non-show-show. His band, Eye of Morris, wasn’t even technically on the bill. They got on as a warm-up act because their bass player was friends with the guy who booked the gigs.

Jaden joked they were the opening band for the opening band.

Even so, he’d told me I could come, if I wanted.

I took that as an invite, but maybe it was wishful thinking.

When I saw Jaden and that same bass player walk out on stage, along with a second guitarist, I flushed a little, realizing I’d probably overdressed. All of them wore jeans and––apart from Jaden, who wore a pale blue dress shirt that matched his eyes––T-shirts and sneakers.

I watched as they took their positions, slung straps around their heads and shoulders, and plugged in. My eyes shifted to the darker recesses of the stage as the drummer wandered out from behind the curtain, as well, a short, round-faced guy who looked about my age. He hunched down on his stool, flipping back long blond hair and arranging himself on his seat as he pulled out his sticks.

I saw them glance at each other, talking outside the range of the microphones. Jaden strummed a test chord, glancing out over the crowd and talking to his band mates.

He hadn’t noticed me. I decided I had time for that beer.

My eyes went back to scanning barstools.

There were a lot of open spots. Granted, it was early, and something like six bands were playing after Jaden’s, but I wondered if the small crowd bothered him. Or how uninterested most of them seemed in terms of what was happening on stage.

Jaden always seemed so confident, it was hard to tell.

A few girls were looking at him, I noticed.

Not like that should be a surprise. It reminded me, though, as if I needed reminding, that I’d probably have to deal with groupies if me and Jaden continued our whatever-it-was. Maybe a lot of them, if Eye of Morris ever got even moderately big.

The bass player thrummed a few notes right as I finished ordering a bottled beer from the bartender. Given the sparse crowd, I decided to just grab a barstool and hang out here, rather than play groupie girlfriend out on the floor.

Anyway, it had been a long day at work.

I really needed to get off my feet for awhile.

So I hopped up on the stool with a sigh. Thanking the bartender sincerely when he brought me back a super cold beer, I slapped down some money and promptly tilted the bottle up.

Heaven, right then.

I lowered it again after a few good glugs. As I did, I caught sight of the guy heading straight for me from across the main club floor. It took me a few seconds to place his face. Once I had, I felt my body tense, a good heart beat or two before my brain really caught up and put the rest of it together. Once it had…holy fuck.

Mickey.

Jesus. I hadn’t seen him in over six years…not since he’d graduated high school, when he’d been a second-time, eighteen or nineteen-year-old senior and I’d been a fourteen-year-old freshman.

He looked bad…now, I mean…which is why I hadn’t recognized him right off.

Like, junkie bad. Or like maybe he’d crawled into a hole the day after he finally graduated high school and never left, just crouched in his own filth, eating junk food and doing nothing but play first person shooter games.

He had acne, despite the fact that he had to be twenty-six or twenty-seven…which is probably why my mind went immediately to drugs. He’d also gained at least fifty pounds in fat…and lost around thirty in muscle. He wore a stretched out T-shirt of some band or another and his hair looked greasy. Instead of the sandy blond I remembered, he’d shaved one side of it and dyed the rest black.

So, goth? I guess? Whatever it was, it didn’t improve his appearance.

He’d played at least one sport in high school, hadn’t he? Not football, but I had a memory of him being on one team or another...maybe wrestling or swimming or something.

Either way, I so didn’t want him to see me.

I found myself panicking a little, honestly, wondering if I should call Jon.

Mickey pretty much made it his mission in life to torture me throughout my first year of high school. It started with our one and only date, when I was a freshman and Jon was a junior. The date went massively wrong, of course...and super early in the night. I was just glad I’d been smart enough to go out with a group of people and him, not just me and him.

I was even more glad that Jon had been driving.

We hadn’t even made it to the movie theater when Mickey, already drunk and breathing bad fumes into my face, tried to finger fuck me in the back seat of Jon’s car, practically ripping my clothes off with Cass and Jack sitting right next to us.

When I freaked out, he’d openly threatened me.

Jon screeched that car to a stop so fast I nearly got whiplash.

We’d been on the shoulder of the freeway when Jon threw Mickey bodily from the car...and that had been before he started training in martial arts, so I knew he was pissed beyond reason. Mickey might have hurt him anyway, but for once, Jack stepped up and defended me, too, and apparently those odds were too much for Mr. Mickster.

Then again, that was before Jack started using, so he was a cooler guy in general. He was also pretty buffed out, and a good four inches taller than Mickey.

There’d been a lot of screaming, for sure. There’d been more threats.

As it turned out, though, that first night had been the least of my problems with that jackass. Really, it had just been the start of it.

Mickey decided his new mission in life was to “get even” with me for the terrible wrong I’d done him. By kicking him out of the car, not letting him fuck me…I honestly don’t know what my true infraction was. Whatever it is he thought I’d done in that screwed up, lizard brain of his.

First off, he told everyone we’d fucked, of course, no surprises there. Actually, he told everyone that I’d let him and his friends gang-bang me, and that I’d given Jon head while all of them watched...presumably to solidify my skeeviness by extending it to my own adoptive brother. Mickey himself or one of his pals then hacked my feed accounts, probably looking for naked pictures or something else he could try to make public.

Luckily I hadn’t been stupid enough to store any illegal images on even my private accounts, but he still found notes between me and Cass and Jon, including a few about Cass that were pretty incriminating. He also wrote things I definitely DIDN’T write and found ways to falsify the timestamp and ID data to make it look like I did.

He also created fake nudes and sex images of me. He circulated all of it over the high school network, as well as his “mouthbreather feeds,” as Jon called them.

Worse, he spread my personal information as far and as wide as he could, so I got people propositioning me for paid sex for about two years, even after I changed my number three times and well after Mickey graduated.

Jon got jumped and beaten up...three times.

One was bad enough that he had to spend the night in the hospital. We could never pin it on Mickey since they wore masks and didn’t speak, but I knew it was him, and Jon did, too. The gay bashing crap got stepped up on Jon in general that year...a lot, which made me feel like utter shit, but no less powerless to do anything about it.

It was enough to drive him into martial arts classes about six months into the worst of it.

I even had guys showing up at my parents’ door...including when Dad was sick and Mom was a friggin’ basket case.

I’d never seen Dad so angry, even with how sick he was. He’d wanted Mickey in jail, but since no one could catch him in the act with the things he’d done that were illegal, there wasn’t a lot we could do. I just had to endure it, really.

But yeah, if I could sum up one reason I never dated in high school?

Mickey.

Mickey was that reason.

So when I saw him there, looking even more scary and not-healthy than I remembered from back in the day, I admit I shrank a little on my barstool, hoping like hell he wouldn’t look over, and hoping even more fervently that if he did, he wouldn’t recognize me, especially in the mini-dress, makeup and heels. Part of my aversion to more standard, girl-type clothing––especially the sexy variety––had come directly from the good ol’ Mickster, too. Considering I got disgusting propositions even in my standard jeans, boots and hoodie wear, I can’t even imagine what high school would have been like if I’d dressed like my friends, especially Cass.

When I saw Mickey heading closer to the bar area, I made a snap decision.

Fuck pride. Crazy didn’t give a damn for pride. I needed to dodge this.

I’d go to the bathrooms.

I knew I couldn’t hide in there all night, but I could at least use my headset to call Jon. I didn’t really want to ruin his night, either, but frankly, no way was I staying here with Mickey in the crowd, and God knew how many of his freaky friends. Mickey had always been a posse kind of guy. No way he came here alone. I’d just have to see Jaden’s band some other night.

It was too soon to introduce Jaden to this side of me.

Waaay, waaay too soon.

If he and I were going to have any chance at all, my full moon crazy would have to seriously wait. Like...at least a few months.

Even as I thought it, I glanced casually in the direction I’d last seen Mickey, and saw him leaning against the bar about ten feet away, staring me full in the face. Seeing the look in his eyes, and the smile that lived on his fleshy lips, I flinched...I couldn’t help it.

Yep. He definitely remembered me.

I saw him stare down at the dress I wore, right before his eyes returned to my face and that creepy grin got even wider.

Fuck. I needed to get out of here. Now.

It was too late to pull Jon into this.

Sliding off the barstool, I was shocked when my equilibrium abruptly tipped. I grabbed the edge of the bar, fighting to hold myself up, but my knees buckled, sending me straight down to the floor, before I even knew what was happening. I found myself on my hands and knees at the base of the barstool, gasping for breath, fighting to level my brain.

I heard voices next to me, felt hands, some of them trying to pull me back to my feet. I heard voices that might have been in my head, too...some of those felt concerned, some lecherous, some amused. I felt eyes on my ass in the short skirt, at least one person who worried I’d o.d.’d, and another who didn’t want to get too close because they thought I might throw up.

They all assumed I was wasted, that I’d drunk myself into a stupor.

I’d only had half a beer, though.

I fought to tell them that, to get them to hear me, but my tongue had thickened to a dead lump in my mouth. I couldn’t speak, and my vision was blurring for real.

Terror exploded over me, shooting adrenaline through my blood. I was about to pass out. I was going to pass out, and Mickey was here. He was going to kill me...or finally get that gang rape he’d told everyone about.

I gripped the silver leg of the barstool, trying to yank myself up, using the shot of adrenaline to try and get out of there before I lost consciousness for real.

But I couldn’t. I found my grip on the chrome sliding, unable to find purchase. I gasped, fought to speak again, to ask for help, but when I looked up...

Mickey stood there, grinning down at me.

He leaned over me next, pushing a few others aside to get them out of the way. I saw his lips move. I saw him saying something to them, reassuring them that he would handle it, that he knew me. I felt that more than heard it.

I fought to protest...

But somewhere in that, I lost the battle.

Everything went dark, before my head even hit the floor.

6

BROKEN AGREEMENT

Revik fought another hard jolt of separation pain, letting out a low groan as he arched deeper into the female seer under him on the metal table. He was still on his feet, barely, but he felt drugged with light, nearly hallucinating from it, barely aware of where he was.

The light of the female, his own light…the light of the seers watching this.

Torek had worked him over for hours. His back hurt like hell, but right then, it was a good, throbbing kind of hurt and Revik’s light was more open than he could remember it being in months. Maybe even years.

Maybe since Dalejem.

The thought made his light wince, coiling it back around his form.

Feeling Torek react from somewhere behind him, Revik tensed, half-expecting another blow, but the woman underneath him cried out, asking him…

Gods. She wanted him open. She really wanted him at this point.

He found himself opening to her, almost without making the decision. Her fingers dug into his back when he did, bringing another lightning shock of physical pain, forcing a cry from his throat. He felt another wave of light-pain from the seers below the stage as it happened, even as the seer below him cried out, using his name that time.

He felt anger in that audience, too.

Hatred even. Some of them definitely came here to see him get his ass kicked.

They’d paid money to see it, to see him in pain, maybe even in the hopes they might cause some of it. He’d known that, coming in, but somehow, it didn’t bother him in the moment. It felt right, almost. Like its own kind of penance, in a way. Deserved, at least.

Not like absolution, nothing anywhere close to being so final in terms of forgiveness, but like one less hit he might get later, karmically-speaking.

He felt those eyes staring at him now. One set, near the stage. Bright blue. Filled with hatred, like he knew Revik.

Like Revik had harmed him personally.

Seers like him…the one with the blue eyes and the Nazi scar across his face…they wanted Revik to be punished for what he’d done. Revik had never carved one of those marks across the faces of one of his brothers or sisters…not even those few times they made him visit the camps. But he’d seen it done, while he’d been passing as human. It had been done right in front of him, and Revik had done nothing. He’d said nothing.

Blood and Honor.

They needed this, maybe. The people he’d hurt.

Maybe Revik needed it, too.

Torek figured him out…a hell of a lot faster than Revik would have expected. Well, in some ways, at least. He figured out that Revik had a weakness for certain physical types, for sure, like the dark-haired woman he currently had his cock inside of. Her blue-green eyes watched him, her light sending jolts of pain through his with increasing intensity.

Revik fought to control that, too...at least until he felt another warning pulse from Torek, and realized the seer fully intended to beat him again, if he started to close his light.

His light wandered to Allie’s...seemingly outside of his control.

His pain spiked before he could stop it. He groaned when he felt her there, losing control briefly, long enough to reach for her again in the Barrier space. A part of him coiled into her, and he fought to pull back, to get out of her light before...

Images flashed behind his eyes.

He lost his hold on the orgasm he’d been at the verge of, what Torek had forced him to restrain, both by threat and via his light. For a long moment, he hung there, lost in a kind of silence as his mind made sense of what came at him through that dark.

Then he realized he understood. He knew what he was seeing.

Pain rippled through him.

Not sex-pain that time. The real thing.

Pain and shock…more than he could think through at first. He groaned aloud, but again, it wasn’t from the sex. Panic replaced his shock, even as his fingers gripped the hair of the woman below him, that time, not to encourage her, but to pull himself off and out of her. She looked up at him, her blue green eyes wide with confusion from where she’d been kissing his neck and shoulder.

Brother…what are you doing? What is wrong?

He didn’t answer.

He started to pull out of her, still nearly blind. He wasn’t fully retracted, though, and she gasped in alarm, gripping him around the waist to keep him inside. He fought her, one hand still in her hair, the other wrapped around her wrist where she held him.

“Let go!” he gasped. He yanked harder on her hair. “Let go, goddamn it! Now!”

She released him.

He pulled out of her completely that time, and let out another low groan, pretty much outside of his control, but he didn’t stop moving back. He knew he hurt her to do it. The hirik, or hard part of his cock, would have been out too far not to hurt her. He hadn’t done that to a female, seer or human, since he’d been a kid.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped.

He fought his way upright, nearly stumbling when he pushed off the table.

He was already buckling his pants up though, moving jerkily, fighting to get off the stage. He got most of the way there when Torek stood in his way. The muscular seer grabbed his arm, staring into his face with zero compromise in his expression.

“Brother, where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he hissed.

His voice was more incredulous than angry.

Revik found himself remembering their audience suddenly, for the first time since he’d seen into Allie’s light…and despite the density of the currents of light that coiled around his. He felt them watching him now, pulling on him...some of them still hating him, some even fearing him…all of them confused, uncertain if this was part of the show.

After Torek had finished beating him the first time, some of them wanted him despite their hatred of him…or they at least wanted to watch him get off. Those same seers felt the most confused now, as if waking from a trance…but group light dynamics could do that to seers, regardless of their personal feelings. Revik could remember wanting people he never would have touched under normal circumstances due to the amplification of light in a group sex situation with other seers. He knew it meant nothing in terms of their feelings towards him.

If anything, the confusion and anger around that would make their hatred worse. A few of those angry seers wanted to see him come now…either with the woman or with whoever else Torek intended to use on him, now that’d he’d softened his light.

Even the blue-eyed seer with the Nazi scar wanted that now.

The fact was, he’d raised the hostility of the crowd significantly, even in just those few seconds of silence where he stood by Torek on one end of the stage.

Revik stared out at that crowd, momentarily paralyzed, confused by the darkness from where he stood under the bright lights of the stage. Then, blinking, he felt his mind click back on, for real that time. As it did, another jolt of fear shot through his body…along with a rush of adrenaline that clouded his mind all over again.

“Let me go,” he growled, jerking his arm away. “Deal’s off.”

“I’ve paid you, brother,” Torek reminded him.

“You’ll get your money back,” Revik snapped. “Every fucking pence. Now let go of me, before I hurt you in return, brother...”

That time, Torek barely hesitated before he released Revik’s arm.

“What is it?” he said, his voice subdued. “What’s wrong?”

Revik finished buckling his belt, fighting to control his light.

“Do you have a place I can jump?” he said.

Torek hesitated again.

Confusion flitted across his face. Revik felt pain there, too, like the other seer was still recovering from what they’d been doing, maybe even more so than Revik himself. Revik fought the urge to hit the other male, or maybe just shake him, but Torek recovered suddenly.

The instant those gold eyes cleared, he nodded.

Once. Decisive.

Torek’s light shifted in the same set of seconds, turning harder, more infiltrator-like.

“Yes. I will take you.” He jerked his head sideways. “Follow me, brother.”

He must have sent something to the female via his light, too, because Revik glanced over as she climbed off the table, still naked, then held up her hands and began to address the crowd, which had started to murmur and mutter their disapproval of the show’s interruption.

Revik didn’t hang around to listen.

He followed Torek off the stage, not even bothering to grab his shirt off the chair before he left.

Torek took him to one of the back rooms.

He indicated towards a high bed, but Revik was already heading for it, checking out the construct in the room even as he lay down his body. He stretched out, shirtless, realizing only then that he’d left his headset in the pocket of his shirt on that stage, too. But that didn’t matter, either. He’d use his light to imprint whatever happened...he wasn’t supposed to use tech to record his jumps with Alyson, anyway.

“Is the construct secure in here?” Revik said.

“Yes,” Torek affirmed, again nodding once, seer-fashion. “We have government officials in here, brother. Diplomats. We cannot afford to not be secure in every way.”

“Do your people monitor it?” Revik said, turning his head.

“No.”

“You’re sure?” Revik demanded. “I can’t have any recordings of this...”

“I’m absolutely sure, brother. Do not worry.” Torek hesitated. “Do you need a pair?”

Revik looked up, truly noticing only then that the seer had remained in the room, lingering by the door. He barely hesitated.

“No,” he said. “Get the fuck out of here.” Hesitating, he added. “Please...and thank you. I’ll give you your money back as soon as I come out. And more for the use of the room.”

Torek waved that off, though, an intensity rising to his gold eyes. “You’ll work it off,” he told him. “I don’t want the cash, brother.”

A flicker of pain reached Revik’s light from Torek’s, enough to startle him.

But he didn’t pause on that, either. By then, he’d already checked through the basics of the construct, noted the lack of recording devices...at least that he could feel...and pinpointed her location in the physical.

He didn’t wait.

He jumped.

Pain lives there for him...the instant he is in that other place.

He splits his consciousness even as he makes the first jump, looking for her brother, Jon, with some lesser but equally focused part of his light. He scarcely gives this his attention in his conscious mind, however, before he renews his focus on finding her.

He feels her.

He always feels her...no matter where he is now, as soon as he reaches for her...but it is difficult this time to get any information that is concrete. When he can’t get much usable information off her mind, he uses her light to find her body in the physical. It is what he had started to do, even before he dismissed Torek from the small construct of the sex room.

Even before he jumped, he was looking for her...and now he finds her.

She is where he saw her when he’d been on that stage.

People are holding her now, dragging her out of the bar. He sees a face he recognizes there, feels the light of a human male he’d been forced to deal with before. The human worm is older now, fatter, his light is sicker than Revik remembers, and it was not good then. The human’s anger has twisted down into itself since he left school, turning him even more petty and bitter and broken. Revik gets snapshots from the human’s life, none of them pretty.

He focuses back on Alyson, on her light...and he sees an opening.

Revik wraps into the male’s light, first.

He considers knocking the human out cold, fights with whether he should do it now or wait for him to be out of the public eye, away from surveillance, alone with her. He could take him out in the parking lot, but that would leave her vulnerable, too…and possibly in a position where he’d have to knock out numerous humans, enough for his actions to be noticed.

There might be surveillance in the parking lot, too.

He could wait until he has Jon looking for her, implanting her location in his thoughts as subtly as he can without slowing the human down…

But he can’t wait that long. This fucker is dangerous. Revik decides he will take the human out now, while he’s still in the bar.

Then, something changes.

Jaden, the new boyfriend is there.

The band stops playing. He is arguing with the human male, Mickey, Revik remembers as his name. Hesitating where he’d been about to pull the trigger on the other’s light, Revik holds back, watches.

Even as he does it, his light wraps obsessively into Allie’s.

He can’t seem to keep his own light out of hers, despite Vash’s warnings, despite the anger that courses through his light when he remembers the things Kali has said. Despite the fact that he resents her, too, resents this fucking job, resents that she screwed up his life, that she’s basically made it impossible for him to move on and create a new one.

Seeing her there, on the floor, unconscious in a dress that gives him an instant hard on, doesn’t help. He doesn’t want to fuck her like this, but something wraps into his light, amplifying the natural protectiveness around his job, making his cock hurt and making his light hurt, which probably isn’t aided by the memory of the female seer’s cunt or the hotter pain of his back. He’d let himself go there again. Even with Vash’s warning, he’d been there again, fantasizing. He’d been trying to fuck her light…

Gods damn it. He didn’t want this. He never fucking asked for this…

He’s confused. Confused. Scared. But focused, too, back on the job.

Back on the job.

He wants...

Jaden hits Mickey, right in the face.

Mickey finally set Allie down on the tile floor, backing down like the coward he is. The crowd is larger now, which is part of it. Mickey doesn’t leave entirely, though, or even leave her side. Instead, he continues to grip her limp arm in one hand after he lays her body on the floor, a sharp coil of possessive stubbornness sliding around his fogged, human light.

Revik sees the two of them face off, arguing.

He sees Mickey‘s friends converge around them in the seconds that follow, standing around and looking as confused as most of the rest of the onlookers who have gathered to see the passed-out, half-dressed woman. Mickey’s friends are like he is. Sick-looking. Feeding on the stories Mickey tells them, stories of anger and revenge and being wronged. They cluster together like snarling, wounded animals, looking for brighter things they might break or harm.

Revik sees Jaden pointing at Allie with one hand, even as more people gather, as the bartender walks over, pale, worried he might be held liable for whatever just occurred.

Too many people now.

Revik’s options narrow.

He can’t knock Mickey out, not now...not with this many witnesses...but he also feels himself relax marginally as he realizes he may not have to. For the first time, he feels a rush of gratitude towards Jaden...for paying attention, for looking out for Allie, for not letting that sociopathic monster take her out of there while she’s unconscious.

Even so, Revik feels his light react to the possessiveness he feels on Jaden, too...strongly enough that he struggles to control a rising anger that wants to suffocate his light. Jaden sees her as his. Even now, when they barely know one another. They are barely more than fucking, yet he claims her as his.

The idea infuriates Revik beyond any kind of logic or rationality.

He continues to pull on Jon, almost obsessively now. He wants Jon there.

He trusts Jon.

But Jon isn’t at home. He’s currently making out with a guy he met through the kung fu circuit, and too focused on getting off to feel much about Revik’s attempts to get his attention. If he were seer, he would feel it, sure...but he is not seer, he is human, and Revik isn’t allowed to impinge on Jon’s free will in any significant way, either. All he can do is worm a vague anxiety into Jon’s brain as he continues to massage the dick of the guy he’s sitting in a car with, hoping to bring back to his apartment.

Revik eventually gives up, focusing even more of his attention back on the bar, on Allie, on Jaden and that fucker, Mickey, and the bartender standing just outside of that circle.

The scene in front of him begins to lose charge.

Enough that Revik finds himself flipping into investigation mode, scrolling back through the loop of time, using yet another split off portion of his light to ascertain the exact sequence of events that just occurred. He looks for when it started, who drugged her, how they managed to get it in her...for it had to be a drug of some kind. She didn’t feel drunk, her light didn’t have the drunk stamp at all, more like she’d been shot with a tranquilizer dart.

It crossed his mind that a seer could have done this to her.

Then he sees her drink the beer, in the minutes before she catches sight of Mickey. He feels her wanting to leave, her decision to leave. He watches her stop off the barstool…

She falls like a stone, barely maintains consciousness after she reaches the floor. He watches as she struggles to stay upright, convinced again that it wasn’t alcohol, and now also convinced it hadn’t been a seer that did this to her. A seer’s knock-out would have been clean, no gap between the cut strings and total blackout.

Revik scrolls back further.

From what he can tell, she hasn’t had anything to eat or drink since she left the restaurant where she works. That was hours earlier, which again points back to that beer. He doesn’t feel sickness on her, either, or anything like a fever, food poisoning, hormonal problems, anything that could cause light-headedness...

He finds it.

Revik understands then, the bartender’s fear.

The bartender is in on this. He drugged the beer. That hadn’t been an abstract fear of liability Revik felt, but something a hell of a lot more specific.

Revik splits his light yet again.

He fights fury, a near-murderous rage that makes it hard not to cut the cord of the bartender right then and there. Instead, he flips even further into infiltration mode, reading the bartender at depth this time, to hell with his personal privacy, or even his dignity. He looks for any information around this incident that he can find.

The rest of Revik’s attention remains on Jaden and Mickey while he searches, making sure the scene continues to unfold such that Jaden keeps pulling Allie away from that piece of human excrement. Making sure that Allie gets home in one piece.

That still has to be the immediate, right now, thing.

He feels himself fighting to calm his light, even as he continues to assess the timeline in reverse. He doesn’t fully panic until he reads the bartender to the beginning...meaning to when he gets the drug, versus when he pours it into Allie’s chilled beer after he cracks off the cap.

It wasn’t Mickey who paid the bartender to dose Allie.

It was Jaden.

Panic slices back through Revik’s light, clouding his mind.

He feels the bartender panicking too, which doesn’t help––the two things amplify one another, making Revik’s light spike higher, in more exaggerated arcs, even as he tries to decide what to do. He can’t take Jaden out, not with Mickey there. SCARB would have all of this on the internal cameras, and it will definitely arouse suspicion if he takes out both of them. They will look for seer involvement, look at Allie more closely than any of them can afford.

Even if he finds a way to disable the cameras, using infiltrator contacts who work the public surveillance feeds, it is too risky. One of them could be undercover SCARB, too, and Revik knows others could be watching from the Barrier that night, even just in a random spot check, or attracted to the chaos around Allie after she fell.

Fuck.

He wants to be on the ground so badly he can taste it.

He pulls harder on Jon, trying to get him there, trying to reach him, but it’s no use.

He looks for other seers he’s used before, but none of them are close enough.

As the realization sinks deeper into his light, the panic in Revik’s light worsens, even as it becomes amplified with rage.

Fuck it. Should he just drop them both? Risk it?

No... a voice intervenes, soft. No, you cannot.

Revik recognizes that voice, as well as the pulse of light that comes with it, but he shoves both aside, so angry he can scarcely breathe. He knows they watch him, but their silence right then nearly unhinges him.

Forcing his light back to a level, he closes to the immediate Barrier space where he is. He blocks them, even as he knows it probably will do him little good.

He focuses all of his light back on the scene in the bar.

Jaden is winning the argument with the crowd about Allie. About who she belongs to inside this horror pit of predators and rapists. Revik hates all of them right then. He wants them dead. He hates them more than he can even feel, but the heat of that hatred nearly blinds him, making him forget about everything he learned in those monastery caves, everything he’s tried to do with Vash, to be the kind of person he’s fought to be for the last several decades.

He feels Jaden’s words with his light and that hatred deepens.

“She’s my girlfriend,” Jaden says, yelling around at the onlookers as much as at Mickey. “She’s my fucking girlfriend, man...who are you? What are you doing with her?”

He is pissing on her, in his human way.

Claiming her.

Jaden’s band mates back him up.

The bartender does, too, although his light still looks and feels nervous. Like all humans, he feels safest hiding behind a mob, behind the bodies of other humans.

But yes, he is nervous and he should be, Revik thinks. More than nervous. He looks scared out of his mind. Revik sees an accomplice rap behind the bartender’s eyes. Accomplice to what, the human doesn’t yet know, but the guy has already done time for dealing and is terrified of going back inside. He already details and refines his defense in the recesses of his light, what he will tell the cops if they tried to pin this on him.

Wasn’t supposed to knock her out like that, his mind muttered. Revik could hear the words, nearly on the surface. Thought it was just supposed to be a bit of fun. Just get her fucked up and horny...make her pliable, open-minded. Damned seer drugs, you never know what they’re going to do. What the hell is Jay pulling? And who is this skank he’s fucking, anyway? She doesn’t look that slutty…he made it sound like she was a quasi-prostitute. Thought she was kind of cute, and nice when she asked for that beer…

More fear seethes through his light as he looks around at the crowd, at Jaden, at Mickey.

Who is this crazy fuck with the shaved hair who looks like a junkie...? he thinks next. Does Jay actually know that guy? Fuck...is he an undercover cop?

The bartender starts to back away.

He slinks away from the scene with Allie, even as he thinks that last thing, staring at Mickey warily, like he’s worried the overweight and pimple-faced rapist-wannabe might pull a gun.

When Jaden bends down, getting ready to pick Allie up, Revik winds deeper into Jaden’s light. He fights to discern his motives, what he intends from this...even as a part of him realizes he already knows pretty much exactly what Jaden intends.

Revik wants it confirmed, though.

Maybe he even needs it confirmed, before he does what he intends to do.

However he ends up handling this...or more to the point, however he ends up rationalizing what he does in the next few minutes...Revik knows, even now, in some dimmer corner of his mind, that he wants there to be absolutely zero question as to why he did what he did. He wants that information to be clear, beyond refutable, before he pulls the trigger.

Even so, Revik feels entirely at peace with the progression of his thoughts, and for once, he finds his emotional reactions exactly align with how he perceives his role as Alyson’s guardian.

For, regardless of the Council, of Vash...even of Allie herself...Revik intends to handle this new development in the manner best suited to his particular form of training.

He is going to kill that son of a bitch.

He is going to rip his heart out and make him eat it.

No, brother, the voice intervenes. You are not.

Revik doesn’t answer. The words don’t create a pause in his intentions.

He will do what he needs to do here, no matter what Vash says.

No, brother. You will not.

Watch me, Revik murmurs back, not taking his light or his attention off the scene unfolding in the bar. Just watch me, father Vash...

They can fire him.

He’ll take the karmic hit for it. He’ll do the fucking time.

Penance be gods-damned.

He’s sure as fuck not going to be an accomplice in this.

But in the end, it is Vash who is right.

The change happens so fast, Revik doesn’t even feel it approach.

He is still staring down at Allie’s prone form, trying to decide the when and the how, now that he is shit-sure of the what he plans to do…

When he is yanked entirely out of that part of the Barrier.

What in the dugra a’ kitre gaos do you mean? Revik snarls.

He cuts off the one wearing the white robe, glaring around at the rest of the aged seers that surround him in a half-ring. They have collected him, pulled his light and broken it off from the Barrier proper. They collared him, essentially, and Revik is blind to everything but them...deaf to all but their thoughts, to the blank spaces they want him to see.

It scares him beyond where he can think.

He must think, though. He must convince them to release him. He must convince them to let him go so he can find her...so he can do his fucking job.

They watch him, emotionless, collected in the nondescript gray of a purely functional Barrier space. Revik fights to control his light, to reason with them.

Even so, his words come out with a sharp dagger of anger that stands out like a red-gold flame in the dimmer gray of the space.

How the fuck does this fall under the doctrine of non-interference? he says, fighting to control himself yet again. Explain this to me. How the fuck––

Brother, calm yourself, Vash says gently.

You would let her die, for your principles? Revik returns without thought, giving the senior seer a harder look. Is it so very important to you, brother, to be in the right on this?

Yes, Vash says only, ignoring Revik’s sarcasm. And it is highly unlikely she will die today, brother Dehgoies...

Unlikely––

But they cut him off again.

It is only marginally more likely on this day than it is any other day, says another Council seer, a senior monk who Revik knows by the name of Oparen. The biggest risk already occurred, and that was with the drug itself. Jaden’s actions may lack ethical integrity, but he doesn’t intend to harm her permanently in any way...

Revik fights with his light, fights not to tell them all to go fuck themselves.

Hell, he wants to hurt them now.

I know, brother Dehgoies, Vash says gently. And we understand. We do. But you must remember your job in relation to our precious intermediary, the Bridge. You cannot shelter her from living among the humans. You cannot. She must learn. She must learn to protect herself, and without your direct intervention every time she makes a mistake in judgment with a particular being...or even with the species as a whole.

Vash pauses, then adds, more gently still.

…Moreover. She must suffer at their hands. Without closing to them. Without losing her compassion for them as a species...

Revik glares at all of them through the Barrier space, at Vash especially, not controlling his temper any more than he can control his fear. He is cut off from Allie, from the bar...from Jaden and that sick fuck Mickey and whatever either or both of them intend to do to her.

He cannot even feel her anymore, not now, not inside the restrictive shields of the Council, and a part of him is vibrating out of its skin, wanting to return to her so badly he can barely keep his thoughts civil, despite the row of faces staring at him through the dim space, waiting for him to capitulate.

You knew this, Vash reminds him, still acting as spokesperson for the collective. We have explained this, as a part of her life’s path...from the very beginning, brother. I warned you about the difficulties of attachment in regards to her. Of the need to allow her to develop her own free will and discernment in relation to the humans. His voice edges harder for the first time, becoming an overt warning. You cannot impede her in this. We will not permit it. She is housed among humans not only for her protection, brother. It is an exercise in learning, too, one in which her parents have instructed us very specifically...

Revik feels his heart beating harder in his chest.

He knows it is illusion, too. His body is far away.

Near, but far away.

He cannot feel it really.

He knows damned well that Vash is not talking about Alyson’s human, adoptive parents. They would as soon as allow this thing to happen to their daughter as they would cut off their own hands. So would Jon, for that matter.

And which is the superior race for that?

The thought enrages him, even as it grows.

Which race was the one to feed their own children to wolves, all for some higher cause, one that would mean nothing to their daughter, were she to know the true source of her pain? Which was the one to put abstract, mythological bullshit before the safety of their own blood?

Revik saw nothing but arrogance in any of it. Ego.

Symbolism that meant nothing down here. The product of a bunch of old fucks who’d lost touch with what real pain even felt like––

That may be, brother Dehgoies, Vash says, his thoughts soft. But it is not for you or I to decide that, my friend.

Bullshit, Revik sends, cutting into the other’s thoughts. Bullshit. You gave me that very job. I could stop this thing…hell, you could, without me. You pretend to be powerless, but you are not. Her parents are not here. You are. I am. Yet you are letting it happen, anyway...like puppets. Like mindless automatons, devoid of any true feeling…

We serve a higher purpose, as well, Vash says.

Revik fights not to tell them what they can do with their higher purpose.

He knows already that it will do no good.

As much as he loves Vash, he knows that in this, he is as foreign to Revik’s own nature as the faceless seers who stand behind him in that dark.

And right then, he could hurt all of them.

He could make them feel what she felt.

Without so much as a second’s worth of remorse.

When he is allowed out again, they have blinded him.

Revik blinked up at the dimly-lit ceiling, confused briefly about where he was.

Then he remembered. The club. He was still in Torek’s club.

It must be close to dawn by now.

He turned his head, shaking off the last of the Barrier’s clinging strands, even as the sense of time reasserted itself, yanking him out of that timeless space and putting firm boundaries around him once more. Limits. Allie was on the other side of the world right then. It wasn’t four or five a.m. on a Sunday morning in California.

It was closer to eight or nine p.m. on Saturday.

Revik realized in the same set of seconds that his thought earlier hadn’t been random...or even based on some threat they’d left hanging in the space as he left.

They really had blinded him.

He fought to see, to reach her, but he couldn’t. They’d enclosed his light in some kind of dense, impenetrable shield, one that barely allowed him to feel his own light, much less anyone else’s. He wondered at first if he’d been taken off the job totally...

No, Vash murmured through his light. No, brother. The Council is sympathetic to your position. We simply cannot allow you to act upon it.

Revik fought a fury so intense it grew nearly murderous.

Fearing they might really take him away from her if he didn’t control himself, he struggled to dim that rage from his light. He couldn’t stop himself from trying to worm his way through and around the blocks they’d erected in his aleimi, however. He spent minutes more just lying there, trying to find a way through, to reach her.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t even get into the Barrier far enough to track her.

Letting out a groan of frustration, now mixed with equal parts fear and pain, he sat up. He realized only then he was nearly panting, sweating with the exertion of trying to get around the blocks they’d placed over his light. It took him a few minutes more to realize it was sheer panic he felt now. The blindness only worsened the panic, causing it to ricochet through his light, if only by reminding him of just how powerless he was.

He didn’t even feel the light of the other seer. He didn’t see him until he stood, regaining his feet with another low gasp.

Or perhaps Revik had simply been too wrapped up in his own shit to realize he wasn’t alone, that maybe he hadn’t been alone all that time.

He flinched openly when he saw the male seer sitting there in the dark, smoking a hiri stick from one corner of the room and watching him with those gold eyes. Revik’s more aggressive tendencies lashed out for real that time, shifting to a near violence before he could dial it back. He felt the electric charge that snapped through his light as his fists clenched in front of him.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Torek?” he snapped. “I told you to leave! I told you I needed fucking privacy…”

“Who is she?” Torek said. As before, he didn’t sound afraid, or even cautious. Instead, his voice held an open curiosity. “This female. The one you are fixated on. Who is she?”

Revik didn’t bother to answer him.

He aimed his feet for the door.

But Torek was up and across that space in a heartbeat. His palm pressed against the wood before Revik could open it, and he leaned his full weight when Revik tried to open it anyway.

Revik looked down at him, feeling that heat in his chest turn into the blast of a furnace. Even so, he didn’t move back, but let the height difference between them remain obvious.

“Get the fuck out of my way,” he said.

“You owe me,” Torek said.

“Get the fuck out of my way, or I’ll kill you,” Revik said.

Torek’s light flinched slightly that time, but he still didn’t move.

“You would leave me cold on a debt?” he said, his voice softer. “Do you wish to break Code? To have me as an enemy? The thought saddens me, brother Revik...it does, indeed. Moreover, it disappoints me…I had begun to trust you. To believe you to be a seer of your word, despite your reputation…”

Revik fought with the other’s words, with the images and emotions that shifted through his head. He couldn’t afford to make enemies of the seers here. It would be another thing to get him thrown off his detail with the Bridge. Hell, it could get him killed.

He couldn’t afford it, not when they already made him unwelcome in Asia.

He found himself remembering Torek’s connections to the Rynak, too.

That rational, tactical part of his mind asserted itself, dialing down the anger for real, forcing him to be strategic, to play the long game.

He was halfway across the world.

A few more minutes wouldn’t save her.

“Give me your headset,” Revik grunted.

Torek blinked at him in the darkened room. Then, with a barely perceptible shrug, he reached up, pulled the requested device off his ear and handing it wordlessly to Revik. Revik clicked on the guest mode with his mind once he had it looped around his own ear.

He split his consciousness a heartbeat later, and used that part of his mind to connect first with Eddard, then with a travel company he’d utilized in the past.

He found he could do it for this, which was a relief.

“Brother?” Torek said, his voice polite.

Revik held up one finger, asking the seer to wait. When he got the basic information he needed from the travel agent, he shifted the rest of his attention back to Torek.

The next flight wasn’t for two hours. He had time for this.

“I owe you a debt,” Revik acknowledged, bowing to him formally. “I will transfer the credits now, if that meets with your approval, brother. There will be no debt between us when I leave. Code will not be violated...not by agreement nor currency.”

But Torek was already shaking his head. He shifted his voice, however, mirroring the formal cadence of Revik’s as he entered negotiation stance as well.

“No,” he said. “I already told you this, brother. I will not accept currency in trade.”

Revik felt his shoulders stiffen. “Then what? Another show? Fine. Consider it done. But I am leaving town for awhile. We will schedule it before I go...is that agreeable to you?”

“No,” Torek said.

Revik felt the heat returning to his light.

“What would meet your approval, brother?” His voice dropped that time, falling out of the more polite cadence of formal Prexci. “Or are you just enjoying holding me up for no reason?”

“I don’t want a show,” Torek said, making a line in the air with his finger.

“That was the original agreement,” Revik said, not hiding his annoyance. “Are you toying with me, brother?”

“I am not,” Torek said, his voice flat. “I am asking you to allow me to alter our original agreement. We can do a show, too, if you like. In fact, I would be highly amenable to negotiating such a thing as a separate arrangement, brother Dehgoies. However, for this, I admit, I would like something else, and I feel I am in a position to ask for it now, since you have forced me into a difficult situation by leaving in the middle of our last arrangement. You have angered my clientele, brother. More seriously, you forced me to renege on my agreement with them, something I am loathe to do for anyone…even if the situation demands it.”

Revik waited, watching the gold-eyed seer in the dark.

His own eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting since he first came out of the Barrier jump, so he could see Torek’s face and expression clearly. Due to the other seer’s infiltrator training, however, he still could not read his expression...and thanks to the block from the Council, he couldn’t read much off his light, either.

When Revik didn’t break the silence that time, the other sighed, clicking softly.

Then he laid a hand deliberately on Revik’s crotch.

Revik tensed. He found himself pressed up against the door before he could take a breath, the other’s face only a few inches from his. Torek’s fingers wrapped around his cock...not in threat, exactly, but with a fair bit of aggression behind the move, anyway. Revik couldn’t help but interpret it as a threat anyway, and felt his light go entirely still.

Before he could speak, or decide whether he would have to fight to get out of here in one piece, Torek leaned closer to him, so that their faces nearly touched.

“I confess,” he said, his voice quieter that time. He coiled his light deeper into Revik’s. Pulling at him slowly, he began tugging on his light sensually, warming various points between their two bodies. “I have developed a hunger of my own tonight, brother. I wondered if you would consider a less public trade? One that involved more than simply me hitting you.”

Revik frowned. He looked between the other’s eyes, feeling his light react, in spite of himself, but mostly feeling confusion.

“A lay isn’t worth that much money,” he said, blunt.

“I am aware of that,” Torek returned smoothly.

He leaned back slightly, assessing Revik’s face.

“…But a week at my house is worth that, if you hand over agency to me. Within reason, of course. To be agreed upon, in as much detail as you require. We could even do it in writing, if that is something you desire...or in light contract, whichever suits you.” Torek paused, as if letting him think. “...A week where you would belong to me, brother, once those rules were set. I would release you after. No expectations. No commitments or entanglements. Friendship only.” He paused again. “I have a relationship of my own, if it reassures you.”

Revik let out a low snort.

Even so, he shook his head, clicking softly.

“Don’t get me killed by another seer, brother,” he muttered, glancing at him.

It was a half-assed attempt at humor, but when Torek smiled back, the humor didn’t touch those gold eyes.

“You needn’t worry yourself on that account, brother,” he said, his voice still utterly calm. “We have discussed you already. She is amenable to this. More than amenable, I’d say.” He paused again. “...You can meet her first, if you like. In fact, I might insist you at least scan her light. She’ll want to fuck you, too...and I fully intend to let her.”

Revik felt his body tense more. He still didn’t push the other away, but his confusion hadn’t lifted. Moreover, he found himself growing more irritated than aroused.

“Why?” he said finally.

Torek chuckled. “You need me to answer that, brother?”

“You know who I am,” Revik said.

“I do,” Torek acknowledged.

“That doesn’t bother you?” Revik said, his voice still holding an edge. “Most of our kind would not touch me for any amount of money. Or is that the attraction?”

Torek smiled, leaning into him harder. The added pressure and light caused Revik to suck in a breath. Torek didn’t take his eyes off his face, but watched him react. Once he seemed satisfied with the reaction he got, the seer smiled.

When he next spoke, his British accent grew prominent again, even in Prexci.

“A fair few seers just paid a lot of money, brother, hoping to see you get off tonight,” Torek said, smiling at him that time. “They were pretty pissed off they missed the finish, if you want the truth. Some were right bloody pissed off, in fact. Do you really think I’m so different from any of them, whatever my proclivities?”

“They came to see me beaten,” Revik said. He met the other’s gaze, unflinching, despite how close they were to one another. “...Whether I like it or not is immaterial to them. And you know it.”

Torek shrugged. “I don’t know anything of the kind, actually. And truthfully, I highly doubt that’s the case.”

“Who do you work for? Really?” Revik said, his voice edging back into angry. “Or do you still want me to believe this is just about sex?”

Torek smiled, clicking at him softly as he shook his head. His light exuded an open amusement, right before he massaged Revik deliberately again, putting enough light in his fingers that Revik’s eyes closed once more.

“Gods.” He let out a low gasp, unable to stop himself. “I don’t have time for this…”

Torek smiled again, leaning his weight deeper into Revik’s.

“Are you always this paranoid, brother?” he said, that lightness back in his tone. “Or did you somehow think my own sex-pain tonight was really just for show? Or that I couldn’t have gotten someone else to beat you bloody with whips and canes, for that matter, and spent my free time in other pursuits this evening...?”

“I don’t believe you,” Revik cut in, still fighting to control his light, and his breath.

“I mean you no harm,” Torek said, undaunted by the anger in Revik’s light. “Are my motives beyond that really so important to you? I will allow a reading to reassure you my intentions are wholly benign…that I will not harm you, nor will I allow you to be harmed in any way that does not meet with your explicit approval, brother.”

Revik felt another pulse of confusion leave his light.

He could feel the part of himself that was turned on by the other seer’s insistence, by the near-aggressiveness of his light, even beyond the hand still pressing Revik’s back into the door. Even so, Torek had made no actual demands, nor exuded so much as a pulse of real threat. Something about the combination––the unambiguous wanting and the utter lack of judgment––reminded Revik a little too much of Dalejem suddenly.

For some reason, that brought his mind back around to the Bridge, however.

Allie.

His pain abruptly worsened, and he felt the change affect the other male’s light.

“Gods, brother,” Torek murmured, pressing his face briefly against his. “This crush of yours…it is maddening. Is that where you are going now? To fuck this female? If so, I might want to see it. I might insist on seeing it, in fact...I might beat you and starve you when you return, until you show me exactly what it is you did to her…”

When Revik didn’t answer, Torek massaged him harder, leaning his knee and leg deliberately against Revik’s inner thigh.

“Is that where you’re going, little brother?” he murmured. “To hunt her? Tell me the truth.”

Revik shook his head, but didn’t speak.

Still, something in the seer’s question troubled him.

He honestly wasn’t sure if he could trust himself to answer that question truthfully, which mixed badly with what he’d already seen that night...what might be happening to her, even now. He couldn’t stand the thought of examining it, given that she might be raped, by either Jaden or Mickey or both of them at some point in the next twenty-four hours.

He doubted he would ever want to know the truth of that.

Not until you get there, at least, some slightly more cynical or slightly less dishonest part of his mind whispered. Not until you can do something about Jaden and that other fucker, first...put both of them in the ground, maybe, before you try and talk to her...

But he wasn’t ready to think about that yet, either.

Stalling, he clicked out of the present moment with Torek entirely.

He returned to the split in his light.

He checked in first with the travel agent to confirm the booking...then with Eddard, just long enough to know that the human was already packing his clothes. Revik’s manservant had contacted the driver, too, and Revik could feel that once Eddard finished packing, Revik’s clothes and other belongings would be sent, along with a taxi, to pick Revik up here.

It wouldn’t be right away, though. He had thirty minutes. At least.

“I must travel,” Revik said, still stalling. “I am leaving the country. Tonight.”

Torek nodded, his light and those gold eyes showing zero surprise that Revik was repeating himself. “When you return, then,” he said politely. “Assuming my terms are agreeable to you? We can wait on the details until that time.”

When Revik didn’t speak, the other seer pressed into him again, nearly hurting him that time. It brought an involuntary flare of sex pain off Revik’s light.

“Are the terms agreeable to you, brother?” Torek’s voice held a faint threat for the first time. “I will not consider letting you leave until we are in agreement. About something. If not this, then I am waiting to hear a counteroffer from you. Something of equal value to me.”

Feeling another coil of separation pain leave his light, Revik tried to decide if Torek’s terms were. Agreeable to him, that is.

He still didn’t believe him.

He wondered if the seer really was working for someone. The Rooks. Terry. Fuck, for all he knew, it could be the Adhipan or someone on the Council. Someone who wanted him gone, pulled off duty from the Bridge. Or someone who wanted dirt on him for some other reason. Blackmail. Buying favors on their way up the hierarchy of the Rooks.

On the other hand, did it matter?

The Seven wouldn’t let him be hurt, not seriously, not if they could help it…and the elaborateness of this game made Revik wonder if his death or capture could be the true motive anyway. No, if Torek did work for someone, most likely they were after information. Revik was pretty good at keeping information from people, even under duress.

Especially under duress…even when sex was involved.

He could hold out for a week, no problem. If Torek thought he could break him that fast, whoever he worked for didn’t know him very well. Which definitely ruled out Terry.

And Vash, for that matter.

He couldn’t stop toying with the why of it, though. If Torek wasn’t working for anyone, his motives baffled Revik even more. Was it really so much of a novelty, to fuck an ex-Rook? Even one as notorious and relatively high up as he had been? Or was it more that so many of these seers wanted to see him submissive, after he’d been feared so many years? Maybe someone wanted reassurance that he didn’t still work for Galaith and the other Rook seers.

Torek didn’t strike Revik as overly political, but that wouldn’t be a particularly difficult thing to hide.

More to the point, Torek owned a sex club, for chrissake. Pretty much pure seer fetish, several dozen working seers, another dozen working humans. He didn’t need Revik to suck his cock. He didn’t need Revik as some kind of fuck toy, either, whatever he claimed about his light. Torek had plenty of other seers who could gladly do those things for him, and better than Revik himself could. Hell, he wasn’t even old enough to be that good with his light. Seers Revik’s age could only sell to humans. Other seers wouldn’t pay to fuck them.

They might pay to beat on him, given who he was, but that was about it.

Was that what this was about? Beating him?

The only thing that made sense was the novelty. The novelty of getting an ex-murderer off, to see him stripped of his power, now that he no longer had the Rooks’ Pyramid to protect him. Maybe Torek really did get off on hurting him, more than Revik had realized. Maybe he’d lost people to the Rooks over the years. Maybe this was personal.

Revik couldn’t really feel that on Torek’s light either, though.

Truthfully, he didn’t get it.

Torek started massaging him again, harder as the silence deepened between them. After a few more seconds, Revik closed his eyes, letting out another low gasp.

He made up his mind, speaking in the same instant.

“Fine,” he said, his voice catching a little on the word. “When I return.”

“Say it, brother.”

“The terms are agreeable to me. We’ll work out details when I return.”

“And when will that be?”

“A week. Two at most.”

Torek’s hand stilled. The seer smiled. That smile widened briefly into a grin as he continued to study Revik’s face. Then, all at once, before Revik could think of what else to say, Torek released him, stepping back.

Still smiling, the gold-eyed seer gestured politely towards the door in a smooth wave.

“You may go,” he said. “The debt and its payment is in good standing between us, friend.”

Revik nodded, once, to acknowledge his words.

Even so, he felt a flicker of unease when he discerned the pulse of satisfaction coiling around Torek’s light. He couldn’t put a precise meaning to that unease, but it didn’t dissipate in the seconds that followed. Briefly, he studied the pleased expression in those gold eyes, but he couldn’t read much there, either, beyond the pure sincerity of the emotion.

Revik didn’t have time to second-guess any of it right then.

“I suggest the back door,” Torek said, motioning towards the headset still wrapped around Revik’s head. “…A precaution only. There might be some waiting for you up front, friend.”

Revik nodded to that, too.

Then, clicking softly, he looked away.

Unwinding Torek’s headset from around his ear and neck, he handed the semi-organic machine back to the other male. Giving a short bow, he caught hold of the door handle and twisted, jerking the wood panel free of the frame.

That time, Torek didn’t try to stop him.

7

ALLEY

Revik took the back door, like Torek suggested.

He got his shirt, first, for his headset as much as anything.

On his way through the maze of corridors making up the back-end of Torek’s club, he’d gone back to toying with the shield the Council held around his light, trying to find a way through, even as he contacted Eddard to tell him where to have the driver pick him up.

He fought with the shield compulsively, using a split part of his mind. He used the rest to think through the logistics of what he intended to do after he got to San Francisco.

He had time.

In terms of being gone from London, he wouldn’t be missed.

Not for a good long while, anyway. They’d pushed his teaching position to the next term. Ironically, they’d done it due to the higher-than-expected level of interest shown in his appointment to the faculty as a full-time instructor. None of the humans knew anything about his connections to the Rooks, and apparently they could forgive he’d been a Nazi.

As a result, he’d been doing a few guest lectures here and there, mostly as a favor to the Academy and to drum up enrollment numbers even more…but he didn’t have to maintain his own students yet, or even turn in his syllabus until after the winter break.

So he wouldn’t be missed.

If need be, he could put off any additional requests for guest appearances until December. He should easily be able to accommodate both an extended trip to the States and his agreement with Torek, when he returned. With a few weeks to spare, perhaps.

He was still turning over how he wanted to spin his absence to the Academy when a ping hit the outer edges of his awareness. It happened right as he pushed open the last door leading to the alley behind Torek’s club, a heavy metal thing that creaked loudly as he swung it forward. He got out from behind it just in time to feel the ping and turn.

He caught sight of the fist heading towards him right before it would have got him in the face.

Sliding sideways and back, he managed to get out of the way. He had his hands up before the door banged shut behind him. His light reconfigured and he moved, faster that time, right when someone grabbed him from behind.

There were a lot of them, he realized.

At least four.

He didn’t think.

Slamming his elbow and most of his weight backwards, he got the seer behind him in the face with the former, right as the other had been about to complete a throat hold. Using his back and weight to throw the same seer off-balance, Revik didn’t pause, but lurched forward in the next half-instant, using the other’s body as resistance as he kicked out at the male seer in front of him. He got him solidly, first in the sternum, then connecting sideways in the knee and bending the joint with a near-audible pop, right before he swung his arm down in an arc and got him on the temple on the way down.

“Mother-fuck!” the seer snarled.

Revik turned, backfisting another seer in the face.

He didn’t stop but also kicked forward, throwing the same seer into the brick wall and a dented rubbish bin painted a dark green. Panting into the few seconds that bought him, he used his eyes and what he could access of his light to scan the rest of the alley once he realized they were all shielded. Fucking Council.

His own light being snared nearly got him killed.

Beat to bloody hell, anyway.

He could see them all now, though.

Five of them, including the three he’d already gotten in hits on.

They stood around him in a near circle, watching him warily, as if trying to decide their next move, since bringing him down hadn’t been as easy as their drunk minds had assumed. Revik’s eyes adjusted in those few seconds before he moved again, and then it was to position himself between the one whose knee he’d just knocked out of joint and the opening at the other end of the alley.

Weakest player in the middle. He’d learned that young, too.

Anyway, he didn’t want these fuckers cornering him.

Now that he had space to think, he recognized whispers of a few of those lights.

One was the blue-eyed seer from the sex show, the big one, with the Nazi scar on his face. Even without those eyes, Revik remembered the particulars of that scar, a broken, diagonal line across his otherwise handsome features, as well as the sheer size of him, topping out at close to seven feet. He was at least a half-inch taller than Revik himself and probably sixty pounds heavier. Revik recalculated, looking him up and down. Seventy, maybe.

Fucker had been standing right under the stage.

Revik felt him a few times before the sex started, too, especially while Torek had been beating him. The guy had been getting off on it a little too much. He’d watched Revik fuck that female seer with a mixture of disgust and pain in his light.

Putting it all together in his mind in those same few nano-seconds, Revik found himself remembering that Torek told him to go out the back door.

Had he set him up?

He didn’t have time to think about that right now, either.

“Do I know you, brothers?” he said. “Because you’re in my way.”

He kept pieces of his light focused on each of them, even as he calculated the distance to the opening in the alley. He’d have to get by two of them to get there, including that blue-eyed fucker, who Revik assumed could probably fight, just from the way he stood there.

Hell, even from the way he hung back, letting the others try their luck with him first.

He didn’t like his odds much, in any case. Not yet, anyway.

“Can I help you?” he tried again.

The blue eyed one let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, Rook,” he said. “You can help us, brother. You can rot in the dregs of the gods-fucking underworld…along with the rest of those murderers you call your friends…”

Revik shook his head, clicking softly. He didn’t take his eyes or light off any of them. “Afraid I don’t have time for that right now. Could we perhaps do it another day? My social calendar is a bit full at the moment, unfortunately…”

The one whose knee he’d knocked out of joint cursed at him in Prexci. The one he’d kicked into the wall just glowered. Revik knew he was pushing his luck, needling them like this, but truthfully, he was pissed off. Moreover, a part of him was more than happy to take some portion of that out on these assholes.

Especially if Torek was behind this.

“He wants to fight,” the blue-eyed one observed, staring at him. “Look at him.”

“Maybe we should oblige him,” another said, to his left.

Revik looked at the second one, noticing him specifically for the first time. He was shorter than the blue-eyed one, more wiry, but Revik suddenly got the distinct impression that he’d be the one he’d need to look out for, if this got serious. His light brown eyes assessed Revik’s every move, like a snake getting ready to strike.

Or maybe like a fighter recognizing its own kind.

Watching him, Revik realized he liked what he felt off the male’s light. These were his brothers, goddamn it…in his own mind, at least…even if they didn’t see it that way.

“What fucking beef do you have with me?” he snapped, letting real anger reach his voice. “If it’s because I was a Rook, then trust me, brothers, I am fully aware of the debt I owe…nor will I be allowed to forget it any time soon. If you want to blame me for every single fucking hardship visited upon our race––”

“Maybe just for the gassing of my whole fucking family, you piece of shit!” the blue-eyed one snapped. “Maybe just that!”

“That was humans!” Revik snarled. “Not me!”

Four of the five laughed at his words.

There was no humor in their laughter, but Revik found his anger worsening. He glanced at the shorter seer, the fighter with the light brown eyes.

He, alone, had not laughed. He stared at Revik as if trying to read his light and his mind through the two shields that stood between them.

“I can beat you all down,” Revik said. He stripped the emotion from his voice, letting them feel the truth of his words behind it. “Don’t make me do it. Please, brothers…I am asking that you walk away. If you do not, someone will be hurt badly…even dead. I do not want another dead body of one of my kind to darken my light…but I must leave this alley. Soon. Within the next fifteen minutes. I cannot compromise on that point.”

The brown eyed one met his gaze directly when he began to speak.

He listened to every word Revik spoke, unblinking.

Even so, something flickered behind those eyes when Revik said the thing about one of them ending up dead. His expression did not move, however, not until after Revik finished speaking. Not until the silence had stretched a few seconds beyond that.

Then the brown-eyed seer sighed, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Shaking his head, he looked up at the big seer with the Nazi scar, motioning towards Revik with one hand. When he spoke that time, Revik noticed the Eastern European accent.

“He is telling the truth,” he pronounced, zero doubt in his voice. “He will kill some of us, if we pursue this.”

“Dugra drahk!” the seer hissed. “He is fucking with us! Can’t you see that? You can’t believe anything out of the forked tongue of this evil prick…”

The brown-eyed one shrugged, holding out calloused hands in a seer’s gesture of disagreement.

“I do not think so,” he said only. “Not this time. Not about this.” He looked at Revik, his light eyes catching the reflection of the streetlamp at Revik’s back. “We will revisit this perhaps, yes? Some other day?”

“No,” another voice interrupted. “You will not.”

Revik looked up, flinching when he saw the trail of seers coming out the back door of Torek’s club. He felt his shoulders tense when he saw the size of a few of the seers standing there, and noted the weapons on most of them, including a woman with dark braids and red-colored eyes that had “hunter” written all over her light, obvious to Revik even with the dense shields standing between her and himself.

He lowered his fists as he saw them approach.

No way he could fight all of them. They’d pull him down like a wounded calf.

Torek, who had been the one to speak, looked at him then, a smile playing at the edges of his dark, sculpted lips.

“Fight you?” he said, audibly amused. “Brother, I came out here to help you. Which I should have realized you would not need. I apologize only for being somewhat late…and for not checking the alley more thoroughly before I recommended you come this way.”

The humor leached from his eyes then, right before he turned, surveying the five seers standing on the floor of the alley. Revik noticed only then that Torek’s guards and that female with the dark braids all had their weapons trained on the five of them.

“I will not have you back here,” Torek said, his voice forbidding. “Further, do not think of harming my brother, Dehgoies Revik, outside of my property, either. As an employee, he is a friend of mine…and of the brotherhood of the Rynak.”

Revik felt the hair on the back of his neck rise a little at the last part.

Truthfully, he wasn’t all that sure he wanted to be a “friend of the Rynak,” but he supposed now wasn’t the time to voice that concern aloud. When he glanced at Torek next, he saw humor touching his gold irises again, as well as the quirk in his mouth, and again it occurred to Revik that the other seer had heard him, shields or no.

“Now get out of here,” Torek said, turning back to the blue-eyed seer. “You will be watched, brothers, so do not offend me again with this foolishness. Repent your own sins before you decide you will help another repent of his.”

Torek’s voice rose then, shifting into the more rhythmic cadence of formal Prexci as he addressed all of them.

“…For is it not the greatest sin of all, to harm one who has already taken the vow of penance? To harm his soul now, when he has committed himself to using his light in this world for the furthering of good. To help others to absolve their own sins? To harm one such as this, with the strength to bear the hatred of weaker souls…this is the work of those you claim to fight against, brothers. Is it not?”

None of them answered, but Revik felt a flush of fury from the blue-eyed seer.

When Revik glanced at him next, that same seer glared at him, his eyes full of hatred.

Even so, the threat of the Rynak seemed to have reached him.

It turned his mind back on, at least, through that alcohol-enhanced rage.

Revik felt him backing down, even before the tall seer stepped back, opening up the passage between Torek and his guards and where Revik stood. Making it clear he intended to stand down for real, to let Revik leave the alleyway without fight.

He hadn’t said his last words, though.

“In another lifetime, then, perhaps,” the blue-eyed seer said.

He spoke it as Revik passed. Revik had been aiming his feet towards Torek’s guards and the back door of the club, since he intended to take up Torek’s offer of protection while he waited for the limousine Eddard sent up front. When the seer spoke, Revik turned in spite of himself, looking at him. The scarred face twisted in hatred, the voice and eyes reflecting the same.

“We will meet again, brother,” the seer promised. “I swear it…in this world or the next. Count on that. For you still owe me…whatever you think you owe the gods.”

Revik only nodded.

There seemed little to say to such a thing.

He wondered though, what lay behind all of that hate.

He supposed the particulars didn’t matter. He was quite certain, whatever it was, he likely deserved it. He knew he deserved all of this and more, even if they had beaten his face into the cement and left him there in the alley to die bleeding.

But he didn’t have time to think about that now, either.

He had to get to Allie.

Right then, it was the only thing he had room in his heart to care about at all.

8

BAND GIRL

I woke up not knowing where I was.

I knew I was sick, though…pretty much right off, and before I could even think straight, much less focus on the spackled ceiling above me. I felt horrible…sicker than I’d felt in a hell of a long time. That sick feeling coiled through me like a snake, twisting the nausea not only around my stomach and intestines but up into my throat and chest. I badly wanted to spit, but I was afraid to sit up.

Realistically, I needed to throw up.

I didn’t know where I was.

I felt strongly that I needed to know that, first.

The room was dark. I tried to wind back the tape of the last twenty-four hours. Fear slid through me, unnamed, unspecified, even as I did it. The fear was intense enough that I didn’t try too hard to remember everything, not at first. Logically, if I couldn’t remember anything, I had nothing to fear. But it didn’t really help. Not knowing anything made me more afraid, not less. I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten here…or really, where here was.

More importantly, I couldn’t remember who I was with.

The fact that I so quickly fell into panic mode didn’t reassure me. That felt like memory, too. Like an echo of fear, or those last moments of consciousness.

Mickey.

Fuck.

My head started to pound for real. My unease turned to terror, to a jolt of adrenaline and darker fear. My throat went dry, just like you read about in books…but the blurriness behind my eyes clicked abruptly into full focus. Somehow, the tangibility of a real threat turned my brain right the fuck back on. If Mickey had me, I needed to know where I was.

Now. Right the fuck now.

Wincing in pain, I turned my head.

A body lay naked under a sheet next to me. Too small to be Mickey’s, based on how he’d looked in that bar. White skin shone lighter than the dark sheets on the bed. I saw a muscular arm, tattoos, dark hair on the pillow, sticking up in spikes above an oval face with closed eyes. Fighting to focus, to blink the sleep out of my vision, I wrapped an arm around my chest, without looking away from that face.

It was Jaden.

Not Mickey. Jaden. As in the guy I’d gone to that club to see.

I should have been relieved, but somehow, the feeling that came over me was closer to shock. I didn’t feel relieved at all. I felt sick.

That fear continued to pound behind my eyes, pulsing in my throat.

Only now, it didn’t have a specific source. With the Mickey threat gone, the fear didn’t dissipate, but coiled around me in confusion.

I definitely needed to get up.

Moving my limbs and body brought a whole new slew of sensations, most of them not good. A lot of them definitely unpleasant. My ass hurt. My arms hurt...so did other parts of my body. I’d definitely had sex, and it felt like rough sex…a lot of it. Maybe too much of it.

The fact that I couldn’t remember the sex definitely didn’t help.

My jaw hurt, enough to make me wonder if someone hit me...then enough to make me wonder something else. As my mind whirled around the bits and pieces of information my body gave me, I found I didn’t want to examine any of that evidence too closely.

I definitely didn’t want to tie the threads together into a coherent image.

I let out a low gasp as I brought myself up to a seated position on the mattress. My feet touched the shag carpeted floor, or my toes anyway. I sat there, rubbing my feet in that carpet for a few seconds more before I realized I needed a bathroom...now.

As in, right now, before I threw up all over Jaden’s floor.

I wanted my clothes, too. I couldn’t decide if I’d be able to manage both clothes and the bathroom, though.

I decided I probably wouldn’t. Manage it, that is.

Not in time.

I needed to get out of this room. I needed to get away from the pale skin of the body curled up happily on the bed. I needed to get away from the contentment on his face as he slept.

Clothes could wait.

Lurching to my feet, I stumbled my way to the bathroom.

Everything hurt more once I was upright, but I focused on movement, on getting from one side of the house to the other. I focused on staying on my feet, gripping bits of the walls and doorjambs with my hands on my way through Jaden’s cluttered room and into the dark hall beyond his bedroom door. I glimpsed things here and there that I recognized, but everything tilted in front of me. Band posters hung crookedly on the white painted walls. I saw dirty clothes, soda cans and bags of chips in front of a monitor and feed station, head sets, sheet music on the carpet, a hand-held game, what looked like a butterfly knife…

Then I was out of his room altogether.

Ahead of me, I saw a slice of his living room with its patterned carpet, his guitar sitting on a stand in the corner next to a small practice amp. I saw the purple-painted walls, the black frames of the windows, what looked like an empty beer bottle lying on its side.

It never occurred to me that we weren’t alone.

Well, not until I opened the bathroom door and saw Jaden’s drummer passed out on the floor. His body half-lay on a damp-looking bathroom rug. The other half of him sprawled on the white tile, his shirt hiked up to show a swell of beer belly.

Letting out a surprised sound, I backed up, closing the door.

For a few seconds I just stood there in the corridor, my heart pounding.

Then that sickness surged another bare taste of bile in my throat.

I had too much spit. I definitely needed to throw up...but some part of my mind remained analytical, assessing my options in the background. I considered just walking over the drummer, Corey, and throwing up in the toilet next to him. Then I considered the kitchen sink. I didn’t really want to walk through the rest of the house, though.

I didn’t really want to know who else was here.

I considered just throwing up on the carpet. Fuck it.

In the end, I retreated back into Jaden’s room, looking for a garbage can.

And my clothes.

By then, I really wanted my clothes. I didn’t care about throwing up somewhere sanitary and bathroom-like, not any more. I wanted to get the fuck out of there.

Images were still fighting to coalesce behind my eyes, but none of them were very clear. None felt reliable...or even like true memories. More than anything, I saw a blank wall from the night before, a kind of dead zone of no-time and no-feeling.

I knew my mind was doing what minds did, and trying to make sense of that, to fill in the gaps. It was inventing timelines and scenarios out of bare bits of data, trying to string them together into coherence, in a way that looked and felt logical, true or not.

None of those timelines felt good.

Feelings wanted to come out of that...or maybe feelings about the lack of feeling.

The longer I concentrated on that, on the fear and unease and the not wanting to think, the more I realized that at least some small part of me was in shock. Yeah, at least some of the sickness came from that, not from whatever was going on with my stomach. The feeling wasn’t shame, more like something gross had crawled up over me, touching me while I slept.

Get the fuck out of there, Allie...

Anger. A huge fucking swell of anger.

It came out of nowhere, almost like it wasn’t mine at all.

But it was mine. It had to be mine.

Find your clothes and get out of there...I’ll deal with him...I fucking promise you that. Get out of there before he wakes up and starts to lie to you...

I had to get the fuck out of there.

The thought came at me strongly, without any doubt.

Logic only fought to assert itself afterwards. I couldn’t stay here. I couldn’t do anything, not until I had more information. I couldn’t trust anything Jaden told me about the night before, not now, not without any memory of my own.

I needed to get out of here.

But I didn’t. I just stood there.

I wanted to remember so fucking badly. It felt important to remember before I left, before time passed and I brushed this away somehow, let either myself or others rewrite it into something else, something that didn’t happen.

But I couldn’t remember. I didn’t remember how I’d gotten here. I didn’t remember drinking, so I had no idea how I’d gotten so fucked up. I remembered one beer…one, if that. I remembered seeing Mickey. I remember the recognition on his face, the surprise.

After that, I remembered...

Nothing.

Pretty much nothing after that.

Someone must have brought me here. I knew that someone had to be Jaden. I also knew Jaden and I weren’t here alone, and I was pretty sure I’d had a lot of sex the night before. Maybe more sex than I could have had with just one person…

Allie, get out of there. Get the fuck out of there. Now.

I shook my head, fighting to clear it.

Please, honey. Please...let me handle it.

My mind continued pulling threads together...a little too fast now.

Fast enough to make that sick feeling in my gut a lot worse.

Don’t get arrested for this piece of shit…please…he's not fucking worth it…

Fast enough for the anger to feel a lot more connected to me now.

A lot less like it belonged to someone else.

Allie, don’t hurt him. You can’t afford to have law enforcement looking at you...you can’t...even if they let you off in the end. Please...trust me on this, please. Let me do it. I promise you, I’ll handle it. I fucking promise…

Fear continued to darken in my mind, to turn into a hotter and denser anger. Fast enough to wake me up out of the stupor of whatever poison still coursed its way through my body, making my limbs and mind sluggish, pulling at my insides.

Allie! Don’t hurt him! Please don’t, goddamn it!

Somewhere in that, I realized I’d reentered Jaden’s room.

I stared at the pale-skinned body lying on the bed.

I thought about what would happen if I did something to him. Maybe with that butterfly knife over by his feed station on the floor. I thought about how it would look from the outside, given everything. I thought about Mom, about what everyone thought of me back in high school, even when I hadn’t done anything. I thought about the weird things in my past. The things I couldn’t explain. The things that made me stand out, pretty much since I was a kid, no matter how normal I tried to be. I knew that nagging feeling in the back of my head was right.

They’d put me away. Even if I was right about what happened to me the night before, I would be the one who ended up in jail.

What I couldn’t decide was, if I really cared.

Goddamn it, Allie…if you don’t back off, I’m going to have to knock you out. You’ll have to stay there, maybe until I get there, and I’m still a few hours out. Please. Please don’t make me do that. Please, baby…let me handle it…

The sickness in my belly worsened. Indecision pulled at me.

Maybe to buy myself time, I turned, looking for my clothes.

A minute or so later, I found my dress in a heap on the floor, halfway crammed under Jaden’s desk. I crawled under it to pull the fabric out. When I crawled back out, gripping the black, stretchy fabric in one hand, I glanced at the bed, but Jaden hadn’t moved.

I was dressed less than a minute after that.

Well, except for my underwear. And my shoes.

I shoved the underwear from my mind.

But I needed the shoes.

I couldn’t see them anywhere, though...at least not anywhere in Jaden’s room. My headset was missing, too, which bothered me more. Not like I would have called anyone right then, but yeah, I needed the damned thing. Worse, it would force me to see Jaden again, if I couldn’t find it. That, or I’d have to report it stolen and go stand in line for another re-coding to my implant, which would be a serious pain in the ass.

They also might insist on using the locator to track the damned thing down, and then I’d have to see Jaden anyway.

Allie...

I felt that anger worsen, and shook my head.

I had to go. Now. I could feel the urgency there.

I agreed with it, too.

Well. Mostly.

I tried to remember if I was supposed to work that day. I decided I had the day off, whatever the schedule said. Even if it meant getting fired.

Call Jon. Get him to pick you up, Allie...

Some part of me thought about calling Jon, about walking to his house, even.

But I shook my head again, a few seconds later.

I didn’t want to call Jon. I didn’t know where I would go, but I knew it wouldn’t be there. Not yet. I didn’t want to see Jon now.

Frustration seethed around me. I pushed that aside, too.

Why couldn’t I find my damned shoes?

Fuck the shoes. Just go, Allie. Call Jon, have him pick you up...

I shook my head. No. I wasn’t calling Jon. Even without shoes.

Bile surged abruptly up into my throat. I knelt down by Jaden’s desk, now wearing my dress, and threw up in his garbage can.

That took longer than getting dressed.

By the end I was gripping the wooden legs of Jaden’s antique desk and chair, dry-heaving and spitting, tears running down my face. My whole back arched at each heave, wracked painfully as my body tried to self-correct, to rid itself of toxins. I wanted water, but I didn’t want that from here. I didn’t want anything from here.

I needed to get out of here.

I felt relief somewhere. I couldn’t be sure if that was mine, but it wafted around me, even as I felt protectiveness whisper around me, too.

Eventually I stood, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand.

Go, Allie. Please. Get out of there...I’ll be there soon. I’ll handle it...

I hesitated, but only for a few seconds longer.

Then I bent down. I picked up the trash can, barf and all, and walked it over to the bed. I considered plunking the container down right next to Jaden’s sleeping head, as close to his pillow as I could manage...then decided not to do that, either.

I dumped it out, right over his sleeping body.

The smell instantly got a lot worse.

It made me gag all over again. I covered my nose and mouth with my arm, tossing the garbage can on the bed where I’d first woken up. I saw Jaden’s nose wrinkle as he lay there. His mouth curled into a frown, too, and he shook his head...but he didn’t really move.

At least that contented look was no longer on his face.

For about three seconds, I watched him sleep. I didn’t really feel any better.

Still, it would have to do.

Motherfucker.

I ended up at Baker Beach.

I don’t know how I got there, or why I even wanted to go.

I must have walked…barefoot no less…but I scarcely remember that part now, other than in bits and pieces. That alone told me I was still pretty out of it.

Jaden lived by the park, in the Richmond District, but Baker Beach wasn’t exactly close. It was also up a hill and down around and through a bunch of twisty residential streets through a ritzy neighborhood just south of the Golden Gate Bridge.

I went there anyway.

Baker Beach made a certain kind of sense, in the less-fogged parts of my mind.

It’s where me and Jon used to go when Dad was sick.

Even before then, when we were all kids, and when Cassie had problems with her parents, me and her and Jon would go there and stare at the ocean.

It’s also where me and Jon had the much less formal and much more alcohol-infused wake for Dad, after we finally got Mom down for the night with some valium and a couple of sleeping pills. Jon and I built a bonfire and burned his bathrobe and hospital gown there, which Jon snuck out of the intensive care unit somehow. For Jon, both things signified Dad after he got sick, not before, so Jon wanted them gone, and I couldn’t blame him.

They even smelled like death as they burned.

So yeah, not exactly a happy place for me, but it had strong associations. Strong enough that my feet took me on their own, I guess.

By the time I stepped out on the sand, and my feet walked over those cool, dry grains, I felt nothing but a profound relief.

That relief intensified when I reached the pounding surf.

My feet were sore by then, but more than that, I wanted some feeling of washing off the night before…or maybe just waking up. It was still dark out, and cold as fuck, but I didn’t care. I badly wanted to stick my head under that freezing cold salt water, too, not just my feet and legs.

So I waded in, until the waves splashed up to the edge of my dress.

Then higher, up to my belly, the foam swirling around my hips.

It was really fucking cold.

Colder than I’d expected, even. Cold as ice...and the wind cut across my spray-wet skin, even where I hadn’t gone all the way underwater. The salt stung my lips and face, and got in my mouth. I ignored all that, and kept wading out. I even dunked my head and hair once I got deep enough, and by then, my teeth were chattering. My arms wrapped around my torso, half for warmth and half for protection against the battering waves.

Even then, I didn’t stop walking.

Allie, don’t...

The voice was soft.

But I swear I actually heard it that time. As a real, separate thing.

I felt it that time, too, that familiar tug, what I’d begun to think of almost like a conscience, or a guardian angel, maybe. I felt it more than I had in Jaden’s house, clearly enough to see it as something apart from myself. The presence it inhabited wove through some less-tangible part of myself, warming me somehow, even as it trembled inside my chest.

Worse, it made me want to cry.

Up until that precise moment, I don’t think I’d really felt anything.

That flush of anger at Jaden’s house, a wanting of revenge, then...nothing.

Just nothing.

Now, from that faint whisper, the even fainter pulse of warmth, I felt more than I could contain, more than I could wrap my head around.

I still didn’t have words to go with how I felt...not about Jaden.

Not about Jon, either, or what he’d probably say about what happened, or how angry he’d be...or, hell, if I should even tell him. I thought through things I could have done, things I could have said before leaving Jaden’s house. I could have hit him, stabbed him, accused him...or even just calmly asked him what had happened.

Even now, I kind of agreed with that voice.

It wouldn’t have made a shit’s worth of difference.

I wouldn’t feel any better now, regardless of what Jaden said or didn’t say...or if he fought back or let me hit him with a chair or a baseball bat or a butterfly knife or whatever. It wouldn’t have erased it, any more than the ocean did now. Nothing he said would have convinced me, either way. I hadn’t wanted to hear him lie to me.

I also hadn’t wanted to hear him tell the truth.

But I hadn’t come out here to hurt myself.

I hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, not that I knew of, anyway.

That sick feeling didn’t come from self-loathing, or shame, or any of the things people are supposed to feel in these kinds of situations. I hadn’t been drunk. I was in a public place. I’d been on a normal date…and I was an adult, legally and otherwise. Moreover, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have been guilty of anything even if those things hadn’t been true.

So yeah, the sick feeling wasn’t aimed at me.

It stemmed from a deeper, less-directed place...a strangely familiar place, one I remembered, although I couldn’t say from when precisely. Maybe it was just that first awareness of the grimmer realities of the world, what everyone faces, at one point or another, usually as a kid. I faced it as a kid, too, but I guess some part of me needed the reminder.

Not all people are good.

Some are sick inside. Some are broken...or lost.

Some are just fucking assholes.

Part of me feared the world was simply filled with shit like this. That the world itself, and the people in it, were made corrupt, fundamentally dirty.

I didn’t know how to process that fact.

If it was true, I didn’t know what to do with that information. I didn’t know if I was supposed to accept it, try to change it in some way, or simply ignore it. Realistically, I couldn’t change it. I couldn’t stop people from harming me or one another or themselves. I couldn’t stop them from lying about it. I couldn’t stop other people from letting them get away with it...or even rewarding them for it.

I couldn’t protect myself, not really. Not from everyone.

Not all the time.

No matter how badass I tried to be.

I found myself explaining some part of that to my imaginary friend, or maybe just reassuring (him?) that I hadn’t come out here to do anything stupid. It felt really important that he know I came out here to think, to gather my resources. Maybe even to decide what to do, whether and how to retaliate. Definitely not to die.

I understand... the presence whispered. I understand, Allie...I do...

I felt his relief. He’d been worried.

I felt more than that, too. A pulse of...something. But his relief remained strongest, heating the very bones in my chest.

I felt him wanting to say more to me.

Fighting with words, maybe to agree with me, maybe to argue. Maybe to give advice. Maybe to distract me. Maybe to tell me it would get better...or maybe to tell me that it wouldn’t. Maybe to tell me that I’d change, that this would make me tougher, harder to break.

Whatever he’d wanted to say, he didn’t.

Eventually he let it go. I felt the meaning dissipate around him, blowing away like smoke, even as that warmth returned solidly to my chest.

Jon will come, the presence told me. Stay there. Don’t leave, Allie.

I found myself nodding, even though the thought made no sense.

Jon wouldn’t come. Jon was asleep right now.

Even if he wasn’t asleep, even if it wasn’t six o’clock in the morning or whatever, even if the light wasn’t only just now rising up over the other side of those cliffs, somewhere across the east side of the San Francisco Bay...Jon would have no idea where I was.

He wouldn’t even know I wasn’t at home.

It was really fucking cold.

When I finally came out of the water, I did what that voice told me, anyway.

I sat on the sand, and I waited.

9

STALKING

Revik stood in the middle of her bedroom.

He felt strange, being there. More so now, after what happened.

He’d been in here before, though. Of course he had; it was part of his job, keeping her hidden and alive among the humans.

So he fought the feeling, told himself it was irrational.

She was at work. He had a line to her, a direct one, and strong, since he was a lot closer to her physically than he usually was. He would know at once if anything changed on her end, and long before she got anywhere near her apartment.

He also had a part of his light casing the outside of the Victorian flat. No one would be able to sneak up on him, or harm her, not with him here.

But he still felt…uncomfortable.

He was here for a reason, of course. He hadn’t just entered her personal space on a whim, or to satisfy some interest or curiosity of his own. He didn’t make it out to San Francisco often enough to be able to blow off checking certain safeguards he’d put in place.

The problem was, he could feel that wasn’t all of it. He could feel the more personal interest there, seething through his light. He could feel it, and it made standing there a lot more uncomfortable than he remembered from times he’d stood here in the past.

Shoving the thought from his mind, he decided to go through the list, first.

Using a small organic tool, he shone a bright light over one segment of wall, the same section the bedroom door hid while open. Within a few seconds, the lines of the compartment he’d built inside the plaster and wood glowed a faint blue.

Clicking over on the same hand-held, he fed the key sequence in by memory.

There was a low humming vibration, scarcely audible.

An organic door popped open in that same segment of wall, just enough that Revik could see its outlines without the light. Clicking off the tool, he walked over, prying open the panel the rest of the way with his fingers.

He pulled out the gun he’d stashed in there seconds later, checked the magazine and the chamber, then the four extra magazines he’d thrown in there as spares. A packet of blood patches sat in that cubby, too, along with contact lenses sized for Alyson, prosthetic-grade latex, gelatin and silicone, a few fake barcode patches to replace their normal tattooed IDs, both his and Allie’s, and plastic binders for…whatever.

He’d left money in there, too, along with an ID chip and a spare, unregistered headset.

All of it worked. The cubby hole was dry.

Nothing had been disturbed at all.

Adding another unreg’d headset to the pile, Revik closed up the paneled door, checking the edges with his fingers to ensure no trace of the seam rose above the wall. Once closed, he checked the lock with his hand-held again for good measure. Satisfied, he walked the hallway to the living room next and repeated the ritual with a similar cubby he’d built there, not far from the original fireplace to the converted Victorian.

He had another stash in the kitchen…and a fourth in the bathroom.

He didn’t like the idea of her being trapped in any one of those rooms. Moreover, given her track record with stalkers, he didn’t want to risk it, whatever the Council said.

Revik was a firm believer in contingency planning.

He did another circuit of the apartment, reminding himself of the layout, noting changes, things she’d bought and added, mostly in furniture and wall hangings. He found himself back in her bedroom at the end of that, this time over a drafting table, where she’d clipped a number of sketches. Using his gloved fingers carefully, he lifted the protective sheeting over the topmost image, curiosity getting the better of him.

He’d always been intrigued by her art. Even when she was little.

Once he had the sheet up, however, he froze, staring down at the new drawing there, feeling something in his light stutter and catch.

She still drew pyramids.

She still drew mountains, too.

But the image had something he’d never seen before. Something eerily familiar, although he couldn’t say for certain what it meant.

A boy sat in the middle of the field she’d drawn, below charcoal mountains that looked a lot like the Himalayas of Revik’s childhood. A hell of a lot like them…and not dissimilar to the construct where he’d last met Vash behind the Barrier.

Dark clouds massed over those snow-covered, jagged peaks, and a crystalline stream filled a portion of the grassy valley. Revik had seen images like that boy before, but usually his back faced outward, and nothing but the back of his head was visible.

This time, the boy faced sideways, looking at an old man sitting under a gnarled tree.

The boy’s eyes were colorless, glass-like.

Revik let the upper layer of paper drop, feeling his heart beating harder in his chest.

Could she be a prescient? A real one?

True prescients were extremely rare. It was an unusual skill, even among seers, although all seers could scan forward and backwards on the myriad timelines that criss-crossed and wound through different layers of the Barrier. While the past could be reassembled more or less accurately, however, visions of the future tended to be deeply flawed.

Too many variables existed.

Too many beings wrote and rewrote and impacted and demolished those competing timelines. Seers like Revik––which was ninety-nine percent of all seers––never got much more than blurry, shifting snapshots that could be blown away by a strong gust of wind.

Or, more accurately, by a single will exerted in a proximal direction.

Unlike the past––which held fast in a kind of stasis to be rewound and re-watched via Barrier time jumps, often as clear as a physical recording––the future changed hour to hour, sometimes minute to minute. Very few seers could rely on anything they saw in those glimpses forward, and only the young and the very inexperienced bothered to try.

But a tiny percentage of seers had the gift of true prescience.

Meaning, they could somehow see a layer above the crazed mélange of timelines and connecting points and nodes and splinters. They could truly see forward, into the dark. Even they would give caveats, according to Vash…and often more than one possibility. But they could actually see where the gears moved, and the pivot points where those larger track changes occurred. Alyson’s mother had been one of those prescients.

Not her human mother. Her biological mother.

The idea that Alyson herself could be one might not be all that far-fetched.

She was the Bridge, after all.

Thinking about this, Revik edged back to the drafting table. Seeing the leather portfolio case to the right of the table’s legs, he lifted it up carefully, bringing it over to the bed so he could lay it flat. He unzipped the case and opened the black flaps. A stack of drawings, most in charcoal but also a few in ink and even a few paintings, spilled out over her white bedspread. Kneeling down by the bed, Revik began to look at them, handling each one carefully before he moved on to the next. His light took snapshots of the ones that stood out to him the most.

A few were downright terrifying.

Nuclear bombs falling on downtown Beijing.

Helicopters swooping low over the water, snow-covered mountains in the distance.

It didn’t look like the Himalayas that time...or anywhere in Asia Revik recognized. He stared at the mountain formations for a number of minutes, but couldn’t ID them from his light, or from his more conscious memory.

South America, maybe? Or further north? Alaska? Some part of Canada?

He took snapshots of those drawings, too.

He saw New York a number of times. Mostly Central Park, from what he could tell, but the view was from high up.

He saw portraits, too. Jon, Cass...a few of Jaden.

He saw more of the pyramid. The detail on those was getting more and more precise. Revik could see nodes in the pyramid now. Some were even drawn in reverse. Meaning, the darkness of night surrounded the pyramid, which had been depicted in the absence of that dark.

He saw more of China. And a large wave, covering what might be Hong Kong, from the shapes of the buildings.

Something about looking at these unnerved him.

He forgot sometimes, the age of her soul. Looking at her drawings felt like interacting with the Bridge...not with Alyson, the girl and now woman he’d been tasked with protecting. It was easy to forget, sometimes, why all of this was so important.

He saw more of the boy, too.

Often he sat in the grass, under the mountains. Always, he had dark hair.

Revik didn’t see any others of his face, however.

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, when a sudden, sharp ping vibrated his light. He checked the time via the virtual display inside his headset...and cursed.

Alyson was leaving work.

He had ten minutes. Assuming she came straight here.

And assuming she walked, rather than taking a cab.

Swiftly, he stood, and began gathering up the drawings, which he’d kept in the same order, even as he’d gone through them carefully. Stacking them up into a pile that looked more or less how he remembered the first one looking...hopefully close enough for any human, if not a seer...he carefully put them back inside the portfolio case and zipped it up, leaving the top open the way he’d found that, too.

He got the portfolio put away, did another quick circuit of the room to make sure he hadn’t left anything else behind, then he began making his way to the backyard.

He could already feel her heading up the street.

Two minutes now.

Plenty of time to get out.

Still, he found a part of himself regretting it.

He hadn’t seen her in the flesh in a long time.

Another, different part of him knew maybe that was for the best, as well.

He stood on the edge of the park.

He had direct line of sight over a street.

One house in particular.

He made sure he was well-covered, invisible from that same street and house. He knew the house on the inside by now, too, even apart from the research he’d done via his contacts in the local police department. He recognized it from Barrier images he’d gotten off Allie the night Jaden brought her back here.

He also now knew exactly what Jaden had given her that night.

He’d suspected the truth already, just from what he’d seen, but he confirmed it by tracking down the dealer and reading him for every detail of the sale.

It had been what Revik thought: the seer drug, Iluvren. What most now referred to as “the aphrodisiac drug.”

Revik hadn’t done it himself, but he was aware of it, of course.

When Iluvren first hit your system, it knocked you on your ass, then put you in a state of extreme pliability once you regained consciousness. In the case of most seers, that usually included extreme sex-hunger, particularly in group settings, which is where it was often used in fetish clubs and so on. The drug upped the libido of the average human, too, but not like it did with seers. Moreover, seers were more likely to go unconscious for longer.

There was also a blackout period when the drug wore off, similar to Rohypnol, where the person remembered nothing of the period that they’d been under the influence. That generally lifted after between eight to twelve hours.

Allie reacted to the drug like a seer. Pretty much down the line.

Jaden had done it to get his rocks off. He’d done it hoping he could talk his new, sex-crazed girlfriend into a group session with his best pals. He convinced himself it was like doing X with her or something…only forgot about the part where he didn’t ask her.

Revik checked the chamber of his gun, then the magazine, and shoved the latter back in with a click, looking back at the house.

He’d put this job off, but not out of reluctance.

He’d done it deliberately, strategically.

He wanted a few days to go by since Allie’s last appearance in this house. He wanted her alibi to be unassailable, which meant he needed witnesses on both ends, preferably SCARB-run cameras, so the date stamp was beyond dispute…which meant he needed an airtight exit strategy, or he’d end up in a cell himself.  As much as any of those things, he needed some time to pass for his own sake. He wanted to know he was thinking clearly, so he didn’t do anything stupid.

Something that might tie this back to her in some way, or cause her problems.

Those first forty-eight hours, clarity and rationality hadn’t been high on Revik’s list.

Rage didn’t begin to cover it. Over time, however, it turned his light and his mind cold, stripped of feeling. It turned him back into a murderer.

Which, in this particular case, was just fine with Revik.

A murderer, unlike an emotionally wounded seer, could think clearly.

A murderer could be patient.

Revik knew he couldn’t wait too long, though.

The Council would have sent someone already. If not in person, then they would have someone––maybe even a handful of someones, maybe even members of the elite force of the Adhipan––watching over Revik from the Barrier. They would never let him use the Barrier for something like this. They’d simply blind him, like they had that night in London. They might even knock him out, leave him somewhere for one of their agents to pick up.

They’d definitely pull him...if they hadn’t decided to do that already.

Revik left London without permission.

He’d come out here under Barrier silence, mainly by controlling his own mind and light. In that sense, the block almost helped him. He’d made it out because he hadn’t waited. He’d taken every step while he’d still been Barrier-blind, knowing the window they’d given him in the physical world would be short.

It was short, too...he hadn’t been wrong about that. But they clearly hadn’t expected him to react as quickly as he did, either. By the time they figured out Revik’s intent and he got the direct order to remain where he was, he was already on the plane.

Vash had not been pleased.

Revik got the sense that Vash had taken it better than most of the Council, though.

Since then, Revik had been threatened. He’d been warned. He’d been reasoned with, in various ways. He’d been bargained with, bribed, appealed to. He’d heard nothing but a barrage of warnings, threats, spiritual appeals, psychological appeals, emotional appeals and lectures via the Barrier for the past twenty-four hours.

Then he’d fallen asleep. He crashed out on a hotel bed in the Tenderloin, wearing all of his clothes. He barely paused long enough to kick off his shoes.

That happened after he’d spent a few hours at the police station, checking to see if Allie reported the incident with Jaden, looking up Jaden’s physical address and stats, looking up the addresses and other information of every member of Jaden’s band...along with current information on that asshole, Mickey, who tried to drag her out of the bar that night, before Jaden got his hands on her.

By the time Revik paid cash for the hotel, he hadn’t slept in over two days.

He woke up about six hours later.

He knew they would have scanned him up, down and sideways while he slept. The second they could locate him in the Barrier, meaning the second Revik went unconscious, they would have been all over his ass, picking apart every aspect of his light to see every detail of where he’d been and what he’d been up to in the time since they’d last felt him there.

Since then, it had been radio silence. From the Barrier, at least.

Yet that clock ticking over his head had gotten louder.

He’d wrangled a concealed carry permit for the plane, utilizing his connections with the British government. He’d expected that to get stopped in the works, too, by someone in the Seven who might be monitoring those channels, but again, he squeaked by without notice, probably because he left so fast. He’d been threatened with being picked up on the United States side of the flight, too, but in the end, they backed down, not wanting to call attention to him, or the fact that he was entering the U.S., much less that he’d come to San Francisco for a particular reason. In that, Revik knew they were protecting the Bridge...not him.

For the same reason, Revik traveled under an alias. A human one.

The creds he’d gotten for concealed carry had him down as a member of Seer Containment, part of SCARB’s human division. When Homeland Security scanned his barcode at the gate, they didn’t so much as blink at the “H” tattoo on his arm. The blood patches Revik wore backed up the human race-cat and linked directly to the fake ID…although Revik technically could have used his own blood and passed protocol, given his security clearance.

He just hadn’t wanted his entrance linked to any known aliases he’d used in the past, especially not in this country.

Especially given that he’d come here, essentially, to perform a hit.

Dehgoies.

Vash’s thoughts slid gently through his mind.

Don’t do this, brother. Please.

Revik didn’t answer.

Brother...we’ve spoken to Kali...

Revik felt his lips curl into a frown.

Kali was birth mother to the Bridge. Revik hadn’t known Vash or the Council were even in contact with her still.

...She agrees with us, Vash sent. She agrees that this human should not die. There are reasons, brother. You must trust us both on this. This human is not quite what he seems to you, however reprehensible his actions...

Revik shook his head, not wanting to hear that, either.

Then, remembering what he’d seen when they finally raised the block on his light, Revik felt a dense rage surge back through him.

Brother, I understand, Vash sent, softer. I know this pains you greatly. Please. It pains us, too. Trust us on this. Kali seems to think it is important that this human not be killed. It is for the greater good, brother Revik––

Fuck your greater good.

Revik sent the words before he knew he meant to answer.

What followed was a more laden silence.

Revik. The old seer’s thoughts steeled. Brother, you promised me. You promised you could listen to the wisdom of the Council in this, that you would be able to put aside your personal feelings when it came to decisions that affected the general welfare...

Revik shook his head again, gritting his teeth.

Then, feeling his rage worsen, sparking into a furnace-like heat in his light, he shoved the old seer out of his head. Once he had, he swiftly wove a dense shield.

Within seconds, that shield turned into a solid block of light.

He wrapped it around his aleimi against all of them...Kali, too. Moreover, he left a spark of his anger on the outside of that field, the energetic equivalent of a hanging “fuck off” sign so they’d know it wasn’t an accident.

He might not be able to overpower them, or get past the blocks they put around him when they wanted to hobble his sight...but he could sure as hell keep their voices out.

Once free of the distraction of their thoughts and lights, he focused back on the craftsman-style house across the street from where he stood. Keeping his light and mind out of the Barrier so they couldn’t drop him, he slid his body slightly to the right so he could see better from behind the trees where he stood. He glanced up and down the length of the street, noting how quiet it was, even on a street running alongside the park.

Then again, it was midday, and this was a residential neighborhood. Everyone was at work.

Well, most people were.

Jaden would be leaving for work in approximately three to five minutes.

Given no limitations, Revik would have kept this simple.

Used his light to get the human to walk out in front of traffic...maybe even throw himself off the Golden Gate Bridge, since that was a popular suicide destination. He couldn’t do any of those things, though. No way would he be given access to his light for such a thing.

Then again, a gun was pretty damned simple, too.

A little harder to explain away, but as long as it couldn’t be tied to Allie, Revik didn’t much care. Crouching down lower in the trees, he leaned his side against the cobblestone wall he’d also picked out the night before. Unholstering his gun from under the long leather coat he wore, he checked the chamber and the magazine, even though he’d checked both moments before.

He’d considered more elaborate scenarios.

He’d considered staging a mugging, maybe in the park.

In the end, he decided that was too risky. There might be witnesses.

No, better to just snipe the fucker, even if it raised questions. Generally speaking, musician programmers didn’t get killed in professional hits, but the local cops got weird things like that sometimes. Mostly, they just ended up in an “unsolved” file somewhere.

Shifting his weight back so he faced the house, he deepened his lean into the low wall, propping his gun hand and the Glock on his forearm, which now rested on top of the wall itself. Steadying both his body weight and his aim, he relaxed his breathing, and settled in to wait. He didn’t want to be here long, in case someone happened to notice him, either from the park side, or, even less likely, from the street.

As a result, he hadn’t wanted to get into position too soon. Normally, he would dig in for an hour or so before he expected the target, but this would work better if he could be in and out and gone before anyone apart from the Council knew he’d come to California at all.

He’d just eased out from behind the wall and tree when the door opened at the front of the house. Revik tensed, watching as Jaden turned, hitching his backpack up when it fell down his arm before he dug into his jeans pocket to retrieve his keys. Revik saw but didn’t hear him curse when he dropped the keys on the porch decking, and paused to put down his travel mug full of something steaming, probably coffee, before he bent to retrieve them.

Revik held his breath, steadying the gun.

He could see the human well enough. He saw the flash of silver of his wristband, the pale green wrap of his headset. The strategically mussed black hair, dark leather jacket, designer jeans, red shirt clinging to a muscular but slim body.

He could see him just fine.

Even so, he would wait for Jaden to get out of the shade of the porch.

As he thought it, the male human finished fiddling with his key in the front door lock. Finishing with the deadbolt, he turned a few seconds later, slung his backpack higher on his shoulder once more and picked up his coffee cup.

He began descending the stairs…

When Revik heard a noise behind him.

Turning sharply, Revik saw a tall seer step out of the shadowed thicket. She wore all black, what had to be body armor under a long coat. He glimpsed the seer’s dark eyes, the midnight blue, tribal tattoo covering half of her face.

...right before he saw the gun gripped in her hands.

He jerked his own gun off the wall and around. He aimed it up at her instead of at the human leaving his house, oblivious as he prepared to work at a software company located down by the ferry building at the end of Market Street.

Revik was fast––damned fast, even on a bad day.

In this case, not fast enough, however.

Before he could fully raise the Glock…

The hunter with the tribal tattoo had already squeezed off a shot.

10

RESTRAINED

Revik woke up in his own crappy hotel room in the Tenderloin.

Hangover didn’t begin to cover it.

His head pounded the second he opened his eyes, worsening abruptly when the flickering, florescent bulb in the overhead light fixture blinded him.

Groaning, he raising a hand to his eyes, shielding them against that light, lying on his back on the lumpy bed with the cheap, quilted bedspread. His head continued to throb, each pulse slamming through the back of his skull like someone rhythmically hitting him with a mallet covered in nails and glass shards.

A chuckle reached him somewhere through that fog of pain and too-bright light.

“They weren’t kidding,” the voice said. “I thought that much tranq would kill you, pup.”

Female, his mind catalogued, even through the pain.

Slight Asian accent.

Seer, from the lilts...common in those of his race who grew up speaking primarily the seer tongue, Prexci, versus a human dialect as their first language.

Moreover, he recognized the voice. Vaguely, at least.

A few seconds later, the imprints in his light identified it.

“Yumi.” He exhaled the name, nearly a groan. He continued to squint against the light, his hand over his eyes. “Fuck. They sent you here. Really?”

“Not only her, brother,” a male voice joked.

Revik turned his head, meeting the gaze of the seer standing there, even as the other smiled and continued speaking.

“…Do you really think sister Yumi could carry you, all by herself?”

Seeing the seer grinning at him from the other side of the room, where he sat on a scuffed up wooden chair, Revik grunted.

“Poresh,” he said, unnecessarily.

His eyes drifted around the rest of the room, having finally adjusted to the light. Dalai grinned at him from another chair, her green-blue eyes shimmering in the tacky light.

“…Gods,” Revik said. “Did he send all of you?”

By “he,” Revik meant Balidor, of course, leader of the Adhipan.

Clearly, Yumi knew exactly who he meant.

“Perhaps brother Balidor holds us responsible, pup,” she snorted, folding her muscular arms from where she stood over him. The midnight blue tattoo conformed around the feral angles of her oval face. Her shaved bald head looked more dramatic than Revik remembered, somehow emphasizing her extreme height, which nearly rivaled Revik’s. “...You fell under my command first, after all,” she added. “Perhaps he sees this as my mess.”

Revik closed his eyes again, rubbing his head.

“What the hell did you hit me with?” he muttered.

“Horse tranquilizer,” a fourth voice said.

Revik turned in surprise, realizing he’d somehow missed the giant-sized Garensche, who stood over by the window. He looked the barrel-chested seer over now, noting that his seven-foot-plus frame still wore full body armor, just visible under a longer, forest green shirt and black leather coat. He stood by the one window to Revik’s musty room, keeping an eye on the street.

All of them were armed. Unsurprisingly.

Garensche gave him a wink, then looked back out the window. “We thought we might have to fight harder to bring you in,” he explained. “Balidor made it sound like you’d lost your marbles, brother...like you’d gone off the deep end, in defense of your lady love.”

Grinning wider, the massive seer gestured with a hand in seer sign language, something to the effect of love sick, which was another way seers termed fixation.

They didn’t mean love sick in the endearing way humans termed it, though.

They meant the seer had lost their fucking mind, like Gar just said.

“Not that I blame you,” Gar added, winking again. “She’s quite the hot, sexy little thing. I’d like to get some noises out of her with my cock, too…”

Yumi grimaced, giving Gar a “really?” kind of look.

Then she looked back at Revik.

“How come it takes so much to drop you, brother?” she said, drawing Revik’s eyes back to her. “You might be heavy as a bag of bricks, but I am thinking it must be your bones that weigh so much. You’re still a skinny little fuck...do you think you’ll ever hit your full weight, brother?”

Revik felt his jaw tighten, but didn’t answer.

Clearly Yumi still enjoyed giving him shit about his age. He knew the words were meant to be teasing, possibly even affectionate, but he fought a swell of irritation.

When the rest of the room chuckled, he knew they felt his anger anyway.

He still didn’t give them the satisfaction of an answer.

He covered his eyes instead, sitting up with an effort, propping his upper body up with his free hand.

“I think he looks pretty good,” another voice said, by the door.

Revik stiffened. His gaze swiveled then, even as Mara shut the door to the hotel room behind her. She had another seer with her, he realized...a female, one Revik also knew, but not from any of the others here. She looked Asian, but with that Eastern-European twist that many seers had, in terms of features––narrow face, high cheekbones, (also like many seers), ambiguous skin coloring and light brown eyes that glowed faintly with an inner light.

Her dirty blond hair was done in an unusual style, for her at least, part braids and part down, but it still managed to suit her somehow. He happened to know the blond hair was real, too, not dyed, even though that particular hair coloring was extremely rare on seers.

“Fuck,” he said, speaking more to Mara than to the blond. “What the hell is she doing here? Seriously? You flew her in from Moscow for this?”

Realizing then that she must have been working for Balidor and the Council all along, Revik grimaced more, glaring up at the Russian seer with undisguised annoyance.

“Jesus. I should have known.”

Kat smiled at him, her coffee colored eyes shining at him faintly.

“I think he looks very good too, sister,” she said, glancing at Mara with a smile. She looked back at Revik. “It was not hardship duty, brother…I assure you.”

Revik scowled at them both.

Kat looked him over as he did it, and he couldn’t help but notice she wore her usual short skirt and insanely high heels. Revik winced overtly when he felt a coil of pain whisper off of her light, pulling at his.

“I think he looks very good,” Kat murmured, meeting his gaze with another of those small smiles. “And from my memory, he is not skinny at all…not where it matters, at least.”

Mara glanced at her, and Revik felt a pulse of irritation off the Adhipan seer that time.

When she looked back at Yumi, though, Mara was all business.

“Do we do this here?” she said, matter-of-fact. “She said she’d do it. Hell, she’d probably pay us for the privilege, if her light’s reaction is any indication…”

Revik tensed more. He looked at Mara warily, then at the blond, Russian seer.

He didn’t speak, but Mara seemed to feel his reaction.

“What’s wrong, Rook?” she mocked. “Does this one not suit you? You seemed to enjoy fucking her well enough back in the old country. I know you prefer brunettes, but this one seemed more suited to your predilections…and she’s already been cleared by security. The only one I found with Jem’s coloring was a bit too doe-eyed for you, I think...”

Revik felt his jaw harden to granite.

Ignoring Mara’s smirk, he looked up at Yumi, knowing she was in charge.

“No,” he said only.

Yumi sighed. That time, she gave Mara a hard look, sparing another glower for the Russian seer before aiming her dark eyes back at Revik. Her expression verged on sympathetic when she next spoke, but her words were firm, uncompromising.

“Brother, this is not meant to embarrass you,” she said, clicking softly. “But you cannot pretend you are not suffering from a fixation on this charge of yours. We have been told to address this. We are under orders…as are you.”

Revik shook his head. “No.”

Before he could say more, Yumi raised a calming hand, sending warmth with her light.

“Please,” she said, her voice holding more of that light. “Please take this as it is meant, and not as judgment or an insult of any kind. All of us have been here, at one time or another, brother Dehgoies…all of us have. None of us blames you for this. But Adhipan Balidor ordered us to help you deal with the problem, before the Council is forced to take you off protective detail with her. He also insisted that none of us be the ones to do it...I think he’s trying to avoid a repeat of the Jem situation...”

Revik winced again, feeling his anger worsen.

When he glanced over at the blond-haired seer by the door once more, Yumi spoke up again, her voice still patient, bordering on cautious now.

“Is Mara right?” she said. “Would you prefer one that is darker, with different eyes...more of Jem’s coloring? We could try to find––”

“Shut the fuck up about Dalejem...Gaos!” Revik snapped.

There was a silence after he spoke.

Feeling the pounding worsen in the tender part of the back of his skull, Revik shook his head, clicking under his breath. He forced his voice calmer.

“No,” he said. “Tell brother Balidor thank you...but no.”

“To this one?” Yumi said, still patient.

“To any of it,” Revik said.

Yumi sighed, puffing out her cheeks before expelling air.

“The coloring remark was not a jab, either,” she muttered, shifting her weight to her other foot. “None of us have missed the fact that the Bridge herself has dark hair, and eyes that are––”

“I said no,” Revik said, giving Yumi another hard stare. “Did brother Balidor really intend for you to rape me? Or are you simply hard of hearing?”

“You would rather be pulled off duty?” Yumi said, her voice still patient.

“No,” he growled.

“Then you must do this.”

“No...I’ll deal with it myself,” Revik said, glaring at her.

Yumi shook her head though, clicking as she re-folded her arms.

“No, Dehgoies,” she said. Her voice shifted, turning blunt, uncompromising. “Brother Balidor said you would say this, and his answer is unequivocal. You have already shown yourself incapable of ‘dealing with it’ yourself. You have disobeyed direct orders...including the ones about leaving London in the first place. You would have broken penance today, if we had not stopped you in that park...severely, too, if I am not mistaken, by killing that human...also directly against orders, including those from the Bridge’s own mother. Which means, in addition to the rest, you have openly defied and disrespected one of our beloved intermediaries.”

Yumi’s voice grew even more blunt, her words clipped, precise.

“You are not acting rationally, brother Revik,” she said. “Therefore, you cannot be trusted to deal with this situation on your own.”

Revik let out a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh.

“I’m not acting rationally?” he said. He glared up at the tall seer, not hiding his anger. “Her own mother sanctions her abuse at the hand of humans due to some fucked-up vision she had, and I’m the one not acting rationally...?”

“Brother...” Yumi warned softly.

“What if we just pulled her now?” Revik said. He shook his head, once, then forced himself to meet the other’s gaze, to say it anyway. “Fuck. Why don’t we? Why are we leaving her in this shit? She’s not a child anymore. Let the Adhipan train her! Hell, let me train her. What is the possible purpose of keeping her here now? Hasn’t she learned enough about the sicknesses in human light?”

Yumi rolled her eyes in exaggerated seer-fashion, clicking at him sharper.

“Brother Dehgoies––”

“Don’t give me that sanctimonious Bridge crap, either,” Revik growled, not caring anymore what they thought of him. “What about a fellow seer? A sister? You are fine with standing by while she is abused? How is that ‘respectful’ of your intermediary, sister Yumi? Or has your life been so charmed that you’ve never had to suffer the same yourself...?”

“Brother!” Yumi snapped. “Remember yourself!”

“I know exactly who I am,” Revik shot back.

Biting back what he might have said, he forced his voice lower, clenching his fists on the quilted bedspread as he let his voice turn back into a mutter.

“Do you?” he said quietly. “Do you know who you are…really? Or what you believe? Or do you simply follow brother Balidor and the Council’s orders mindlessly, sister? Listen to their bullshit claptrap about the ‘good of the gods and Ancestors’ and whatever the fuck else, all to rationalize the simple fact that they’ve decided to look the other way…to once more sit back passively while humans treat one of ours like a plaything?”

Yumi shook her head, clicking again.

“You cannot tell me this isn’t a pattern with them!” Revik growled. “Why the fuck do you think the Rooks recruit more and more of ours every day...while more and more leave the fold of the Seven? Do you think it is a coincidence this happens all too often with our young seers…once they glimpse the realities for our kind, outside the enclaves of the monasteries of Seertown? Perhaps this loyalty is ingrained in you…perhaps you remember those pre-First Contact years well enough to have some nostalgia to the old ways. But most of my generation does not have these fond memories, sister. For most my age, this lovely nostalgia of yours, it is fast waning, if it ever existed at all.”

When Yumi didn’t respond, Revik glared around at the other Adhipan seers.

None of them would meet his gaze.

He felt a wall of silence close around their light, and fought with the defensiveness that rose in him at the implied judgment there. He knew he was probably three hundred years younger than the oldest of them. He knew what that meant to most seers.

Remembering that only angered him more, however.

He sharpened his voice.

“Just how long do you suppose this attitude will be tolerated in those of us who are forced to witness the results, day after day?” he said. “Or is that the will of the fucking Ancestors, too? That we all end up whores...or mercenaries working for the Rooks, trying to kill off the humans for real?”

Yumi’s eyes darkened when she glanced at him that time.

Even so, she seemed to have regained her composure, somewhere in his words.

“You can speak…when you want to, at least. Can’t you, brother Dehgoies?” she muttered.

Looking away from Revik’s face when he didn’t answer, she stared out towards the window without seeming to see it. She shook her head again while he watched, then took a long stride closer to the bed, so that now she towered directly over him.

Revik had a sudden desire to rise to his feet, too, where he knew he still had at least an inch on her in height.

He didn’t, though.

“Brother Revik,” she said. Her voice grew calm once more, patient, even as she settled her weight back on the heels of her boots. “I am sorry I cannot give you the answer you want. I am...truly. I am sympathetic to your frustrations, but I simply do not see the situation the way that you do. I do know who I am, brother, despite your skepticism...and part of that is having faith in those with greater vision than my own. Part of that is loyalty to those principles to which I’ve pledged my life...including those of noninterference, and, most especially, free will.”

Revik began to speak.

Yumi held up another hand. That time, she also gave him a sharp push with her light, effectively silencing him.

“I have outlined two options,” she finished, once he’d closed his mouth. “You must tell me which of them you would prefer, brother Revik.”

Revik fought with the anger seething through his light. He could feel the wall in hers, too, and knew what it meant. Moreover, he felt it on more than just the seer with the midnight blue tattoo on her face.

Glancing at Garensche, Revik watched the big seer avoid his eyes.

He felt sympathy there, but also utter immobility.

He understood the cause. They were Adhipan. Expecting them to do anything against orders was like expecting a pig to begin speaking Mandarin and wear high-heeled shoes. The chain of command had been drilled into them not just for decades, but for centuries. Most had been recruited to the Adhipan as children, and had been raised inside the stone walls of the Pamir.

Staring at the floor, Revik fought to think.

He could feel their intentions with the Russian seer, Kat.

They wanted him to open his light, to get him to express some of his emotional reaction to what had happened to Allie...to blunt some of his anger at Jaden and the other humans, if only by dulling the worst edges of his separation pain. He could have told them that lack of sex wasn’t the problem, but he doubted they’d listen to that, either.

“We’re aware of that, brother,” Mara said. Her voice sounded a lot less impatient than Yumi’s. When Revik glanced over, she folded her arms, blowing her dark bangs off the planes of her face. “Yumi will work with your light, too. Try to get you to see this thing from somewhere other than your own personal wants.”

Revik bristled all over again, angered at the implication that somehow this was selfish on his part, to want to see justice for––

“Not selfish, brother,” Poresh spoke up, holding up a hand of his own. His voice was even more gentle than Mara’s. “Perhaps not seen from a high enough angle, but not selfish. Perhaps you are too close to this thing, yes?”

Revik gave him a disbelieving look. “So distance is the answer, then? Just ‘feel less’...is that your advice, beloved brother?” Revik’s sarcasm wasn’t shielded at all by the end, but Poresh didn’t look angry, or even offended.

If anything, he looked upset, although Revik couldn’t pinpoint the emotion he felt or saw behind it. Some part of his mind wanted to interpret that as guilt.

Poresh cleared his throat.

“Distance,” he said. “...Does not imply a lack of feeling, brother. It does provide added context, however.” The Adhipan seer lowered his hand back to his thigh, which was encased in armored pants, like those of Garensche. “The more fleeting sufferings in life can sometimes be borne, if we understand that they serve a higher purpose,” he added. “We are not trying to trick you, brother, or convince you not to feel. We want to help you reach more clarity with this difficult experience.”

Revik heard the implication in that, too, although he doubted Poresh meant it consciously.

They all saw him as young. A child.

As much as they saw the Bridge that way, he suspected. They saw this as the grownups intervening and providing superior vision for the children.

“Is there a problem with that?” Yumi said, her mild voice holding a warning. “Is that not our role here, brother?”

Revik didn’t answer.

Looking around at all of them: Yumi, Poresh, Garensche, Dalai, who had remained silent throughout all of this, Mara...the unwilling by the door, Kat,…Revik realized he could not win this fight. He knew the numbers weren’t meant as a direct threat, not per se, but they were definitely a message. Vash and whoever else had ordered them here to use whatever force necessary to either separate Revik from Allie, or force him to obey them in the areas they deemed important.

Leaving that piece of shit alive appeared to be important.

Exhaling, Revik felt another surge of fury course through his light.

He didn’t verbalize it, but he felt a few of them flinch from behind the Barrier.

All but Mara, really, and the unwilling standing behind her.

Revik looked at that unwilling now and caught her staring at him, a near-predatory look in those light-filled eyes. She sent him a pulse of pain in those same few seconds, and Revik shook his head, once, even as he closed his light.

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s fucking do this.”

There was a denser silence.

“Well?” Revik said, his voice a growl. “Do I undress myself, or is your employee going to do that for me, too?”

From near the window, Garensche cleared his throat.

Poresh exuded another pulse of discomfort.

Revik still felt nothing at all from Dalai, nor from Yumi, although he suspected that was for different reasons. Mara felt annoyed, but Revik didn’t try and pull that apart, either.

Mostly, he just blanked his mind, closing his light as much as he could.

He was still just sitting there on the edge of the bed when the unwilling walked out from behind Mara. She approached Revik cautiously, even as he closed his light more, feeling his muscles tense involuntarily.

Kat hadn’t quite reached him when Mara stepped forward.

She held up a hand, frowning, looking around at all of them.

“Wait. Stop. We must stop this.”

The rest of the seers looked at her, including Revik, and the unwilling herself.

Seeing all eyes on her, Mara frowned, lowering her hand and curling her fingers around her hip. She looked at Yumi, then stared harder at Dalai, who only frowned faintly from where she sat. When Mara spoke next, her voice was hard, stripped of emotion.

“Does this look like someone who needs a fuck?” she said.

She motioned at Revik, up and down, her fingers a graceful arc in a seer’s gesture of emphasis. She again gave Dalai a near-accusing look. “You remember him in Brazil, sister...when he actually wanted sex. Is this how he was?”

When none of them answered, Dalai included, Mara looked around at the rest of them once more. Her voice grew colder still.

“He is right,” she said. “We need to confer with the Council...with that old man, Vash. And with brother Balidor. They need to understand we are forcing this on him, that he is not compliant in the ways he needs to be. We need consent...real consent...or this is rape.” She hit the word with deliberateness. “It is coerced sex, yes? Can we not agree on this? Is that what we do now? Rape our brother recruits?”

Yumi frowned, her jaw noticeably clenching as she glanced down at Revik.

Sighing in a denser irritation, she gave Mara an annoyed look.

Revik recognized that look. He knew how rigid the chain of command was within the Adhipan, so he wasn’t particularly surprised that Yumi would be annoyed at Mara for bucking it, and in front of witnesses. More surprisingly, Revik caught an underlying thread of emotion there, too. Conflict, mixed with a pulse of anger and something else.

Shame.

Woven into that last part, he felt a subtle pulse of agreement off the seer.

Meaning, Yumi agreed with Mara.

Something in that caused his shoulders to relax, if only a little.

“Yes,” Yumi said, clicking in annoyance. “I agree. We need a different strategy for this.” Folding her arms, she looked back at Revik. “What do you want, brother? What would help you open your light? I would prefer to have your wishes included in my recommendation to Council Leader Vashentarenbuul...and to Adhipan Balidor.” Her voice developed a faint warning as she narrowed her eyes. “Know that there will not be an option of doing nothing, brother. They will want you to address this in some way. I can guarantee it.”

Revik exhaled, feeling himself relax even more.

“Yes.” He nodded, once. “I understand.” He kept his voice polite that time. “What are my options, sister?”

Yumi looked down at him, frowning.

Revik couldn’t get a read on her at all that time.

He found himself thinking she was having the same problem with him...meaning, she couldn’t get a read on him, either.

Eventually, he heard her clicking under her breath once more, right before she looked around at the rest of them. Revik saw her irises blur, enough to know she was talking to someone in the Barrier. When her eyes clicked back into focus, she let out another sigh.

“Would affection be acceptable to you, brother?” she said, meeting Revik’s gaze. “The Council, Vash and brother Balidor agree that whether or not the contact is sexual does not matter in the slightest, as long as you open your light. They simply believed sex would be quickest. Further,” she added. “Your friend, Vash, offers his apologies for the forceful way in which it was ‘offered,’ and asks for your forgiveness.” She made a vague, concessionary gesture with one hand, even as she smiled. “They would like this done soon, however, the old man says...” By which Revik knew she meant Vash again. “...So they can put you back to work.”

Revik felt a sharp tightening in his chest.

It occurred to him only then that they didn’t want him removed from the Bridge’s guardianship. He’d braced for it, expected it, ever since he got on the plane. He knew full well he might be forbidden from ever speaking to or looking at her again...that they might even mind-wipe him, so he wouldn’t remember she existed.

He’d never fully admitted any of that to himself, though.

“Can one of us approach you now, brother?” Yumi said.

When Revik glanced up, she’d quirked a dark eyebrow. Something in the amusement in her expression made him think she’d felt all or most of his thoughts just then.

“You now merely need to tell us who,” she added. She motioned around the room, including all of the Adhipan seers that time, as well as the unwilling. “...Balidor agrees that any one of us can do this thing for you, given the revised parameters.”

Revik swallowed, looking around at all of them.

He paused on Garensche briefly, for they had been friends in the field all of those years ago...and also on Dalai, who he’d slept with once, although it hadn’t been overly personal or intimate. He looked at Poresh, who’d also been a friend, although not a very close one.

Then he looked at the hazel-eyed seer by the door, Mara, whom he’d found attractive from the first time they’d met, but who had disliked him intensely upon that meeting.

She’d mocked him for weeks...then eventually seduced him with Dalai and a few others, but Revik had always assumed she ultimately viewed him with contempt for his time under the Rooks. Because of that, he’d never trusted her, even in sex.

Truthfully, he’d thought she hated him.

He thought the sex to be more of a power game than not, although she hadn’t mistreated him there, either.

And yet, just now, she’d been the one to stand up for him.

More than that, she’d stopped them.

He met her gaze, and found her watching him. She looked how he remembered her looking, only her dark hair had grown longer...long enough that it fell in a straight, heavy curtain down one shoulder, only half of it up in an infiltrator’s braid. Her green and gold eyes slid marginally out of focus as she returned his gaze, in a way that told him she was scanning him, still poised lightly on her feet, not far from the unwilling with the blond hair.

“Mara,” he said, blunt.

Mara’s eyes flickered in surprise. Maybe partly from his smile.

Maybe because she remembered their earlier meetings, too.

“If that’s all right with her,” he added politely.

Her surprise deepened, whispering more tangibly around her light.

It faded soon after, however, and she smiled in return, a pleased smile that grew warmer the longer she held his gaze. Remembering again how they’d first met in the caves of the Pamir, and the dynamic between them at the time, Revik found himself wanting to laugh.

He didn’t, though. He merely sat there as she approached him on the bed, doing his best to ease his light open out of the clench he’d locked it into before. When she sat down beside him, he’d nearly managed it, even before she motioned towards his body.

“Take off your shirt, brother,” she said. “It’s easier skin to skin...even for this.”

Hesitating only an extra few heart beats, and still feeling Kat’s eyes on him from by the door, Revik nodded, reaching for the front of his shirt. Without looking at any of them, he began to unfasten the buttons, sliding his body back on the bedspread once more as he realized they’d probably want him to lie down, too. When he had the shirt undone, Mara helped him get the fabric off his arms and shoulders, even as it occurred to Revik that his coat, shoulder holster, gun and vest had already been taken off him, presumably while he’d been unconscious.

Yumi motioned towards the unwilling then, her words firm, but not unkind.

“You may go, sister. You will be paid, but it seems we will not be in need of your specific services today, after all.”

“Can I stay anyway?” Kat said.

Revik glanced up, surprised.

Looking at him, then back at Yumi, she added, “I will not interfere...I vow it.”

Yumi frowned slightly, looking at Revik.

Revik glanced once more at the unwilling, too, then shrugged. He didn’t know why the seer would want to stay, but it made no difference to him. Not anymore.

Yumi surprised him, though.

“No,” she said, her voice decisive as she looked back at Kat. “I think not, sister. With all due respect. We will contact you when we need your services again.”

Kat frowned, glancing again at Revik. When he returned her look with only a blank stare of his own, she shifted her light-filled eyes back towards Yumi and nodded, once.

Hesitating only a few seconds longer, she bowed.

Turning, she silently retreated from the room.

All of the seers watched her go, Revik included. None of them spoke until she closed the hotel room door behind her and her footsteps could be heard retreating down the hallway outside. Once the hallway had grown silent, Mara looked at him again, grinning.

She shoved lightly and playfully at his chest, startling Revik, nearly making him slide into a fighting stance on the bed.

“You do have a tendency to inspire crushes of your own, brother,” she said, grinning wider before she shoved at him again. “Why is that?”

Revik frowned, not answering, and she shoved him again.

“…Being such a quiet, angry fucker, how is it they all want you?” she teased. “Is it some wounded bird syndrome you inspire, I wonder? Or is it something else?”

Revik clicked at her, flushing a little and rolling his eyes. When she shoved him again, however, he couldn’t help smiling a little, too.

Seeing his grin, Mara burst out in another laugh.

Before he could figure out how to react to that, she shoved him again, harder, nearly pushing him to his back on the creaky bed with the worn quilted cover.

That time, Revik couldn’t help it…he laughed.

11

EYES ON THE BACK OF MY HEAD

My legs shook slightly as I walked up the wooden steps leading to my Victorian flat. I was exhausted, desperate to get home after working back-to-back shifts, one of them graveyard. Even so, I came to a dead stop before I reached the wraparound porch, feeling suddenly like an animal who’d caught scent of a predator in shifting wind.

Standing there, I looked around.

I couldn’t see anything, or hear anything.

Well, nothing outside of the norm.

The early morning air was crisp, making my breath steam. I could see lights on down most of the block, people in windows probably getting ready for work. I could smell coffee along with the usual faint salt and brine tang in the air. I heard gulls, car horns, the swish of cars sweeping by on nearby Divisadero and Oak Streets. A monitor blared a news feed talking about something in China through another open window. I heard someone laughing…and a dog barking further up the street…but even those felt subdued.

For the city, it was quiet, but not weird quiet.

Normal early-morning, day-about-to-start quiet.

The whole, most-of-us-haven’t-finished-our-first-cup-of-java-yet type of quiet.

And nothing, absolutely nothing I could see or hear, was wrong.

It annoyed me. Not the quiet itself, or the lack of bad vibes, but the increasing frequency of these sudden starts and hesitations, like I’d turned into a frightened deer overnight. Like I was jumping at fucking shadows. I’d never done that before. Never. I’d never been someone who’d been afraid like that. Hell, if anything, I’d always been the opposite.

Well, according to Jon, anyway.

Some part of me couldn’t tolerate being one of those scared people that Cass and I used to roll our eyes at when they expressed reservations about living in a city. I think that was worse than the fear itself: the self-doubt that came with it.

I wanted something tangible, I guess. Something I could wrap my arms around. Something I could point to, at least, where I could yell, “There! That’s it! THAT’s the fucking thing that has to go! That’s the problem!”

But I had no friggin’ idea what the problem was.

Which of course made me wonder if it was all in my head.

I hadn’t seen anything unusual, even though I’d been looking. Little things, sure. But I didn’t trust those things––they were the kinds of things that my mind might easily have made up.

Like my drawings.

I could have sworn my drawings had been messed with.

I couldn’t explain why I thought that either, though. The leather portfolio case had been in exactly the same place it always was, tucked up between the legs of my drafting table and desk. The drawings themselves even seemed to be in roughly the same order I remembered.

Even so, I couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that someone had rifled them. Like I could almost feel the remnants of those fingers and eyes still vibrating on the page.

A part of me was afraid it was Jaden, I guess.

He’d been calling me nonstop since that night.

He’d left messages, asking me what was wrong. He’d left apologies, telling me he thought I was into the whole thing––which made me wince and hit “delete” on my headset queue before I finished listening to him speak. He’d said we were all drunk, that his judgment had been off, that he never meant for anything bad to happen to me.

On one of those, he said he was falling in love with me.

Wait...to be precise, he said that he thought he might be falling in love with me.

The distinction struck me as relevant.

Whether it was or not, though, I didn’t want to hear Jaden’s professions of love. I didn’t want to hear his reasoning behind what I suspected he’d done to me, either, although some smaller, nagging part of me wanted to believe him, probably for reasons that had nothing to do with his credibility and everything to do with my pride.

Even I couldn’t delude myself that well, though.

For one thing, whether it angered me or not, I was rattled. I finally had to admit I’d been rattled enough to try and do something about it, again probably for reasons of pride and needing to feel I was “handling it” as much as anything connected to reality.

So I approached Jon.

I didn’t tell him anything, but I did ask if I could join his kung fu classes for awhile. He’d been surprised...but he’d also been enthusiastic. Really enthusiastic. In fact, he’d thrown me into his beginning classes with a gusto that made me wonder if he’d wanted me in there for awhile.

I found it strangely comforting, in a way, to embrace who I was.

I wasn’t like other people. Jon knew it. Cass knew it, too, although she’d probably deny it if I asked. My parents knew. Hell, even my grandmother knew.

I was different.

I was different, and I needed to be able to defend myself.

Weirdly, it had been pride that kept me from that realization, too. Or maybe just denial, like with everything else. I knew I’d long harbored a desire to just be normal. I tried to convince myself I would grow into normality somehow…like kids grew into big feet or dumbo ears.

But I knew now, that was pretty unlikely.

So I deleted the messages, practiced choy li fut, and I tried to shove Jaden and Mickey from my mind. Eventually, I deleted the messages without listening to them, as soon as I saw his name flashing in the queue.

I didn’t tell anyone about that night...not even Jon.

Then again, what was I going to tell them?

When the blackout lifted, most of what I remembered had seen consensual. I’d come out of Jaden’s bedroom from being passed out…and I’d started having sex with him. I did it right in front of his friends, and in front of at least one of their girlfriends.

Then, when Jaden suggested it, I started having sex with his band members, too.

The problem was, while all of it made me cringe, I couldn’t remember saying no to any of it. I couldn’t remember Jaden forcing me. I couldn’t remember drinking, or doing drugs…or anything that explained why I would have done those things.

All I knew was, someone lied to me. Either I was lying to myself, to the point of being totally divorced from reality…or someone else fed me a line of total b.s.

My vote was Jaden, but I had no proof.

I wasn’t willing to talk about it with anyone, either. Not Jon. Not Cass.

Sure as fuck not Jaden himself.

It lingered around me like a scent, though, that bad feeling.

More than that, it brought up emotions I hadn’t dealt with since I was kid. That sick, stomach-wrenching feeling, for one. The knowledge that I was different…that there was something wrong with me, that there was something wrong with me sexually, in particular…mixed with a helpless anger that almost scared me more, if only because I could feel the colder violence behind it. Some part of me wanted to hurt the fucker.

Like, really hurt him.

I didn’t like that feeling...even apart from the fact that it could land me in jail.

Maybe I just didn’t want to know what I was really capable of, when push came to shove. I remembered people making bravado claims about what they’d do if this happened to them or that happened to them. Usually they were full of shit. Jon said the same. People talked a lot of trash, but most of them wouldn’t do anything.

But I could feel that part of me now. The part of me that was dead fucking serious. I could feel the part of me that would hurt someone.

For real, I mean.

So I just removed the possibility from my mind.

I focused on Jon’s self-defense training, instead. I focused on the thought that it wouldn’t happen again, not to me…that I wouldn’t let it.

I knew that was more bravado, too, but I didn’t care.

Jon showed up at Baker Beach that morning, just like that voice...or presence...or whatever it was...said he would. I didn’t question that much at the time, either, or since, really. I still didn’t want to think about how weird that aspect of things had been, or the fact that he...or it…or whatever he or it was…was probably just a hallucination.

The fact that I could still feel traces of his anger when I concentrated hard enough, along with things that felt a lot more personal...was irrelevant.

Or so I told myself.

Because hell, the last thing I needed was to start walking that road of questioning things about my own sanity.

Or worse. I could start questioning my race.

It didn’t help how I’d been found and adopted as a kid. I knew law enforcement thought I was a seer when they first found me under that overpass as a baby. They did blood test after blood test, trying to confirm that I wasn’t human, but every test screamed human at them anyway. Eventually, they had to leave me and my adoptive parents alone.

I still felt defensive about it, though.

I mean, I saw how seers lived.

I didn’t see them often in reality, of course. There was the occasional glimpse of a collared seer owned by a corporation downtown, or seer sex workers standing outside high-end clubs on Broadway. Even more rarely, I saw privately owned seers with their rich owners, only discernible by their weird-colored eyes and their sight-restraint collars.

Those were rare. Even more rare than the other kinds of seers I mentioned above.

Mostly, I saw seers on the feeds, especially the news feeds.

Then there were the seer bands I liked, owned by one record label or another. There were a number of seer actors owned by the studios that I also found fascinating. I wasn’t alone in that…most of my friends thought they were pretty damned hot, too. I also liked Void Watch, a nonfiction crime show about seers, which showed them solving crimes and foiling terrorist plots and so on. And yeah, some of that was cool.

But I didn’t for a second believe that was how most seers lived.

I’d also seen news commentators rant about “icebloods,” and how we should just nuke all of Asia, wipe them off the planet before their numbers grew large enough for them to be a real threat. I’d seen the more mundane, day-to-day stuff, too: stories about seers being beaten to death in the street, gang-raped by mobs, chased down and burned by religious fanatics who called them the “Nephilim,” sold to the mafia for sex clubs and porn.

Most of that happened in Asia, where the majority of seers lived, but I’d seen riots in Eastern Europe and even one in the red light district in London, England.

I’d seen human protests on both sides of the “seer issue” when government officials came to town, or when the World Court had one ruling or another that rubbed people the wrong way.

Seer rights was one of Jon’s rant-topics, actually.

Jon was a lot more political than I was, and he’d get pissed as hell if you brought that shit up, about seer policy and the Human Protection Act and Seer Containment and whatever else. He could end up muttering about it for days if you really got him going, like an automatic hot-button of injustice that just infuriated him. He got angry about the seers’ rights side of things, of course, because he was that kind of guy…but he also got angry because he was convinced the government and major corporations used seers to spy on us and manipulate us, meaning other humans.

And yeah, I couldn’t really disagree that it was a definite possibility.

After all, if people can do something––especially if they can get away with it––then chances are, some of them will. No matter how fucked up it is.

On the other hand, I doubted the government really needed to spy on most of us.

Most of us didn’t pay enough attention for them to bother.

But yeah, I wasn’t anxious to have my race-cat called into question, for any reason.

I’d tested a full-blooded human since I was a baby, so I wasn’t worried, exactly...but I’d also gotten the side eye enough times to be paranoid.

I also knew Seer Containment made mistakes.

I didn’t want to be one of those mistakes. I wasn’t anxious to be shipped off to Asia to live in some seer commune...or worse, sold to some rich douchebag here in the States, just to act as his personal fuck toy. Besides, whoever bought me would want me to spy on their friends and business associates, and probably wouldn’t be too happy with me when I couldn’t.

The wind kicked up, snapping me out of my thoughts.

It also reminded me that I still stood at the bottom of my stairs, looking up at my own apartment building.

Well, house, really. Or it had been, before they partitioned it off into flats to take advantage of the astronomical rents in San Francisco. A three-story Victorian, painted light blue, it now comprised four main apartments and an attic, and the only reason I could afford to live there at all was that I’d signed the lease with another woman who’d been my roommate when I first got out of school. She’d gotten put on the lease by her grandmother who lived here for like, thirty years, and so locked in with the rent control. When my original roommate, Angie, met a guy and moved out, she let me keep the lease.

Which, yeah, was insanely cool of her.

Forcing out a sigh, I jerked my feet and legs forward again.

The door stood locked, sitting in its frame, slightly crookedly, exactly as it should.

No one was waiting for me in that house. No mysterious person who liked to rifle through my drawings. No Jaden. No Mickey. No random serial killers.

Not even Cass would be there. She’d made up with Jack finally, and moved back in with him the previous weekend, despite me and Jon trying to talk her out of it.

Exhaling in irritation at my own continued foot-dragging, even after my quasi-pep talk in my head, I lifted my combat-booted foot and resumed walking up the creaky stairs. I got up to the porch before I pulled my backpack around my body and fished in the smaller pocket for my keychain, still muttering.

I wanted to get a nap in, and get up in time to eat something so I could catch Jon’s noon sparring class in the outer Richmond. I had my mind back on logistics, sighing in a kind of blissful relief when I remembered a hot shower waited for me inside. I slid the slightly-bent key into the lock, jiggled it a little, and twisted it to the left to open the deadbolt.

I was still looking down as I walked in, nearly tripping over the mail that had been shoved through the slot, as I tugged at the key to get it free of the lock.

The mail itself flickered at me, VR-enhanced, glossy packets likely just itching to fill my headset with adware viruses if I was stupid enough to let any of them close enough. Mostly, I had Cass to thank for that, given her propensity to order crap over the feeds that forced her to give out our physical address.

Muttering another string of curses under my breath, I switched off my headset before it could trigger any of the wireless packets, unhooking it from around my ear and shoving it in my backpack for good measure before I tossed my backpack down the hall and out of range of the pile of crap by my front door.

Now I’d have to soak these fucking things in water, too, before my shower. I wanted to make sure they were toast before I forgot about them, though…which I would inevitably do after I’d slept a few hours.

“Damn it, Cass,” I muttered, shoving the door closed behind me with one hip.

Then I looked up.

A man stood behind the door.

I let out a surprised gasp.

It would have turned into a full-blown scream, but he clamped a hand over my mouth, fast. Too fast for me to finish inhaling that breath. Then, before I could fight him, he spun me around so fast I lost my breath entirely.

He slammed me roughly into the wall, then pinned me there.

He managed to use his knees, hands, arms and even a shoulder to hold every one of my limbs completely immobile. He pinned my body with most of his weight, too. It all happened so fast and so skillfully that before I could wrap my head around what he was doing, it was already done. I fought to yell against his fingers, but he only clamped his hand down tighter, pressing his mouth and face by my ear.

“Gods,” he breathed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for scaring you...but this is necessary, Esteemed Bridge...I swear to the gods it is necessary...”

I writhed against him, feeling his heart beat against my chest, feeling him grip me firmly, but without hurting me, without even any real threat in his hands. When I bucked harder to get away, he pressed the length of his body against mine, again seemingly only to hold me in place. Even so, an unambiguous erection pressed into my thigh, and I cried out, fighting against him harder.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “Gods, I’m sorry...”

I found myself looking up at him.

He had a deep voice. A faint German accent touched his syllables, making me stare at him.

It occurred to me that I had no idea who he was.

I confirmed that fact again, looking over the rest of him.

I definitely didn’t know him. I’d never seen him before in my life.

Angular features and high cheekbones stood out a narrow face. He had pale eyes, ghost-like, almost colorless eyes, like tinted glass. His mouth was narrow, set in a firm line below a prominent nose. He had coal black hair, cut on the long side but likely expensively, and if I saw him on the street, I might have thought he had money, between that and the suit.

The longer I looked at him, the more I knew I didn’t know him, and yet also that I did.

I didn’t know his face, I was certain of that. He wasn’t the kind of guy who’d blend in among the people I knew, so I doubted I’d seen him around anywhere, either, and just forgotten. He wasn’t what I’d call handsome, not stereotypically, anyway, but I definitely would have remembered this guy if I’d seen him before.

So yeah, I didn’t know him. Even so, his presence crashed around me, making my skin vibrate, making my chest hurt.

Suddenly, I knew the reason for that aching familiarity.

I didn’t know how I knew, but I did.

It was him. It was the guy in my head.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured again, pressing deeper against me. I winced against the erection I felt a second time, letting out another strangled cry against his fingers and hand. “I won’t hurt you...I swear to the gods, I won’t touch you, Allie…I promise.”

I felt him hesitate, wanting to say more.

Then, out of nowhere, something in him seemed to switch over.

Once it had, his presence evaporated like smoke. He seemed to vanish from around me, every fragment of his being blown away, as if by a strong wind.

“Sleep,” he murmured against my ear. “Sleep now, Allie...sleep...please, honey...”

His words grew softer, vague, as smoke-like as his presence.

He was so fucking tall. How was he so tall?

His faintly accented voice receded further as I looked past the warmth of his cheek. He was far away now, as far as the hallway of my Victorian flat, the VR ads moving and shifting on the hardwood floor, my beat up backpack lying near the end of the foyer.

All of it was far away, as if coming from the other end of a long, hollow tunnel.

I hung there, no longer fighting, only staring up at the ceiling, his hand still clamped over my mouth.

Despair filled me. I remembered the bar, when everything collapsed on me before.

I knew what was coming next.

But I couldn’t move. Like that time in the bar, I couldn’t stop it.

I was already there, in that same exact place.

Nowhere.

12

CLEAN SLATE

Revik held her against the wall, fighting to control his light, his mind, even his body, although he knew that last part of the equation no longer mattered...not to her, at least.

He couldn’t calm her fear. He’d tried, but he couldn’t.

She’d recognized him somehow. She’d known him, even though...

Shaking his head, he cut off the thought.

It was impossible. She couldn’t have known him. The Council assured him she had no access to her abilities yet. She was blind. Human-blind. There’s no way she could have known him through that, through the dense locks they held on her light to keep her from discovering who and what she really was.

But Revik knew what he’d heard. He couldn’t make himself unhear it.

Feeling his breath twist and clench in his chest, he looked down at her closed eyes, at the tension that remained in her features, vibrating her light. He’d used his aleimi to knock her out, severing the immediate connection between her body and light. She’d gone out at once, like a human would have, and basically in his arms.

He felt a sick, horrible feeling in his gut, looking at her.

She’d felt his erection. He hadn’t been able to control that, either.

“Fuck,” he muttered, taking his hand off her mouth.

Still keeping his hand lightly on her face, he gently allowed her head to slump forward, still monitoring her light. Traces of her fear coursed through the edges of her aleimi. He felt the sharper, stronger pieces of that light past the near-human fog that surrounded her, obscuring her from the Barrier, like the Council wanted.

He knew the Seven maintained that fog, both to keep her from waking fully to her seer nature, and also to keep her hidden from other seers.

She really did look nearly human from the Barrier.

Well, not this close, but normally she did. Look human, that is.

No mean feat, really…for any seer, but especially given who she was. But then, the seers protecting her were some of the highest ranked seers alive. Vash himself had to be close to seven hundred years old. He’d spent a good portion of those years training his aleimi to the highest levels possible, at least within the monastic traditions, if not the more militaristic branches, such as the Adhipan or the Seven’s Guard.

They had good reason to keep her hidden, too…at least until she could be trained to defend herself from the Rooks and whoever else. Even so, it still made him nervous. It made him nervous long before Jaden and even that fucker, Mickey, entered the picture.

Really, it bothered him since he was first assigned to her.

That had been her seventh birthday.

He remembered looking at her, unable to see her as anything but a child, one surrounded by her natural enemies, even as her human parents doted on her.

It bothered Revik––a lot, at times, even back in those early years.

He still didn’t understand how the Council changed her biology so much, either…how they got her to age so quickly, more or less pacing her human peers, year for year. He assumed it must be through some esoteric magics of theirs, or something to do with her intermediary status, or both, but the question nagged at him.

And yes, that fact reassured him in some respects, but it made him more nervous in others. For one, she looked sexually mature far younger than an ordinary female seer would have. Most seers looked like children until around twenty or so, when they entered adolescence and their bodies began to change in more noticeable ways.

Humans reached that phase a decade earlier.

Therefore, in addition to everything else, her very appearance confused Revik; it also made him extremely uncomfortable when he saw adult humans noticing her sexually at such a young age. Really, she’d been having problems with humans since he first got tasked with protecting her. Humans reacted to her, even shielded as she was. They just knew, somehow.

Strangely, they knew even while blind themselves.

But perhaps she woke up their light, even now. Maybe her job started down here the instant she incarnated, whether she acted upon it consciously or not.

Revik forced that out of his mind, too.

He fought not to remember the things her biological mother, Kali, said to him, all of those years ago, and focused instead on what he was doing there now. Really, given what she was, he could not take his own reactions to her too much to heart, either.

Many, many seers would react strangely to her. Many more, once she awakened for real.

Already, especially this close, her light was…different.

It pulled at his, wanting his to come closer, wanting his light to coil into hers. That had to be some function of her being the Bridge, too.

It had to be.

He could not afford to think about it differently, given his job. He also couldn’t let himself play magical thinking games, simply because Kali screwed with his head all of those years ago, telling him that he would have some kind of “relationship” with the Bridge once she became an adult. He couldn’t trust Kali’s motives and he knew it. She’d wanted him away from Dalejem. She’d wanted both of them to protect her daughter.

Revik had zero doubt that she would have said whatever she thought she needed to say to keep her daughter safe. He suspected that would be true even if her daughter wasn’t the Bridge.

Seers had never been particularly rational when it came to their children.

For the same reason, he’d wanted to hate Allie, when he’d first been assigned to her.

He’d felt played, messed with, manipulated...and he’d wanted to hate Kali’s daughter because of it, or at least dislike her enough to keep a hefty emotional distance between himself and his charge. If nothing else, he’d wanted to prove to them that he couldn’t be puppeteered so easily. He’d hated that they’d used Kali’s child to drive a wedge between him and Dalejem. He’d hated how easily both of them had been used.

He hated how much he’d been asked to give up.

Most of all, he hated how sure Kali was of him.

He’d hated her knowing, amused looks…as if his life had already been written in her eyes...as if Revik had no say in what happened at all.

So he decided he would not grow attached to Kali’s daughter, no matter how long he was assigned to her. He told himself it was a job, that he would do it out of duty, but he didn’t have to like her to do it well. He told himself he would do the job better if he disliked her...that he would be better able to be objective. Make the tough calls.

He hadn’t been able to do that, either.

Clicking under his breath, he muttered a few curses in German, watching her face as she breathed, as her body leaned against the wall and him, her eyes closed.

He did another surface scan of her light, if only to buy himself time to calm down.

Her fear was starting to dissipate now. He watched her face smooth as her light slid into a higher area of the Barrier. He could see a different frequency weaving through her aleimi now, a golden-white hue he saw in her dreams sometimes, that he associated with her protectors in that other place. He saw an ocean there sometimes, a long gold and white beach. He saw high clouds, towering mountains made of red and gold light.

She looked safe there...her light at least. She looked calm.

She also looked very far away.

Once Revik felt satisfied she was okay, he knew he should send up a flare to the Adhipan seers spotting him. He contemplated that reluctantly, too, but had little choice. He was lucky to have this duty at all, and he knew it.

He also knew he had Vash, primarily, to thank for that fact.

Why the old man continued to protect him was beyond Revik’s ability to comprehend, but he knew he should act significantly more grateful the next time he saw the aged seer.

Taking another breath, he sent up the flare.

Immediately, he felt a response.

Rather than Yumi that time, Balidor himself appeared in Revik’s light.

Revik knew that wasn’t exactly a sign of confidence in his abilities, either. Bringing the leader of the entire fucking Adhipan to supervise what should have been a routine light assessment gave him some idea of how much they trusted him, too.

She is the Bridge, Balidor reminded him. Nothing with her is routine, brother.

Revik didn’t answer that.

Even so, he acknowledged the other with his light...politely, if noncommittally. Even he couldn’t bring himself to mouth off to the head of the Adhipan.

Well, not for such a small reason.

A pulse of humor wafted out from Balidor’s aleimi.

Take her somewhere she might have fallen asleep, the Adhipan leader advised.

Revik nodded. Even so, he didn’t move right away. He only stood there instead, nearly holding his breath as he watched her light, coiling it gently into his as he tried to feel how much of her fear remained there.

He’d really fucking scared her. A lot.

She won’t remember any of this, Balidor reminded him, his thoughts more gentle. You did well to make it quick. Remember, there was no other way...this cannot be done remotely. Not as thoroughly as we require.

Revik exhaled, then shook himself out of his own reaction.

After all, her fear was part of why they had decided to do this now.

Acknowledging the other seer’s words in the Barrier, less formally that time, he steeled himself for what came next. He knew he couldn’t overreact to this part, either.

She needed him calm. Cool.

Professional...for want of a better word.

He bent down, allowing her to fall gently over his back and shoulder. Arranging her weight briefly, he straightened a few seconds later with her body slung in a fireman’s carry, her arms and legs loose on either side. He went back and forth for a few more seconds in his mind, trying to decide between the couch and the bedroom. Part of him thought the couch might be less conspicuous in terms of any gaps in her mind...especially if he left the main monitor on, tuned to one of her favorite feed stations.

In the end he went with the bedroom, though.

She’d been thinking about her bed and a shower as she walked up the stairs.

Pain slid through him at the thought, there and gone...but dense enough and sharp enough to blank out his mind while it was there.

Steady, brother... Balidor murmured in his mind.

Revik still felt no judgment there.

Even so, his neck and face flushed with warmth.

Fuck these Adhipan and their ability to see through his shields.

He shoved that out of his mind, too.

Entering her bedroom cautiously, he got her down on her bed seconds later, laying her gently on the white bedspread under a ceiling splashed over with virtual galaxy paste.

The paste glowed like fireflies in the dim light with her shades closed...swirling into star clusters and nebulae in the darker parts of the ceiling, even with the flickers of morning sun filtering through the shades. He glanced up at those fantastical constellations and exhaled again. Bending down, he untied then pulled off her boots, one by one.

He left her clothes alone, even though she still wore her waitressing uniform, which smelled faintly of grease and coffee from her many hours of work. He placed her hands carefully on her sternum, more to get them out of the way. He slid her pillow all the way under her head after straightening her legs.

Another bare pause later, and he crawled over her prone form.

Arranging his long body and legs, he stretched out on top of the bedspread next to her.

Once he was lying comfortably on his back, his arm touching hers, he pinged them again.

I am ready, he told Balidor.

It took hours.

Revik knew the Adhipan cleared her schedule, so to speak...which included watching her house to make sure no one unexpected approached who might interrupt them.

Mainly, however, it meant pushing Jon and Cass’s minds to other things and people, and making sure she didn’t get called back in to work. It also meant keeping her mother away from any bars for the night, which probably would have brought Jon here regardless.

Given how Revik normally monitored those channels and people himself, it felt strange, how quiet it was, at least in those times he wasn’t actively in the Barrier and working.

He lay there, mostly following instructions and gentle prods as he went through and catalogued markers in her light. They had him officially confirm her ID, which they’d held off on doing until enough of her had “landed” here that they could feel confident on formalizing that with the officials in Seertown. Once that had been completed, they led him through a more detailed mapping of her light, looking at structures far more closely than Revik or anyone else had on her up until now. They had him do it for security purposes, they said, to find her more easily in the Barrier.

They also did it, Revik suspected––although no one said it aloud––for her eventual training. That would happen when the Council gave the go-ahead to activate her for real. At that point they would remove the shields over her light and bring her back to Asia, which likely wouldn’t happen until her thirtieth year, if not later.

That was the first Revik heard of that, too.

He didn’t argue with them, but his mind exploded in a silent protest at the information.

Thirtieth year? They wouldn’t begin even training her for another eight years?

They might as well just draw a target on her back right now.

Even the Bridge would need training. No seer came in who didn’t need it, if only to reawaken and remember what they had known before. To leave her vulnerable until such a late age, without even an awareness of her true race…

Revik fought to keep his reactions to that information in the background.

They told Revik they’d chosen to do this now, since he was here, in San Francisco.

Revik knew they’d also done it partly as a test, to see how he would react after hours immersed in her light. He fought not to let either thought worm too deeply into his mind or light, but he couldn’t entirely suppress his rebellion at the idea that they would wait so long to awaken her, given everything going on in the world.

Patience, brother Revik… Balidor sent to him, more than once.

Revik didn’t answer that, either. Not with words, anyway.

By the end of their work, Revik was surprised to see that it was dark outside the house. A whole day had passed, and while it felt long in some respects, he also couldn’t believe it when they had finished. Balidor declared the mapping complete at one point, after they’d spent what must have been at least an hour looking at a particular configuration of structures in her aleimi that none of them had seen before, or could identify.

That is enough for now, I think… Balidor sent, pulling his people back from the Barrier as he spoke it. We have enough here, brothers and sisters…for now, at least…

Revik felt their lights retreat gradually from around his and Allie’s, leaving them more or less alone. He began to extract his own light from the Bridge’s, as well, but Balidor sent him a heated pulse, telling him to wait.

Confused, Revik complied.

For a long moment, he only lay there, watching the other seers leave. When the rest had gone, leaving only him, Alyson and Balidor himself, Revik found himself waiting again, this time for the senior infiltrator to tell him what he wanted. Balidor did so only after the last trace of his seers had evaporated entirely, leaving silence.

Then he addressed Revik directly.

You have a decision to make, brother, Balidor began gravely.

Revik began to shake his head, to tell him that he didn’t, but Balidor sent another pulse, a warning one that time, cutting him off before he could respond.

Not that, Balidor sent. That is not the kind of decision I meant, brother. The Council has agreed to keep you on as the Bridge’s guardian. The decision was nearly unanimous.

Revik grunted outside of the Barrier, unable to help himself.

Nearly? he sent.

Balidor ignored his sarcasm. That more serious tenor of his light didn’t alter.

The Council now agrees with you, that this experience was overtly traumatizing for our beloved intermediary, the Bridge… Balidor began.

Revik felt his confusion turn rapidly to disbelief, then to anger. They needed a fucking map to tell them that?

Brother, are you going to listen to me? Balidor sent mildly. Or not?

Revik fell silent. With an effort, he once more opened his light.

When he did, he felt Balidor sigh. Hell, he could almost hear him clicking to himself from wherever his body resided in the physical world.

…They agree with you now, Balidor repeated, his voice still patient, if a bit more taut. And further, the results of this trauma are disquieting to some of them. She has taken the approach to distance herself further from humans psychologically…to embrace an identity that posits her as different from them. As not quite human, in a sense…

Revik again had to stifle a grunt.

Even so, he kept his light utterly still.

The Council feels this could be…problematic, Balidor added, his light growing more subtle. For a number of reasons, really, not the least of which being that it substantially increases the risk that she will discover the nature of her true race. Moreover, she is already experimenting with her light in ways that could awaken structures in herself…thus potentially making her more visible to the Rooks and others. Particularly in the form of martial arts she is practicing with her adoptive brother.

Again, Balidor paused, maybe to give Revik time to absorb his meanings.

In sum, Balidor continued. They are now more amenable to alternate approaches to managing what occurred between her and this human male, brother Revik. They are leaving the decision to you, since they agree you know her light the best at this point.

Decision? Revik felt a kind of disbelief take over his light. They would really let me kill that walking piece of excrement?

Balidor exuded a plume of impatience. Brother. Are you truly asking me that?

Revik felt his anger deepen. Then what ‘decision’ could you possibly be referring to, Adhipan Balidor? Would they like me to have a talk with cousin Jaden? See if I can convert him to Code, to atone for his sins?

We are not concerned with the human males at all, brother Revik, Balidor sent, his thoughts an open warning. Our concern lies solely with our Esteemed Bridge. You have the option to try and help her to manage these memories in less dangerous ways, to steer her into seeing herself once again as fully human, or…

In the space, Balidor shrugged, almost an apology.

…Or you can take those memories away from her, brother Revik, he sent, quieter. Allow her to proceed as if the incident never occurred.

Revik thought he’d heard the seer wrong at first.

Staring up at the ceiling and the virtual galaxies swirling there, he felt his mind go utterly blank for a few seconds.

Before he could wrap his head around Balidor’s words, or control the anger that once more surfaced and sparked in his light, Balidor interrupted his thoughts again.

Please think of her in this, Dehgoies, Balidor sent, expanding a pulsing tendril of warmth over Revik’s chest. Please. Whatever your anger at the Council for letting this thing happen… For the first time, a true edge crept into his voice. …An anger that not all of us feel is displaced, by the way, brother…you must think of her now. Only her. And her higher self, not simply the young seer down here. You must help us decide what will be better for her at this time…what will allow her to best fulfill her purpose here on Earth.

Her purpose? Revik sent, not hiding his anger.

It is why she is here, Balidor sent back mildly. Do you respect her so little, brother, that you would deliberately get in the way of what she herself has decided to put herself through to accomplish this? Do you imagine our Bridge to be some fragile flower, who cannot withstand the dangers and darknesses of this world…or anything the humans can throw at her?

Something in the seer’s words made Revik pause again.

He didn’t answer, though, and felt Balidor sigh.

I know you are a religious man, Dehgoies…

Religion has fuck-all to do with this, Revik snapped.

The hell it doesn’t! Balidor sent back, just as sharply. If you believe she is here for the reasons the Council does, then you cannot simply treat her as a regular seer, Dehgoies. Young though she is, you cannot treat her suffering the same, either…or even her rights to a ‘happy life,’ as the humans put it. She would not thank you for coddling her in this…I promise you!

Revik fell silent at that, too.

It irritated him more than he could express that he felt the truth in the other’s words. Somehow, it took another infiltrator to explain this to him, not a Council monk. He needed to see this as a warrior did, whatever their persuasion.

Once he had, he found himself thinking, turning over what Balidor had said.

He tried to do as Balidor asked, too…to try and see it from Allie’s point of view, meaning that higher part of her, the one that would not want her light to become bitter against the human race. He could not identify with the mind of an intermediary, of course. He knew his own light would be far too unsophisticated for that, but he could try to understand it from the perspective of one down here…someone on a mission that they would not want interrupted, not for anything that could be controlled. He tried to think past his anger at the violation itself to how he would feel, if he were on such a mission.

A mission that could be jeopardized by one bad day.

In doing so, he didn’t really try to understand what Allie herself might actually want in this…meaning the person he knew down here. He strongly suspected he already knew what she would say, anyway. She would fucking hate the idea of being erased. She would want to remember what Jaden had done to her. She would want to know about it, if nothing else, so it would never happen again. She would hate the idea of anyone giving her some kind of clean slate if it meant lying to her about the reality of her own life.

Moreover, she would want to power through it. She would be angry at all of them for thinking that she couldn’t handle it without being “damaged” in some way.

Revik then wondered, if it had happened to him, if he could ever not hold a grudge against the kind of people who would do such a thing.

Could he confine his anger to Jaden alone? Decide that Jaden and Mickey were nothing more than anomalies, aberrations in the otherwise good intentions and deeds of the wider human race, regardless of all evidence to the contrary? Would he be able to stop himself from seeing the patterns of human abuse across the world? Could he separate that from the Jadens and Mickeys and others who made up the mundane and depressingly consistent details?

He decided he could not.

Moreover, if he found out he wasn’t one of them, it would be a profound relief. He would do everything he could to distance himself from their kind.

To eradicate any and all similarities between himself and them.

Fine, he sent. His thoughts turned hard. If you truly wish our Esteemed Bridge to continue her love and over-identification with our human cousins… Sarcasm leaked into his words, he couldn’t help it. …Then I think we should erase her. Make her forget.

There was a silence.

Revik felt Balidor nodding then, not reacting to his sarcasm, but perhaps looking at the meaning of Revik’s words behind it.

You are sure? he said only.

Thinking about it again, Revik sighed, clicking sharply under his breath.

That time, his words came out subdued.

Defeated, perhaps.

I am sure, he sent. Erase it. All of it.

13

ALL APOLOGIES

He looked familiar somehow, but I couldn’t place his face.

Shocking blue eyes, so light they almost looked clear in the direct sunlight. Black hair. Tall. A quirk on his lips that suggested a smile, but wasn’t quite one.

He had tech hipster written all over him.

That didn’t turn me off, exactly, but it wasn’t exactly points in his favor, either. Then again, he had a sticker of my favorite seer band on the back of his laptop, so bonus points for that. The laptop itself looked friggin’ ancient. Like it might not even have any kind of real folding tech. He hammered away at it with his fingers like an old pro, though, so maybe it didn’t matter to him.

Kind of like eccentrics who wrote with typewriters.

When he looked at me again, I smiled. I spoke before I knew I meant to.

“What’re you writing?” I said.

He shrugged, tossing his head to get long, black bangs out of those blue eyes.

They looked darker to me now, I noticed.

Why had I thought they were almost clear before?

A trick of the light, maybe.

“A story,” he said, as if embarrassed by the admission.

I laughed, walking closer, still holding the coffee pot. “You said that like it was something dirty. Is it dirty?” I quirked an eyebrow at him when he looked up.

This was pretty unlike me, actually. I wasn’t much of a flirt, not usually.

That was Cass’s department.

Seeing my expression, he shook his head and grinned. “Maybe not dirty enough…maybe that’s the problem. Know anyone who writes porn?”

“You’re an aspiring porn writer?” I said.

He laughed aloud that time. “No…it just sucks…I think,” he said, his frustration audible in his voice again. “I’m a song writer. I should probably stick to that. But my friend is starting an art and literary mag on a new alt-feed, and he asked me for a short story.”

I walked over, sliding into the booth across from him. “Let me see,” I said, holding out my hand rather than grabbing his laptop.

He gave me a horrified look. “No way.”

“Come on,” I said. “Don’t be such a baby. I’ll be gentle…but honest.”

He burst out in another laugh. “Okay, then no fucking way.”

“Come on,” I cajoled. “One little peek.”

“Who are you?” he said, laughing again. “The fiction police?”

I felt my face warm a little. It occurred to me only then that I just sat down at some total stranger’s booth, wearing my waitressing uniform no less, and demanded that he show me a personal piece of his writing.

I didn’t even know this guy. What the hell was I doing?

Still smiling, I started to get back to my feet, and he grabbed my wrist, stopping me.

“Wait,” he said. “I was kidding, okay?”

I stopped, halfway out of the red vinyl booth seat.

When he didn’t go on right away, I just waited, watching his face curiously as he seemed to struggle with why he’d stopped me.

“Do I know you?” he said finally.

We just looked at each other.

Then both of us burst out in a laugh.

“I know that sounds like a line…” he said, flushing behind that quirked mouth. The blush made his ears pink, I noticed. Something about that touched me.

“Just a little,” I said, grinning.

“Really,” he said. “Who are you?”

“I’m Allie,” I said, tipping an imaginary cap, using the hand still clutching the black plastic handle of the glass coffee pot. “…At your service.” Then, making my face deadpan, I lifted the pot higher. “Coffee?” I queried lightly.

He laughed. “Always,” he said, smiling for real. “The way to a man’s heart is caffeine, don’t you know?”

“Well, then I’m a goddess in these here parts,” I grinned. I waved around the restaurant with the coffee pot. “Every guy in here is my bitch. I own all of you. Even the songwriters aspiring to write porn…”

“Only as a hobby,” he clarified.

“The porn? Or the songwriting?”

He sighed, exhaling through pursed lips. “Both. At the moment, anyway.”

“Doing the day job slog?” I said, my voice dripping with mock sympathy. Nodding in an exaggeration of the same, I motioned towards his pale green wrist band, which I’d only just noticed when he grabbed my arm. Unlike the laptop, the thing was name brand and probably cost more than I made in a few months. “Looks like it’s the salt mines for you, baby. Did you break free for lunch? Because it’s back on the chain gang again, once the bossman shoots his rifle in the air, don’t you know…”

He flushed a little, shrugging. “Yeah. I do all right. So?”

“Hey, not criticizing,” I said, meaning it that time. “Where do you work?”

“Gaming,” he said, motioning vaguely. He seemed about to say more, then thought better of it, resting his arm back on the table. “What about you?”

Smiling that falsetto smile, I lifted the coffee pot, doing the game show host thing and motioning elegantly towards it with my other hand.

“We covered that,” I said. “…Glamorous, no?”

Frowning, he shook his head. “No. I meant, what do you really do?” he said.

Meeting his gaze, I considered another sarcastic remark. Then I shrugged, wondering why I was so defensive about waiting tables all of a sudden.

“Another starving artist,” I said, more or less in my regular voice. “I do some commercial art, too, as a side gig. And tats. And shows. Most of it’s pretty low-pay.”

He nodded, smiling a little. “Tats, huh?”

“Hey,” I said, pretending to be indignant. I motioned towards the short-skirted waitressing uniform. “Are you dissing my lifestyle, man? I’ll have you know, it takes a lot of work to live this crappy. Don’t knock it…”

He held up his hands, as if in surrender. “That’s not what I meant. The tat thing is kind of hot, that’s all. And I might hit you up for some work.”

“You have any now?” I said, skeptical. “Besides the government tats, I mean?”

“Of course.” He rolled up the sleeve of his shirt as he said it, showing me a jaguar on his forearm. It covered most of the top so it wouldn’t interfere with his barcode, but the tail coiled around his elbow, a bright orange and black.

I whistled, admiring the cat. “Nice work.”

“Thanks.” He smiled, but his blue eyes had gone thoughtful once more, watching my face, as if trying to see past my expression. “I swear I do know you,” he said, his voice borderline insistent. He was still watching my face. “Don’t suppose you’ve gone to see a band called Eye of Morris play before, have you?”

I shook my head. “Don’t think so. Is that yours?”

He nodded. Shrugging off my puzzled look, he smiled as if to diffuse whatever expression he saw on my face. That more intense scrutiny remained visible behind the smile, though.

“What are you doing after work?” he said.

I laughed, I couldn’t help it. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

“I don’t even know your name!”

He held out a hand, that smile stretching back to a grin. “Hello, Allie-who-I-swear-I-know-from-somewhere. I’m Jaden.”

“Jaden. Nope. Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Maybe you’re blocking it out of your mind.”

I shook my head, smiling again. “I don’t think so.”

“You never know.” His eyes grew thoughtful again, and somehow bluer with every passing second he stared into mine.

I was a bit smitten at that point, I admit it. Funny, artistic, and self-depreciating to boot. Plus, yeah, he was pretty hot. And he had a brain.

“I swear,” he said, laughing a little. “I feel like I should apologize to you.”

“Apologize?” My puzzlement was genuine that time. “What the heck for?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? But you want to offer me a random apology anyway?” I laughed, shaking my head. “That’s pretty metaphysical, man. Did you kill me in a past life or something?”

“No idea,” he said, laughing again. He looked faintly embarrassed now, but his eyes continued to watch mine, almost searching, a thread of seriousness behind the surface humor. “But I really do. Feel like that, I mean. So whatever it is, whatever I did, I apologize. Sincerely. Abjectly. Hoping desperately for forgiveness.”

“Just a blanket, nonspecific apology?” I said, smiling again. “Wow. That’s…just weird, man. Like, kind of batshit weird, if you want the truth.”

“That’s me,” he said. “…Batshit, I mean. But sincere. And really, truly, all apologies.” He paused, still watching my face. “So are you going to go out with me, Allie-Who-I-Killed-In-A-Past-Life? I could write the apology down, if that helps…? Get it notarized…?”

I burst out in another laugh.

This was definitely the weirdest pick up I’d ever been a part of. I still couldn’t even figure out which of us had picked the other up, or if we’d sort of done it mutually. I supposed it didn’t matter.

“Sure,” I said, making up my mind. “And I get off in an hour.”

I never dated, really.

But yeah, sometimes, you had to make exceptions to arbitrary rules.

Sometimes, life just shoved you that way, it seemed.

Revik stands in a field, under a depiction of the Himalayas.

He looks up at those snowy peaks, fighting to blank out his mind.

Still, the presence here, the life behind every fragment of light manages to catch his breath, just like it always does. He finds himself remembering a charcoal drawing depicting those same mountains, the same gnarled tree in a valley carpeted by wildflowers.

She is with him again, a gentle voice asks. It isn’t a question, not really. They met again, did they not…her and the human who abused her?

Revik doesn’t turn. The words hit at his chest, though, burning there, but strangely cold.

Yes, he says only.

Vash sighs, clicking softly from where he now sits under a gnarled tree, the same gnarled tree Revik had just been remembering from Allie’s drawing. The ancient seer’s skin is finely detailed in the Barrier space, down to his recently trimmed fingernails and a splash of what looks like mustard on his sand-colored robe. Before him, on the grass, is a bone china tea set, painted in flowers as delicate as those that dot the grass by his bare feet.

Karma can be mysterious, brother, Vash sends, his voice annoyingly cheerful. …and timelines sometimes annoyingly persistent.

Revik doesn’t comment on that, either.

He remembers the things Adhipan Balidor said, when he first found out. About contracts, life debts of various kinds…the complexities of various responsibilities of all spiritual beings, much less one at a level such as the Bridge.

None of it means shit to Revik, though.

You are not responsible, brother, Vash tells him, softer.

Revik lets out a humorless snort, turning towards him. The fuck I’m not.

You are not, Vash says, his voice firm. This thing, it would happen between them in some way, brother Dehgoies. Perhaps it will happen in a more gentle way now. Perhaps this will be redemption for the human…of some kind, at least. It seems his regret for what he had done to her was genuine, yes? Enough that he remembers it in some way?

Revik gives the old seer an incredulous look, letting the emotions stand out briefly in his light. Getting no reaction from the other, at least none that satisfy the heat in Revik’s chest, he pulls his light inexorably back behind his shield.

Still, he knows Vash feels him.

He is remorseful, is he not? Vash asks again, quieter. Some part of him remembers this thing, and that he lost her because of it…? That he caused her harm?

Revik doesn’t want to talk about this, though.

Not here. Not anywhere.

Not after he spent part of the previous night watching the two of them fuck.

It made him sick. Watching them fuck made him physically sick, and not in the sex-pain way. He just wanted to get the hell out of there.

Anything to get the flavor of her light out of his.

Barely three days passed. Three days. It took them almost that long to complete the wipes on all of them. Not just Allie, but Jaden, too. His band mates. The bartender at the bar. Mickey. Cass. Jon. Allie’s mother. The other waitstaff where Allie worked, and all of her friends she mentioned dating Jaden to. Other assorted witnesses who knew either or both of them, or saw them together on a date, or both.

Three fucking days.

Then that asshole goes looking for her.

He goes to where she works, like a dog following a scent. All Revik could do was stand there, watching it happen from the Barrier. Watching her flirt with him, drawn to him as much as he was her.

He almost hated her for that.

Are you going back to London then, brother? Vash says next.

Revik doesn’t look away from the clouds massing on that crystalline blue sky.

Tonight, he says.

It won’t be soon enough.

He wouldn’t be back again. Not in person, anyway.

Not for a fuck of a long time, he hopes.

14

BRUNCH

Revik walked out of Heathrow Airport, pulling his coat around his throat to cover his neck and part of his face when he saw the rain coming down beyond the overhang. He’d exited the terminal just outside of baggage claim, his one carry-on bag in hand.

He was tired enough to not be focusing very well, beyond scanning signs for the taxi queue and wondering if he should try to grab a drink––or even just some breakfast––before he headed back to the penthouse in Belgrade.

He hadn’t bothered to call Eddard. He hadn’t really been ready for a formal entrance back into his life here; nor had he really wanted to give the British Government a head’s up on his arrival, although he knew they likely would have tracked it through his passport.

He had an infiltrator pass, though, from his work with Mi5.

It meant he could pass as a human and they wouldn’t give him shit about it, even here.

The thing was gold, really, and unusual enough that Revik knew himself to be lucky. More than lucky. He’d never had this much (legal) freedom of travel and association in his life, and he knew it was primarily due to the Adhipan and their contacts in SCARB.

Most seers couldn’t even get their hands on restricted-travel passports, much less travel between countries at will…much less as a human. Most seers could only travel as the property of their human owners. Period.

Although Revik supposed that, technically anyway, that was true of him, too.

He just had a lot more owners. A fuck of a lot more, really.

Grunting, he decided he’d get a drink before going home.

Even if it was ten in the morning.

He was about to step into the crosswalk to head for the taxi queue, when someone stepped directly into his path, facing him.

Revik stiffened at once, taking a snapshot of the person with his light, even before he’d focused directly on his face.

Dark, violet eyes greeted him. The seer wasn’t as tall as Revik, but he was tall enough. Anyway, even apart from the eyes, his high cheekbones and distinctly seer-looking bone structure would have given him away.

“Hello, brother,” the seer said, smiling.

Revik looked him up and down, running another swift scan over the other’s light.

His first thought went to the British government. Then it went to fighting. He remembered the seers in that alley the other night, and wondered if they’d found some way to track him here, to get a ping when he re-entered the country. Them, or someone like them, maybe.

Either way, he assumed this couldn’t be good. He was about to do a real scan of the mystery seer, but the other held up a calming hand, exuding warmth from his light.

“No, brother. I mean you no harm. I vow it.”

“Who are you?” Revik said, his voice rough.

“I work for Torek.” Smiling at what must have been a surprised look on Revik’s face, the seer lowered his hand, once more folding both of them at the base of his back. “He was quite anxious to speak with you, brother, now that you have returned to London. He asked me to see if you would be amenable to brunch at his residence this morning.”

Revik stared at him in disbelief.

Then he grunted a laugh, unable to help himself.

“I'thir li’dare…is he really so worried I’ll renege on the debt I owe him?”

The seer smiled, in such a way that Revik strongly got the feeling that the other knew exactly what that debt entailed. The current payment owed, at least. The seer bowed to him even as he thought it, that small smile still playing around his sculpted lips.

“He is…anticipatory, perhaps, brother,” he said, smiling wider. “I think that would be the more accurate way to see it. He has made all of the necessary preparations with your employers already…and hopes to speak with you of the specifics over brunch.”

Revik stiffened. He felt his jaw tighten, but again, before he could speak, the other held up a calming hand.

“I have said too much,” he said, careful that time, and polite. “I will allow Torek himself to explain his actions…if you would be so kind as to come with me, brother, I am sure he would be more than happy to do that now, before you sit down to eat.” The seer continued to watch him cautiously. “If nothing else, I imagine you are hungry from your long flight. Torek is quite the connoisseur of brunch and breakfast, so I can assure you the meal itself will be worth it, however my remarks or Torek’s actions might have offended you…”

Revik forced a smile. Even so, he felt a darker irritation continue to whisper around his light. Torek had been talking to his “employers”? What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Did he mean the Academy? Mi5? Someone in the Seven?

Whoever he’d been speaking to, Revik was not happy.

“Please, brother,” the seer coaxed. “I have misspoken, and I apologize. Please come with me…allow brother Torek to reassure you that his intentions are wholly benign.”

Revik grunted again, clicking under his breath.

Still, he’d already decided to go.

What the fuck. He was hungry…he also wanted a cup of tea. And he wasn’t yet ready to sleep. Moreover, he did owe Torek the debt. Maybe it was better to just pay the fucking thing, so Torek and his Rynak pals would leave him alone, too. The last thing he needed was to end up on the wrong end of a seer mafia list, and Torek said this would be the end of it.

Right then, more than anything, Revik just wanted to be left in peace.

The seer with the violet eyes led him out to a balcony, after walking Revik through a sprawling, four-story penthouse apartment in Kensington that made Revik’s in Belgrave look like a shithole.

Well, not really.

But it was significantly larger than Revik’s, and had probably three times the four bedrooms in the one Revik was borrowing from the British government.

Torek also clearly liked to spend, both on art and expensive gadgets, including one of the better security systems Revik had ever seen on a private residence, at least from what he could tell in his brief look at the interior and exterior of the property.

He got a look into the security station, too, using his sight and eyes as they passed the open door near the elevators.

The elevator alone would be a fucking nightmare to crack, if Revik ever had to get in here without permission. He’d be better off coming in through the roof, and that had some kind of force field over part of it, from what he got off the machines in the security room…in addition to at least four different pressure trip alarms, and of course, live security guards.

Revik didn’t plan to break into Torek’s apartment, of course.

Old habits died hard, and all that.

“Good morning, brother!” Torek said, opening his arms without getting up. He smiled up at Revik from a padded wooden deck chair on the balcony.

The deck set alone looked designer, Revik noted, and expensive, if well-used.

Revik hadn’t moved, but stood by the door to the balcony, his posture bordering on wary. Glancing behind him, he realized the violet-eyed seer had already disappeared. When he looked back, Torek was watching him, that amused look back in his eyes, along with a more intent scrutiny. Revik felt pain on his light, too.

“And how are you, my brother?” Torek said politely, still smiling.

“Jet lagged,” Revik said.

Torek laughed. “Of course you are. Would you like to sit? Or did you plan to keep your current posture…presumably so you can bolt as quickly as possible?”

Revik felt his jaw harden, but when Torek laughed again, he shook his head, clicking softly. Walking to the table with deliberate strides, he pulled out the wooden chair across from Torek and sank his weight onto the blue and white striped padded material. He glanced up when a white-clad waiter appeared, human, holding a silver carafe of coffee. He shook his head to the unspoken question when the man leaned over him, motioning with his fingers towards the coffee cup by Revik’s plate.

“No,” Revik said. “Tea.”

The human nodded, retreating back through the glass doors. Seconds later he returned, holding a bone china tea pot. The human poured silently while Revik watched, then placed milk and sugar by his cup.

“Breakfast, sir? We have wild mushroom and goat cheese crepes, as well as––“

“Sure. Whatever. That’s fine.”

Revik barely glanced up at the human as he said it, only dimly aware he’d interrupted him as he went back to watching Torek warily.

The gold-eyed seer was definitely way too happy to see him.

“Your…employee,” Revik said, picking up the cup after he’d topped it off with milk. “He told me you contacted my employers?”

Torek frowned, glancing at the door to the balcony. “Did he?”

Revik exhaled in irritation. “You’re going to make this about him?” he said. “Why not talk to me, Torek? Who the fuck did you contact? And why?”

“Brother, brother…” Torek waved a hand, a calming gesture. “You worry yourself needlessly. It was routine only.”

“I’d prefer to judge that for myself,” Revik retorted. He took a sip of the tea, unable to help noticing it was really fucking good tea, and probably expensive. “Who did you call?”

“I took care of this behind the scenes, brother,” Torek told him.

Leaning back in his chair, he folded his hands across his sternum, looking up as the sun peered from behind clouds. The rain wouldn’t have touched them under the awning but now that it had stopped, Revik noticed that the breeze was warm up here. He glanced at the heating coils in the awning and frowned, looking back at Torek.

“What does that mean?” he said.

“It means I have connections in the British government,” Torek said mildly, his gaze unwavering. “It means I contacted them to ensure I would not be interfering with your work in any way due to our…arrangement. I was merely making it easier for you, brother. Which I would have clarified myself…as soon as the issue became relevant.”

Revik grunted a little, putting down the tea cup. He was about to say more, when the human in white reappeared and set a plate with an omelet, salad and fried potatoes. Revik looked down at it and felt his stomach growl a little.

Torek smiled when Revik next looked up. He motioned towards Revik’s plate after they’d held eye contact for a few seconds.

“Dig in, brother,” he said. “I’ve already eaten.”

Clicking to himself, Revik did as the other said. He found himself overly conscious of being watched every step of the way, however.

He’d never really liked eating in front of other people. Even other seers. Especially anyone he didn’t know well. He was about a third of the way into the omelet and his second cup of tea when Torek spoke up again, leaning deeper into his chair and nursing a cup of coffee.

“I had a contract drawn up, brother. I hope you don’t mind.”

Revik shook his head, once. “I don’t need a lawyer, do I?”

He said it mostly as a joke, but the other laughed. “You almost sound serious,” Torek said. “No, brother…you shouldn’t need a lawyer. It’s not legally binding, simply something to clarify things between the two of us. I would like you to read it, though…obviously.”

Revik clicked his fingers, swallowing the last of his last bite as he motioned in seer sign language for him to hand it over.

“You don’t have to read it now…” Torek said, sounding bemused once more.

“Now is good.”

Torek sighed then sat up. Touching his headset, he said something through the virtual setting that Revik couldn’t feel in any way. A few seconds later, the door opened once more and a different white-clad human entered the room, this time holding a leather portfolio case. He handed it to Torek, bowed, and left out the same door without speaking a word.

“Do you employ only mute humans, brother?” Revik joked, watching the door close.

Torek smiled. He’d unzipped the portfolio and now he handed over several sheets of paper, legal-sized. Revik wiped his hands on a cloth napkin he’d put in his lap, then took the papers and set them to the right of his omelet plate. He left them there as he continued to eat, reading carefully, turning pages only after he’d wiped his hands again.

He got all the way to the end and nodded, once.

“It’s fine,” he said.

“No further stipulations?” Torek said, his voice cautious.

“One,” Revik said at once, glancing up. “No enclosed spaces.”

“Enclosed spaces?”

Revik frowned. “No boxes. No small, windowless rooms. No coffin fantasies or any bullshit like that. It’s a deal breaker, Torek…as in, non-negotiable.”

Torek gazed at him thoughtfully, then nodded. “Done. Anything else?”

Revik skimmed back through one of the paragraphs, then shook his head, once, seer fashion. “No,” he said. “Well…” he amended. “It doesn’t specify length.”

“Does it need to? I’ve said clearly that I won’t interfere with your work.”

Revik grunted, giving him a harder stare. “That could mean a lot of things, brother. I have no desire to become a permanent possession here.”

Torek grinned at him. “It will be over before you need to return to paid work,” he clarified. “Is that straightforward enough? We could change the wording to be more specific on that point, if you like…but believe me, I have no desire to make an enemy of you, brother.”

Revik frowned slightly. Then shrugged. He had ten days before his first class. If Torek spoke to people at the Academy, he would know that.

Either he could trust him, or he couldn’t. He’d already decided to trust him.

Or perhaps that he didn’t care whether he could or not.

“Sure,” he said. “Whatever.”

“And you’re all right with the rest of it?” Torek pressed.

“Which part concerns you particularly, brother?” Revik said politely.

“The deprivation. House rules.” Torek smiled faintly, but it didn’t touch his eyes. “You don’t seem to be one who would hand over agency so blithely…even for such a short time. I am concerned some part of the implications there are escaping your notice.” He shrugged again. “Whatever my predilections, I am not one who enjoys acting on people without their consent.”

Revik sighed, clicking softly. Leaning back in the chair, he tossed his napkin onto his plate and stretched. Relaxing back into the chair, he met Torek’s gaze, shrugging.

“You will sign then?” Torek said.

“Give me one that stipulates the lack of enclosed spaces as punishment, and that clarifies the amount of time––“ Revik began.

“Already done,” Torek said.

As he spoke, the glass doors between the apartment and the balcony opened yet again.

A white-clad waiter appeared, holding a thinner folder than the original portfolio he’d handed Torek. He placed the new one on the table directly in front of Revik, along with an expensive-looking fountain pen.

Then, taking Revik’s mostly empty brunch plate, he bowed and retreated once more through the glass doors. He did all of it without speaking a word to either of them.

Revik could also swear it was a different, third human, one he hadn’t yet seen.

“Seriously,” Revik said, glancing at Torek. “What’s up with the humans?”

Torek laughed. “Stop stalling and sign the fucking contract, brother.”

“You expect this to begin now?” Revik said. “I haven’t even been home.”

“Do you need to go there first?” Torek said, polite. “They are not expecting you.”

“You contacted them, too?” Revik said, frowning.

Torek shrugged, that smile again playing at the edges of his lips.

Grunting, Revik shook his head.

Then he decided, fuck it. This Torek was clearly getting off on controlling things. And throwing him off balance. If he thought Revik would be that easy to bend to his will, then fine, let him try. Given the mood Revik had been in for the past few days, he could use the fucking distraction. He was tired of sparring with his own damned ghosts.

This would be something else to spar with, at least. Something real.

So let Torek try and break him.

Game on.

Opening the folder, Revik didn’t even bother to read the corrections.

Using the pen one of the mute waiters gave him, he signed his name in Prexci, doing it the traditional way, with the clan name before his given, and with his middle name, too. He did it before he had time to second-guess any of it.

Closing the folder with a snap, he handed it to Torek, leaning back in his chair and tilting his face to the sun. When he glanced at Torek next, the seer was smiling, that shrewder look back in his eyes. Revik saw the look there, and wondered briefly, if he’d just made a mistake.

He didn’t have much time to think about that, either, though.

“Champagne, brother?” Torek said politely, holding up the bottle from the ice bucket on his side of the table.

Revik hesitated, then nodded. “Sure.”

He watched the other pour. He picked up the glass once Torek had finished and took an experimental sip. He wasn’t usually a champagne drinker, but this had to be a pretty high-end bottle. It was good. Really fucking good, actually.

Revik found himself finishing off the glass in a matter of minutes.

He leaned back again, closing his eyes as he rested his head on the back of the chair.

“So now what?” he said. “How do you intend to start this, brother?”

Torek smiled. Revik didn’t open his eyes, but he heard it.

“It has already started, brother,” he said, quiet.

Revik raised his head. When he did, his vision tilted slightly, bringing a head rush strong enough to catch him off guard. He blinked to clear his vision, but found his eyes were stubbornly remaining slightly out of focus. Remembering he hadn’t slept in almost forty-eight hours again, Revik rubbed his face with one hand, exhaling.

“I could use a nap, brother,” he said. “Can I sleep?”

“Of course,” Torek said, his voice soothing.

Something in his tone sent a ping of warning through Revik’s light.

The eagerness there, maybe. Or maybe it was something else.

Either way, it hit him in the same set of seconds that he shouldn’t be this tired. Even with the lack of sleep. He had enough control over his body that he didn’t usually crash until he’d pulled the plug himself. Not without a lot more time going by.

Revik looked at the champagne glass, frowned. He looked at Torek.

“Did you give me something?” he said.

Torek smiled, shrugging lightly.

Right about then, whatever the seer had put in his glass started to hit him for real.

Revik felt his light shift. He knew the feeling. Hell, he should. He’d been trained back and forth and up and down to avoid, to never take anything from an untrusted source, no matter what he had to do to avoid––

His mind tilted, even as he staggered to his feet.

“I apologize, brother,” Torek said. He held up a hand, as if feeling the reaction in Revik’s light. His voice grew soft as he stared up at him. “You see, I was warned you’d be a difficult case, brother. A very difficult case. I thought I might need some help…so I obtained some advice from those who knew you. On how best to approach this thing with us…”

Revik stared at him from his unsteady posture on his feet.

His mind whirled around the other’s words.

Terian, fuck. Terry…he had to be talking about Terry, or someone else in the Rooks. They’d know how much to give him, in terms of drugs. Terry would know how to get him down, maybe how to keep him there, too.

His disbelief turned to fury, then a colder hatred.

“I’ll kill you,” Revik managed, gripping the table until his knuckles whitened.

Torek smiled again, that more predatory look sharpening in his eyes. “No, brother. You won’t. But you won’t be getting off as easily this week as you seemed to think, either.”

Revik took a step around the table towards him, fighting the drug desperately now, grappling with every ounce of strength left in his light. He fought to work his way around the physical effects of the chemical, to rebuild connections the drug tried to sever between his body and light. Paralyzed by the effort, he stood there struggling, forgetting to go after the seer in the physical as he grappled with the drug, fighting to remain conscious.

“I must say,” Torek said, placing his own napkin on his plate and watching Revik, his eyes bordering on puzzled now. “…I’m glad I took your friends’ advice. I gave you enough Rohypnol to drop a horse, brother. The fact that you are still on your feet right now is impressive, truly…and a little frightening, honestly.”

Revik could only look at him.

The gold-eyed seer was still watching him when he fell to his knees, gasping.

Revik continued to grip the table in one hand, fighting to remain conscious, to not black out.

This…this is your enemy, Nenzi…not guns, this…

A voice, so familiar.

So fucking familiar, but Revik didn’t know it.

A pale hand, showing him tranquilizer darts, tipped with red.

This is what you must fear, nephew…

Fear exploded over Revik’s light, enough to blank out his mind.

It was the last thing he remembered before he collapsed.

15

DEBT

Revik woke up in a cage.

Panic whipped through his light, causing him to gasp.

He thrashed, slamming his arms and body up against the metal bars. They’d left him only about a foot of space on any side of where he lay. Something had him around the throat. He fought with it with his fingers briefly, couldn’t get it off. He gripped the bars in his hands, yelling out. It was dim where he was, only firelight on the other end of the room.

He was underground.

That fact alone nearly unhinged him, particularly in combination with the cage.

He’d always been claustrophobic. Really fucking deathly claustrophobic.

Somewhere in that, a door must have opened.

“Brother!” a voice called out, rising above Revik’s yells. “Brother, calm yourself. Calm! You are not enclosed here! You are safe!”

“Let me out! LET ME OUT GODDAMN IT!”

“Brother, calm…calm…there is a wide room. Do you see?”

“No.” Revik shook his head. “NO LET ME OUT RIGHT NOW…”

“You are perfectly safe, brother…”

Let me the fuck out…I’ll kill you…I’ll fucking KILL you…

It didn’t really sink in that he wore a collar until he blasted his thoughts out into the Barrier, fighting to get directly at Torek’s light, to make him understand.

The collar activated.

It shocked him…hard.

Hard enough to paralyze him, to grit his teeth, blank out his mind with pain. He dropped his weight back to the metal bars. He laid there, gasping, waiting for the pain to abate. When it finished, he groaned, fighting his light back under control.

A shadow moved over him.

Revik let out another groan, still gripping the bars. Tears ran down his face, partly from the pain, but he felt the futility there, the loss of control, even as that panic in his light worsened. He heard voices above him, but barely comprehended the words in Prexci. All he could feel was that they’d locked him in a box. He was in a fucking box, underground.

Torek took what he’d told him and used it against him…

“No, brother,” the voice soothed. “No, it’s all right. You’re safe…”

This isn’t going to work, a female said. Gaos, Tor…you’re going to give him a fucking heart attack…we can’t leave him down here, whatever that sick bastard said…

There was a pause. Then a clicking sigh.

You’re right. You are right, my love…as always…

Definitely Torek. Revik didn’t relax. He lay there, panting, still gripping the bars. He felt like a coiled snake, ready to strike.

…You’re right, Torek repeated to her. I had no idea he would be so sensitive to this. We’ll try something else. Use the collar to knock him out, so we can move him…

“No!” Revik shouted. “No, goddamn it! Don’t knock me out again…”

But he didn’t get a chance to speak beyond that.

Everything went dark.

Revik leaned against the wall, wincing as he fought to pull his light back under control. He’d lost track of time again. Not just in terms of hours…in terms of the time of day, days of the week…even days more generally.

Without access to his light, he had no idea how long he’d been in here.

It felt like weeks. It felt like more than the time he’d given to Torek via the contract.

He had no idea if that contract had any relevance to what was happening to him now, anyway.

He figured Terry had to be behind this. Someone in the Rooks.

That, or they were looking for information. Something to sell on the Rynak maybe, or maybe Torek was capturing all of this on a recording device and planned to sell it.

Pain flickered around him again and he closed his eyes.

Open them, brother…open them, or I’ll beat you again…and I’ll let her toy with you some more, too…

Revik hesitated only a bare second before he obeyed.

He didn’t see the point in fighting over the little things.

He needed to save his fight for the big things…for the things that mattered.

Like whatever it was Torek really wanted from him.

“You know what I want, brother,” Torek said, his voice a faint warning. “You know exactly what I want…it’s only sheer stubbornness that you won’t give it to me…”

Revik frowned, but didn’t look away from the gold eyes of the other seer. He watched those eyes close as Torek arched deeper into his girlfriend, Haili, from where they fucked on the carpet in front of him. Watching them made the pain worse. But the fact that they had their lights woven into his, wound into him invasively, made the pain unbearable.

He closed his eyes again and Torek hit him harder with his light.

“That wasn’t a request, brother,” he said, his voice colder that time. “Watch, or you won’t eat tonight, either…”

Revik opened his eyes.

He had no idea how long he’d been watching them fuck.

Haili had stopped long enough to give him head for awhile, maybe because his light had been starting to close, to shut down for real…probably for that reason. They wouldn’t let him come, though. They never let him come…and then Torek beat him again and now they were fucking and Revik felt sicker than he could remember feeling. He was hungry, though. Hungry enough that he would do whatever they asked, as long as they fed him afterwards.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be hungry at all right now, brother,” Torek said, his voice holding an edge once more.

Revik looked at him, and right then, the seer came. He groaned, arching deeper into the female seer, and Haili cried out, wrapping her arms and legs around him as she opened her light. Revik’s pain worsened, past where he thought he could stand it, even as their lights flooded back into his. He closed his eyes, not knowing he’d done it that time, not until Torek spoke.

“You aren’t eating tonight, either, brother,” he announced.

Revik’s pain abruptly worsened. Biting his tongue until he tasted blood, he fought not to argue, not to yell at the other male, knowing it would only make it worse.

“Are you going to talk to me then, brother?” Torek said, his voice patient. “You said you would do anything I asked, if I fed you. Have you forgotten so soon?”

Revik felt his jaw harden.

“Well?” Torek said. He gestured gracefully with a hand. “What will it be, brother?”

Torek stood over him now, still naked, his outline in shadow from the fireplace at his back, and the dimmer candles on the mantle over it. The male seer was still erect, despite having finished with Haili. He was muscular and well-built, but Revik didn’t feel any arrogance on him around that fact really, just confidence, and lingering threads of sex-pain as he looked down at where Revik sat at his feet.

Revik felt the relief on the other seer’s light, though, the rippling waves of pleasure from the sex, although he could tell Torek was keeping him from feeling much of that, too, even from a distance. He let him feel just enough to worsen Revik’s own pain.

More than anything, though, Revik felt the confidence there, the utter lack of uncertainty.

He felt patient. A patience borne of never losing.

Revik looked down at his own body, at the metal cuffs on his ankles, the bruises from whatever Torek had done to him earlier. He’d been here long enough to lose weight. His back hurt more than his chest; he couldn’t see his back, though, or the heavier cuffs that held his elbows together, or his wrists, pinning his arms and hands at awkward angles.

He knew he probably smelled bad, from being here too long…but the main emotion that came up was still anger. More anger than he could control briefly.

“Go fuck yourself,” he said, looking up to meet those gold eyes.

Torek smiled down at him, but the smile didn’t move that intent stare.

It also didn’t waver the sureness Revik felt there.

“Come here, Haili,” Torek said, his eyes still on Revik’s. “I think our brother here would like you to play with him for awhile…clearly we have bored him these last few hours.”

Revik closed his eyes, feeling his pain worsen. “Fuck…”

“No, brother,” Torek said.

Revik heard him smile, right before the seer clicked at him softly.

“No, there will be no fucking, I’m afraid…not until you get a hell of a lot more cooperative. But you let me know when you’re feeling like talking, brother. Then we can discuss it…”

Revik opened his eyes long enough to watch the female seer approach him.

She was slick with sweat from being with Torek, her hair partly matted to her neck and face. She smiled at Revik though, and he felt flickers of her desire around him already, her eagerness to do as Torek asked. She wouldn’t make this easy on him. She got off on it, maybe more than Torek himself did. Revik watched her, willing her to come closer even as he felt the angry part of him surge, wanting to beat the shit out of both of them.

“Gods, he’s pretty, baby,” Haili said, coiling herself briefly around Torek when she reached him. “I think we should keep him like this. I could get off just from his light…”

Torek laughed, kissing her on the mouth.

“I think you’ll get awhile more to play with him, lover,” he murmured, looking back at Revik’s eyes. “He’s a stubborn little ex-Rook, this one…so you might have a few weeks, yet, to play with him like this…”

“Weeks?” Revik looked up for real that time, feeling that fear clench back in his chest. As much as time had slipped away from him, blurring in his awareness, confusing him, Revik hadn’t really believed that Torek would break the contract totally.

“Brother,” he managed, nearly a gasp. “Brother…we had an agreement…”

“That I could have you until I broke you,” Torek said, his arms still wrapped around Haili. He pulled her closer, nuzzling her neck and shoulder with his face, pressing against her. “…and as long as it ended before you had to return to your work with the humans, brother.”

“That was a fucking week,” Revik snapped. “Ten days, tops…”

“That week ended days ago, brother.”

“What?” Revik stared at him, feeling his panic worsen. “Brother, you promised me. You said this would not be imprisonment. We had a fucking agreement…”

“We did,” Torek acknowledged. “And I have held to it, brother. In full.”

“How can you say that? You told me a week…”

“I told you no such thing,” Torek said, his voice warning. “The contract you signed stated I could have you for as long as I needed to get you to comply with my wishes…as long as it ended before you had to return to your work.” Torek said the last words mildly but with emphasis, still holding Haili against him as he enunciated the words. “Originally, you were to return to your work in ten days. I arranged for longer.”

Smiling at Revik’s expression, he shrugged.

“Your employers were, ah…quite accommodating, brother. At least, once they knew who I was. I assured them I would return you in pristine condition, of course…and that you were wholly in consent with our arrangement. One of them, in particular, seemed quite turned on by the idea, brother. An Admiral Durenkirk, I believe? He offered me a lot of money, actually. A fuck of a lot of money, just to come visit you while you were here…”

Revik stared at him, rendered speechless at first.

“How long?” he said finally.

Torek smiled, shrugging with one hand.

Looking up at him, Revik felt that pain in his chest worsen.

With it came a darker feeling, a trapped feeling that he almost couldn’t think through. He was still half-lying there, breathing hard, when Haili untangled herself from Torek and knelt down in front of him. She studied his eyes briefly, smiling at him reassuringly, right before she stroked his face, brushing sweat-damp hair out of his eyes.

Leaning closer, she kissed him on the mouth.

Revik found himself returning the kiss.

He couldn’t stop himself, or from leaning into her, trying to touch her with more of his skin. He felt her desire, her wanting of him. She wanted to do more than just pull on him.

She wanted him to lose control for real. She wanted him to talk to Torek, to tell him whatever he wanted to know.

She asked him for it with her light, pleaded with him.

He kissed her harder. He fought to put his light into her, to pull on her, to coax her to touch him, put her mouth on him…

The collar activated, shocking him, and he groaned, retracting his light.

Leaning back, he panted, fighting to control himself as she continued to touch him, murmuring over him, tugging at him with light she pulled through her fingers.

Come on, brother. Please…just do as he asks…please, my beautiful brother…

“I’ll take it off you,” Torek said. He watched as Haili continued to kiss him, working her way down Revik’s jaw, then his neck and chest. “Just say the word, brother, and I’ll take it off you…you can fuck her for real, as many times as you want. She wants you to. You must feel how badly she wants it, brother. She’s already begged me to let her…”

Why are you fighting this? Why, brother? We won’t hurt you…

Revik felt the pain in his light worsen. Haili wrapped her hand around his cock, stroking him gently, squeezing hard enough that he groaned.

Just let him feel you there, brother…it’s all he wants. Give him your light. Tell him what he wants to know and we’ll take such good care of you…I promise you we will.

Revik closed his eyes.

He didn’t answer her. He didn’t answer Torek, either.

That time, he didn’t even look at him.

He wouldn’t give this asshole the satisfaction.

He also wouldn’t give him what he wanted. He wouldn’t. He didn’t give a damn how long he had to endure this.

He could outlast him. He could outlast fucking everyone, if he needed to.

When he looked up next, Torek was frowning, a denser puzzlement touching his golden eyes. For a long moment he just stood there, watching Haili as she continued to pull at his light, touching him until Revik was groaning again, the collar igniting as his pain worsened, sliding out of his control when she wouldn’t stop.

Torek continued to watch, his gold eyes shining in the firelight.

Wake, brother…wake up… the voice cajoled, pulling at him, tugging him back into consciousness. Wake up, my lovely brother…

Revik felt himself fighting the pull of those words, mindlessly at first.

Then he smelled food. Charbroiled meat of some kind…

Fuck, it smelled like steak.

His eyes flickered open, even as he let out a low sound.

“Are you hungry, brother?” Torek asked.

He smiled down at him when Revik looked up.

Revik realized he’d been moved. He looked at his hands, saw the cuffs there, realized the absence of light he’d sensed with his eyes closed came from the underside of a heavy wooden table. He’d been bolted to the floor by the other seer’s chair.

Like a fucking dog.

He stared down at the metal rings in the floor, and at his hands and arms. He had no idea how much time had passed again, how long it had been since he’d last eaten. He was naked, of course. He felt cleaner, like someone had hosed him off, but still not clean.

In contrast, the seer in the chair above him was fully clothed, and looked like he’d just stepped out of the shower. He smiled at Revik again after he’d watched him assess where he was now, and the limitations of his current set up.

“You must be hungry,” Torek said.

Revik didn’t answer.

“Answer me,” Torek said, his voice a touch harder. “Are you hungry, brother? Tell me.”

Revik nodded, unwilling to speak.

“You know what you must do to eat…” Torek began.

“Fuck off,” Revik said, cutting him off. “Just beat me again, if that’s what you want.”

Torek sighed, clicking softly.

Shrugging a little, he cut a piece off the steak on the plate in front of him. Revik couldn’t help but watch as he brought it to his mouth, shoving it in and chewing on it thoughtfully for a few seconds before he swallowed, glancing down at Revik.

“It’s a simple thing, brother. A little thing.”

Revik felt his hunger shift back into anger, a near hatred. “Why are you doing this? What the fuck do you want from me?”

Torek laughed. “I’ve been absolutely crystal clear about what I want from you, brother. I have been from the beginning. I want you to talk to me. I want you to tell me anything I ask. I want to know all of your dark, dirty little secrets…especially about that female you were crushing on so badly when you left my club that night. I want total transparency between us…in some areas, at least.”

Revik shook his head, once.

“I can’t do that,” Revik said. “I can’t, Torek.”

“Can’t?” Torek said, amused. “Or won’t?”

“Can’t,” Revik said, staring up at him coldly. “You’re wasting your time.”

“Why can’t you, brother?” Torek said. He shoved another forkful of rare steak into his mouth, chewing vigorously. Motioning towards Revik with his fork, he tilted his head sideways. “Is this because of your Adhipan friends?”

Revik felt his whole body go still.

He kept his reaction off his face. Even so, he couldn’t help thinking he hadn’t gotten it completely out of his light, not in time, at least.

Fuck. Was this about Allie?

This couldn’t be about Allie, could it?

He kept the question so far back in his light as to be utterly invisible.

“Brother,” Torek said, clicking softly as he put down his fork. “What is it you think I’m doing here? Do you think I work for your enemies, is that it? That I am seeking intelligence from you to sell? Or perhaps that I want to harm you in some other way?”

Revik didn’t answer. He stared at the floor, his face unmoving.

Torek sighed again, exasperated. “Brother, I do not work for anyone but myself. I want to know these things about you for my own reasons…”

“Which are what?” Revik said.

He still didn’t look up.

Torek smiled. “Gods, you are paranoid. My reasons? You need me to say them aloud? All right, I will…you intrigue me, brother. And I want to see you lose control. Not in that fake, half-assed way you do with Haili, or with those strippers I brought in here, or the unwilling last night. I want you to really lose control, brother. I want you to belong to me, if only for a short time…I want to see the real man there, to look him in the eye.”

“Why?” Revik said, his voice cold again.

“Because I wish it,” Torek said.

Leaning back in the chair, he made another vague motion with his fork. His eyes and voice grew puzzled as he continued to study Revik’s face.

“Do I really need a more complex reason, brother? One involving political intrigues, perhaps? Some conspiracy to destroy you? Why is it you do not think it’s enough that the idea gives me a hard-on like you wouldn’t believe? That I plan to fuck you senseless when this thing occurs between us? That I am looking forward to it?”

Revik shook his head, clicking in irritation under his breath.

Staring at the floor, he tried to block out the smell of the meat and failed.

His stomach cramped as he knelt there, even as his head started to throb.

“You will really starve yourself, rather than give this to me?” Torek said.

He shoved another forkful of meat into his mouth, watching Revik through narrowed eyes as he chewed. He washed down the last of the mouthful with a few swallows of wine.

“I could try a few more negative incentives, brother,” he added, putting down his glass. “What if I bring that old human in here? The one you turned down for a fuck that night? Let him and his friends defile you for a few weeks…give them the full run of you, whatever they want. I’d make a nice profit off it, too, come to think of it…”

Revik felt that nausea in his gut worsen.

He thought about Durenkirk that night at the Academy, when he’d put his hand on him. He remembered the human's flip assumption that Revik was for sale, that he’d fuck anything for the right price, that any seer would.

Without knowing he was doing it almost, Revik shook his head.

“No,” he said.

The word came out low, almost a whisper.

Torek watched him, silent.

Revik didn’t look up, but felt himself cringe. Some part of him wanted to say it again, to get the seer to agree not to let that fucking human see him like this, much less touch him when he was bound. He couldn’t bear it. He really couldn’t fucking bear it.

Above him, Torek sighed, clicking softly.

“Come here, brother,” he said, his voice gentle that time.

Feeling Torek’s pain, along with his light snaking into his, Revik complied, almost before he knew he meant to. When he’d slid close enough, Torek curled his fingers into his hair, pulling Revik’s head directly into his lap.

Revik found himself letting him do that, too.

Seconds later, he was relaxing there. He leaned into the other’s leg, laying his head on the expensive pants Torek wore, and closed his eyes. He let the seer stroke his hair and face, feeling his light coil around his, reassuring him that time, warming him gently.

“I won’t, brother,” Torek murmured.

His voice remained low, holding a more complex emotion. Some of that might have been affection. His warmth grew as Revik remained there, mixing with the heat that lingered on the surface. Revik felt possessiveness there, too, sudden and sharp, a darting stab that worsened his own pain in those few seconds he felt it.

“…I won’t let him touch you, all right?” Torek murmured, clutching his hair tighter. “I promise. I won’t let that worm near you.”

Relaxing his shoulders, Revik nodded.

He didn’t speak.

Even so, he couldn’t control the relief that expanded off his light.

16

WINNERS AND LOSERS

Should we intervene? Balidor says, turning.

He terminates the Barrier recording as he asks it, looking away from the projection on the Barrier wall to the seer with whom he has shared it.

…How long do we let this go on? he asks, prodding the other seer’s light for an answer. How long? Before we involve ourselves?

He focuses on the seer sitting there, cross-legged on the floor of a nondescript Barrier space, a mere meeting place between several states of consciousness. Balidor looks down at the old seer, conscious suddenly of what he’s just shown him.

His discomfort worsens as he thinks over specifics of the content, especially when he considers that Vash treats Dehgoies almost like a son.

It is too late to second-guess that now, though.

And anyway, he could not have kept this from him.

…He could literally starve himself to death, Balidor adds. He makes his thoughts stripped that time, wholly businesslike. Or he could allow this seer, Torek, to abuse him to the point of causing him psychological damage. He might think it is a part of his job, in protecting the Bridge…to tell this seer nothing. To keep all information to himself about his personal life…including that which does not directly put her at risk.

For a stretch of time that feels long, Vash is silent.

Balidor watches him, but he can see nothing behind the elder seer’s cloak.

Eventually, Vash looks up, his dark eyes holding an inner light.

Would it help to have this seer convey to him our role in this? Vash queries, his voice as distant as his light. To come clean that an intelligence leak is not a risk in this case…?

Balidor turns over the words.

Then, clicking under his breath, he shakes his head.

I think that would backfire horribly, father Vashentarenbuul, he sends back.

You think he would be angry? Vash sends, pressing the point with his light and words. If he knew we had paid brother Torek for this? If he knew we had done this to try and reach him? Would this anger brother Dehgoies, do you think…?

For a moment, Balidor can only blink at him.

Darting glimpses of color bring a faint rosy hue to the dim Barrier space.

He thinks about choosing his words with care, to be gentle.

Then he decides this is not the time for that, either.

Angry? Balidor sends out a pulse of disbelief, along with a harder pulse of light. The latter causes Vash to look at him, even across the space that stretches between them. Brother, I think he would want to kill all of us, if he knew that we had a part in this…me, especially. And you. Any of us that he trusts. Any of us that he has thought of as a friend.

Vash does not change expression.

After a pause, he merely nods. His body does not move from where he sits cross-legged on the floor.

Do you still think this was a risk worth taking? Vash sends, quieter.

For the first time, Balidor hears a rebuke in the aged seer’s thoughts.

It is mild, and contains more guilt than blame.

Thinking about the question brings the Adhipan leader’s resolve back. It also clears his mind of the more conflicted emotions that had dwelled there.

I do, Balidor sends after a pause. He lets the other feel his own worries, even as he sends him a grimmer pulse of light, one that contains some portion of that resolve. I will not deny that I have feelings about this, brother…or fears that we could lose him in other respects…but I cannot say I would choose differently. We need him. Now, more than ever. We cannot afford to coddle him, any more than we can afford to coddle the Bridge…

Clicking softly, Balidor turned over his own thoughts yet again.

Once he had, he hammered his next words through the Barrier space,

…He has got to come clean on this. You know he does, brother Vash. If he does not, we will have to pull him. We cannot leave him on duty with the Bridge, not the way he is now. You know we cannot. This is no longer simply about a crush. Or even a fixation of some kind. He must address this. Now. Or he is not fit to be her guardian…

Vash sits on the floor of the featureless space, listening.

He remains unmoving for a few seconds more after Balidor has finished.

Balidor wonders if the old seer has gone to some other area of the Barrier. Perhaps to consult with other seers of the Council…perhaps to consult with Tarsi herself, who trained Balidor all of those years ago, when she had been the one to lead the Adhipan.

In any case, Balidor waits until the old seer focuses back on him.

I agree, Vash says finally.

His thoughts whisper out quiet that time, holding a regret Balidor can feel.

Wait until the last minute before pulling him, Vash adds. He can be…stubborn.

Balidor doesn’t answer. Even so, he finds himself agreeing.

“Get your fucking hands off him. Now…”

The voice startled Revik, pulled him out a blank quiet that had fallen over his mind, despite the noise that surrounded him. It grew loud, almost painfully so when his light snapped back. He found himself on the floor, which he barely paused on for more than a few seconds.

He remembered he was drunk, that he wasn’t alone…

Not drunk. Torek gave him something.

Iluvren, his mind whispered. He dosed you. Like Jaden dosed Allie…

The thought crushes something in his chest. It brings images, memories…a rush of pain so intense he can’t see through it, can’t breathe…

“I said…get your fucking hands off him!”

A gun was in the hand of the man standing over him.

Revik stared up warily, fighting his own mind.

The gun wasn’t pointed at him.

“Step away from him. Now. That wasn’t a request.” The seer holding the gun flipped off the safety, pointing the gun directly at another seer’s face. “Do it. Or I’ll have you taken out into the alley. If you make it out alive, you won’t ever be welcome here again…”

Fingers tightened on Revik’s shoulder, pulling him against someone’s legs. Revik’s light snaked out, fighting to identify whoever it was, and he winced when it ignited the collar. The fingers holding him nearly hurt him when he fought to get away.

“This is him, isn’t it? That Rook you had on the stage a few months ago?”

“Let go of him.”

“How much?” the male holding him said. “One blow job. How much?”

Revik felt it more than saw it. Lights crossed in the air over his head. His eyes darted to the corners, a buried habit now, but still intact, even now, when he could barely focus his eyes. He saw bodies everywhere, but even through them, he saw more seers with guns.

Security. They wore suits.

Like G-men.

Revik chuckled, watching them approach.

The music vibrated his chest from overhead speakers. He glimpsed bare legs, fishnet stockings, short skirts, high-heeled shoes…more suits. Haili was there. She smiled at him from a white leather chair across a glass table, winking as she met his gaze.

When Revik glanced up that time, he realized Torek was the one holding the gun.

He also realized he knelt on some kind of sheepskin rug, behind a glass table at the base of a leather sectional couch. He remembered it vaguely, but he couldn’t really trace back to how he’d gotten there. He remembered Torek telling him they were going out. Revik had almost been afraid. He hadn’t been out of Torek’s house in longer than…

Well, he didn’t really know how long it had been.

He just sat there, silent, as security converged on the drunk seer clutching his arm, forcing him to let go. Once he had, they pulled him out from behind the glass table.

“Take this dugra-te di aros out back and teach him a lesson in club etiquette,” Torek said, sounding angrier than Revik had ever heard him. “I don’t want him in here again. Ever. Take his image. Put his name on the goddamned list…”

Revik heard the murmured assents, even as they led the drunk seer away.

Once they were gone, Torek walked over to the sectional, sitting heavily in the leather behind where Revik knelt. Revik didn’t move, not until Torek slapped his own leg, once, an unambiguous command. Revik moved without thought then, sliding back and leaning his head on the other’s leg, not far from where Torek had hit it with his palm. He closed his eyes, fighting dizziness as he leaned his weight into the base of the leather couch.

Did you let him touch you? Torek asked.

Revik didn’t answer.

Torek gripped his hair. He shook him, once.

Did you let him touch you, brother? Did you ask him for it?

Revik fought to think. Had he? He couldn’t remember. He remembered hands on him. He remembering the other seer touching him…

He remembered wanting those hands on him really, really damned badly.

“Maybe,” he mumbled. He leaned deeper into the other seer’s leg, making his light submissive. I’m sorry.

He felt Torek’s anger worsen.

You think you’re going to get off that easy? he asked him through the Barrier. Disobedient little prick. You try to manipulate me like that again, and I’ll beat you unconscious…

Revik let out a low laugh. He couldn’t help it.

Had he tried to manipulate him? He couldn’t remember that, either.

He didn’t remember wanting that drunk seer at all.

He wanted Haili. He found himself staring at her, at her dark hair done up in curls piled on her head, dark lipstick, kohl eyes. She wore a sky blue dress, some kind of shimmery fabric, high heels, black nylons. He knew he’d watch her and Torek fuck later, but he wanted to watch it now. He wondered if Torek would let him go down on her.

He was really dizzy, though.

Too much alcohol…or drug, or whatever it was. Almost no food.

He just wanted to sleep, but his light was starting to hurt. More with every passing minute, it hurt, and he realized he could feel the light of other seers in the room, reacting to his pain. At least some of them had seen Torek flip out on that guy who’d been trying to coax Revik into giving him head. Some of them were openly turned on by his pain. Others were fascinated by the fact that Torek was displaying him as some kind of pet.

He wasn’t naked though. He didn’t have on a shirt, but he was like ninety percent sure he wore pants. But no shoes. Definitely no shoes.

Brother, I want you to give me head. Right now.

Confusion slid over Revik’s light, more pain. Here? he said.

Yes, here. Right now.

Revik felt his pain worsen, even before Torek started unbuckling his belt. The other seer hadn’t let him do this before. Not once. Not even in private. Revik could feel a hell of a lot more eyes on the two of them now, and not only from the seers sitting around the leather sectional. Haili was watching them, too, Revik realized. He felt her pain coil into his light, pulling on him already. She knew he hadn’t done this before, either.

Revik could feel the possessiveness behind the request, too. He knew Torek was pissing on him publicly, in his own way, at least. All of the attention the two of them pulled seemed to be both irritating Torek and turning him on, even now.

Are you going to disobey me in this, too? he sent, colder.

“No,” Revik managed. No…

He turned over, moving before the other seer changed his mind. He had Torek’s belt undone completely a few seconds later, and then he was unfastening the other seer’s pants.

You’re going to do this really, really well for me, brother, Torek said, leaning deeper into the couch. Then I’m taking you home.

Revik felt the pain twist harder through his light, nearly suffocating him that time, but he only nodded. He didn’t know what the going home part meant, but he could feel the intensity worsen in the other seer’s light, and knew it wouldn’t be the end of their evening. He was about to lower his mouth when Torek’s fingers tightened in his hair again.

Revik looked up, meeting his gaze.

Torek’s gold eyes were hard as metal. You do anything like that again, before our time together is up, and you might never leave my house again, brother mine, he sent. You let anyone else touch you like that again, without my explicit permission, and I’ll kill them…even if it’s Haili. I’ll kill them right in front of you. Do you understand?

Revik felt his chest clench.

Looking at those gold eyes, he believed him, though.

He nodded, once.

“No,” Torek said. “Say it. Out loud.”

“Yes,” Revik said. “I understand.”

“You’d fucking well better.” Now, do what I asked. Before I change my mind.

Revik only nodded.

For a long while after that, a crowd stood silent around the black sectional couch.

Others stopped to watch when they realized what the rest of them were looking at. All of them, Haili included, watched without moving, ignoring what was happening on the stage as their lights coiled into Revik’s and Torek’s.

Revik barely noticed.

Revik was cuffed to the floor again. He looked up at the high wooden ceiling and laughed. Everything hurt, so he wasn’t sure why he laughed. He was pretty damned drunk still, or high, or whatever…so maybe that was part of it.

Torek was playing the song White Rabbit, so maybe that was part of it, too.

Or maybe that was only happening in Revik’s head.

Even so, he groaned when the female seer lay on top of him.

He couldn’t touch her.

“Fuck,” he said. “Please. Please, goddamn it…please. Stop this…”

A terse voice rose from the other part of the room.

“You know what it’ll take, brother,” Torek said.

Revik watched him light a hiri, remembering earlier that night, the sound the seer made when he finally let go in that club. The memory made him instantly hard, painfully hard, even without Haili looking down at him, caressing his bare arms.

For the first time, he felt the part of him that had been fighting this falter.

For that brief instant, a shining moment that rotated over him…he stopped seeing the point of fighting it. He was fucking exhausted. He was hungry. He was so sick of this…he wanted sex so badly he was ready to sell his firstborn for it.

He felt Vash in that somewhere.

He grasped for the seer, for that whisper of his presence.

Help me, he pleaded into the Barrier. Help me, father…please…please help me…send someone. He’s not going to let me go…

The presence was gone though, a bare whisper that left nothing behind.

Revik felt for it anyway, doubting what he’d felt, confused by its absence.

When his eyes cleared, he realized the collar hadn’t gone off. So he couldn’t have been in the Barrier, not really. He couldn’t have felt Vash. He must be hallucinating. He must be seeing things, feeling things that weren’t there.

The woman was watching his eyes, and he realized only then that he was crying. He looked up at her, saw pain in her eyes, sympathy…

Let go, brother… she sent, soothing. Let go, my beautiful brother. Let us help you…we only want to help you…

All of the remaining resistance in him collapsed.

“What do you want to know?” he said.

His voice sounded deadened, even to his own ears.

He felt Torek react though, even from across the room.

He felt a crackling heat of the other’s living light as it whipped through the room, the disbelief there…the triumph.

He also felt relief in the other seer. He felt it in Haili, too, mixed with a desire that was now on the surface, that caused her to grind her hips down against his. Revik gasped a little at the intensity of all of those competing things, even as Torek got to his feet, walking over to where he was locked to the floor.

Torek crouched down beside Revik’s head, looking down at him with those gold eyes, his face serious, devoid of humor.

“You are ready to talk to me, brother?” he asked, soft.

Revik nodded. “Yes. What I can. I’ll tell you what I can.”

Torek smiled. “Fair enough.” For a longer pause he only studied Revik’s face, his light sparking with that heat. Then he turned to Haili. “Go. Leave us, sister.”

“She can stay,” Revik said. His pain worsened at the thought of her going.

“No,” Torek said. He shook his head, once. “She can’t. But I’ll bring her back in here, brother. As soon as you’re done talking to me. I’ll bring her back in here, and if you tell me enough, I’ll let her fuck you…as many times as you want. I’ll let you come, too.”

Feeling that sickness in his gut worsen, Revik nodded.

“All right?” Torek said.

“All right.”

“You’re going to talk to me first, brother. Until I tell you we are done.”

“What do you want to know?” Revik said again.

Torek waited until the door closed behind Haili’s naked body and bare feet. Then he looked back down at Revik. He lowered his weight down to a cross-legged position, sliding closer on the hardwood floor to the wood slab where Revik was chained.

“Did you go see her? When you went away?” he said.

Revik nodded. “Yes. Yes…I saw her. You already know I did.”

“Did you fuck her?”

Revik stared up at the ceiling. Briefly, his mind was blank. Then he let out a low laugh, remembering the last time he’d seen Allie, watching her with Jaden in the same house where the human coaxed her into group sex with his bandmates. Other things hit out at him in the same few seconds, things he hadn’t let himself think about for days now, maybe weeks.

He’d been pulled. They hadn’t come for him, so he had to assume the Council had someone else watching her by now. They must think he took off, that he went away to get wasted…that he cracked. Either way, his time with her was over.

It was finished. It really was. It was finally over.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. His pain worsened. “No, I didn’t fuck her. She’s with someone else.”

“Who?”

“Human,” Revik said, shaking his head. “Fucking asshole…rapist.”

“Ah, that is too bad, brother,” Torek said, his voice sympathetic. “So what is this thing you have with her? Why don’t you move on? Find one who wants you?”

Revik felt that sick feeling coil back into his gut.

Torek was right. She didn’t want him.

For a moment, he couldn’t make himself answer.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Yes, you do. What is it? Is it the male I felt in your light? The ex-boyfriend?”

But that sent Revik’s light off in another direction it didn’t want to go. He remembered the last time he’d seen Dalejem. It had been in the Pamir. The seer came to see him, to tell him why he left, why they couldn’t be together. He remembered tears in the seer’s eyes. He remembered knowing that he’d never see him again…

The pain in his chest worsened, grew unbearable. He couldn’t breathe suddenly. He couldn’t fucking breathe…

“Brother, calm, calm…you need to feel this…you must…”

Revik shook his head. “No. I don’t want to…”

Torek smiled. He stroked Revik’s hair and face, his light all warmth now, softer than Revik had ever felt it. Under his fingers, Revik felt his chest start to relax, unwillingly almost.

“No one wants to feel these things, brother,” Torek murmured. “No one. Not ever. But you must. It will kill you, if you don’t. You and I…we are not human. We cannot simply bottle these things up as a human does. They will kill us in the end…”

Revik shook his head, but not really in a no that time.

Again, that pain in his chest worsened.

He fought it, then questioned why he was doing that, too. Once he let go, that pain turned to heat, a dense grief that still wanted to suffocate him, even as some part of him tried to turn it back into anger.

He remembered the last twenty years. The first seven of those he’d spent in the Pamir, mostly alone…then alone again in that cabin in Russia. He’d gone to Moscow when he needed to…usually for intelligence, or to get laid, but he never spent much time there, either. They’d wanted him off the grid, Vash said. Where the Rooks wouldn’t think to look for him.

They wanted him invisible while they first tied his light to Allie’s.

But that made the pain worse again.

He remembered the mountains. He remembered walking in the mountains of Siberia, a rifle slung over his back, watching the eagles overhead, the darkness of the trees. He usually had nothing but a satellite link to tie him to the rest of the world, and the Barrier to tie him to Allie.

He’d felt almost free there. But he’d still been alone.

“I hated her,” he blurted.

His voice came out harsh, unthinking.

He wasn’t even sure who he meant at first.

Kali’s face swam before his, her words to him by that hotel pool in Saigon, then again in South America, after she’d given birth to Allie. He remembered Kali’s husband glaring at him, warning him with his eyes. He remembered the distrust there, a disgust barely concealed as he wrapped his light around Allie’s on the bed.

He saw Allie then, standing in the ocean. He felt her wanting to disappear, like he did sometimes. It scared the fuck out of him, seeing that on her.

Tears came back to his eyes.

He looked up, avoiding the seer’s eyes, looking at the ceiling instead.

“I fucking hated her…for years. I blamed her for his leaving…”

“Who, brother?” Torek said. “Who did you blame?”

Revik only shook his head, though, not answering. “They all pretend…”

“Pretend? Pretend what?”

“To care,” Revik said, looking at him. “They pretend to care, but they don’t give a fuck, not really. They all just want something…”

“What do they want?”

“I don’t know. Half the time, I don’t even know…I just feel it. I fucking feel it. They want something. They want something from me…”

Torek nodded, unflinching from the emotion in his voice.

“Is it only from you that they want this thing?” he said finally. “Or do you think no one loves anyone, brother? Do you think it’s all just seers using other seers…?”

“No.” Confusion twisted Revik’s light, even as the pain in his chest worsened. “No. I don’t believe that…”

“Then it’s only you, do you think?” Torek said, his voice more gentle. “You think they all just want something from you?”

“I don’t know.”

Torek continued to stroke his skin, massaging his shoulders, caressing his hair, then his jaw and face. Revik lay there, willing himself to be finished with this somehow…for this thing to crack open inside him, to leave him alone. He didn’t care if it hurt, not anymore…not if it meant it would finally be over afterwards. He wished he could just hollow himself out. He wished he could just break that thing inside him that refused to let it go.

If they wanted him to be alone, why did he have to feel it so much?

Why couldn’t he just let it go?

“Do you still hate her, brother?” Torek said, soft. “This person you blame, for your lover leaving you?”

Revik turned over his words.

He thought about Allie, how hard he’d tried to keep his distance from her…how badly he’d wanted that. He’d even asked Vash for his help, to keep their lights from becoming too entwined. Somewhere along the way, he’d lost that battle, too.

“No,” he said. He shook his head. “No…I don’t hate her.”

“You don’t?”

“No, I…I love her.”

The words just came out.

As they did, that pain in his heart worsened sharply, overwhelming him. Fire lived there. More than that. He saw dark gold and red clouds…a white sun…a diamond-covered ocean. He felt Vash there again. Others, too. What might have been Yumi…Poresh…Mara.

He let out a heavier cry, even as that pain turned liquid in his chest. As he made his way back to his body, that weight that had been pressing down on his chest finally lifted.

It still hurt. It hurt more, in fact, but it also felt…better.

He could breathe again. It hurt, but he could breathe.

Above him, Torek clicked softly, what sounded like a sigh. Something in his light made Revik think the seer was relieved, too…partly, at least. Like he wasn’t finished, not yet, but the biggest piece had already fallen. Revik didn’t really want to think about what that meant. He didn’t want to think about whether he was being manipulated in this, too.

He didn’t care. He didn’t want to care about that.

Leaning closer, Torek caressed Revik’s hair, using light in his fingers.

“I know you do, brother,” he said, soft. “I know you love her…and it is good that you can tell me this. So did you tell her? On this trip you took, did you tell her that you loved her?”

Revik stared up at the ceiling again.

His light still hurt like hell, but he felt strangely calmer now, almost at peace.

Even so, the pain returned when he remembered Allie flirting with Jaden in that restaurant. He remembered her sitting down across from him, coffee pot in hand, almost as if pulled there, as if drawn to him, like Revik was drawn to her.

“No,” he said only. “No, I didn’t.”

Silence fell between them.

Somewhere in that, Revik realized Torek held his hand. His fingers felt hot, almost wet with sweat, but the other seer didn’t let go.

“She is of high rank, is she not?” Torek said, softer. “This one you love?”

Another jolt of fear hit Revik. Did he know? Did Torek know who she was? He might have to tell Vash. He might have to admit to him what he’d done, get the Council to erase Torek, make him forget any of this happened. Thinking about this, Revik felt his jaw harden. He fought to control his light again, feeling another flare of irrationality go through him like a wave, bringing a heated anger as he read behind the seer’s words.

His light only hurt more when he tried to pull it back.

Fuck it. If Torek knew, he knew.

He couldn’t do anything about that now.

“Yes,” he said, blunt. “The highest.”

“And she is young?”

“Yes,” Revik said, exhaling. “Yes. Very young.”

Torek nodded slowly, still using his light and free hand on Revik’s chest, pulling softly at the strands of his aleimi, especially around his heart. When the gold-eyed seer spoke next, his words were gentle, but Revik felt a harder steel behind them.

“Then you know she won’t stay with this human,” he said. “Whatever they are to one another now.”

Lying there on his back, Revik turned over Torek’s words.

He thought about Allie with Jaden, how she’d acted with him. Then he thought about who she would be when the Council finally woke her. His light resonates with hers briefly as he remembers, tasting frequencies he feels in her light, who she is past the veneer she projects out into the world. He remembers about how different she is in that space.

Something in his body relaxed, even as that pain in his chest worsened.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I understand that.”

Torek nodded, looking down at him, his gold eyes glowing faintly.

“Brother,” he said, softer. “You also know how unlikely it is…that she would be with you?”

Revik felt the pain in his chest sharpen back to a hot iron.

For a long moment he couldn’t speak.

The reality of the words crashed into him, obliterating his mind, blanking out his vision. Again, that wave of feeling overcame him…a liquid heat that suffused his chest. He could only breathe his way through it, waiting for it to pass, lost in a feeling of being nowhere. Of not really existing at all. It felt like being cracked open inside.

He felt the truth there, though.

He felt it, and realized he’d always known.

He would never be allowed to have anything truly intimate with the Bridge. His light wasn’t clean. He had been a Rook. He had no status, no name to speak of. He’d been shunned by his own family. He had no place in Asia. Hell, he wasn’t even allowed in Asia.

The Bridge, on the other hand, was royalty.

She would be the highest ranked of all, among the seers.

“Yes,” he said. His chest closed, hurting him. “Yes, I know…” He opened his eyes, realizing only then that he’d closed them. Tears filled his eyes for a second time. He looked up at Torek, feeling his jaw tighten. “I was told that she would, that we would…” He shook his head. “I never believed them. I didn’t understand why they would tell me that…”

He fought to remember the words Kali had used.

She’d said they’d be together, that they’d love one another…but that could mean anything and nothing. It could mean they would fuck one night, years into the future, after Allie had awakened and they had become friends. It could mean Revik would end up being an ally, someone she trusted, maybe even a longer-term lover, while she was single, at least. It could mean that Revik took on some kind of a big brotherly role while she was being trained. Hell, it could mean he’d be her teacher, for the more militant aspects of sight-skill training, at least. It could mean that Revik remained her bodyguard.

It could mean anything.

Realizing what he’d made Kali’s words mean, in some not-so-secret part of his light, he closed his eyes again, his chest pain worsening.

“Do you trust this person?” Torek pressed. “This person who told you that you would end up with her in some intimate way?”

Revik couldn’t answer at first.

That golden ocean stood in the distance, growing fainter still. He fought not to remember what he’d felt there, how much it had felt like home. Real home.

He fought to remember who he was. Who he really was.

When he opened his eyes next, he saw Torek frowning down at him, sympathy in those gold eyes, warmth pulsing off his light. Revik felt a harder current there, too, but not an unkind one. A determination to not coddle him, perhaps.

A determination to tell him the truth, maybe.

Something about remembering where he was, the base physicality of the room, of knowing he was in London, that he was chained in another seer’s living room, that Torek intended to have sex with him after this…it brought Revik’s mind back online.

Clarity reached him. Real clarity that time.

“No,” he said. “No, I don’t trust her.”

Torek squeezed his hand. Again, sympathy plumed off his light.

Revik felt the sincerity behind it. He even felt what might have been love coiled into the gold-eyed seer’s light…not real love, of course, but affection, anyway.

Revik wasn’t looking at him anymore, though.

He found himself staring at the fireplace instead…not at the fire itself but above it. His eyes sought out the mantle, lingering on a heavy clock embedded there in the stone and mortar before drifting lower, to a row of silver statues resting on the wood. He knew all of them, each figure depicted. They all stood for one or another god or goddess or intermediary in the seer pantheon. He saw Dragon there…Turtle, Arrow, Knight…the Bridge herself…the Shield.

On the center of that same mahogany mantle sat a silver statue, larger than the rest.

It was a depiction of the Sword and Sun.

He remembered staring at that same symbol for hours on the cave walls of the Pamir. Looking at it now calmed him. Or maybe it just made him remember what he was doing here.

He hadn’t come here for himself. He’d come here to make amends. To serve the Bridge.

Nothing else mattered.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said aloud, echoing the thought.

“Does it not?” Torek said.

When Revik looked up that time, Torek quirked an eyebrow at him, smiling faintly. He still held Revik’s hand, gripping his fingers where it lay chained above his head.

“No, brother,” Revik said, exhaling. “No, it really doesn’t.”

17

SILENCE

You know what he believes, do you not? she asked him.

Her distant thoughts are a whisper, a faint breath on a light wind that drifts across the sand. She is not there, not really, but she is always with him in some fashion. Always.

Vash doesn’t answer at first.

He looks up instead, gazing out over the diamond flickers faintly sparkling on the crests of gentle waves. It is mostly dark here still, in the depths of this rolling ocean. It is morning, however, those cold hours before dawn, whatever that means in this space. The light is rising, but there is still night at his back, still indigo shades of moonlight blanketed by fading stars.

He is here, but not.

It is not a construct that Vash himself has built, although he has channeled these beautiful frequencies of light into his own creations before, threading them into landscapes of his own design. He had even channeled these frequencies into beings that reside in those spaces.

Lakes. Honey bees. Clouds. Birds.

He had done this for himself. He has more often done this for others. Especially for some of his students. Especially for those who needed it most.

Especially for Dehgoies.

I do know what he thinks, Vash sends finally. He sighs, leaning his weight deeper into the sand, propping his upper body on his bony hands. He thinks Kali lied to him. He thinks he is not good enough for her...for the Bridge.

The presence grows warmer, but her thoughts remain quiet.

Is that what you wish for him to believe? she asks.

Again, her voice comes through almost like wind, like something not quite there.

He hears no judgment there, but Vash winces. Perhaps he winces solely from his memory of the last taste he took of Dehgoies’ light.

He also thinks about her words.

We needed him calm, Vash sends after another pause. We needed to ensure he would not approach her before it is time. We needed him to regain control over his light. To keep him from awakening her too soon. We needed him to be able to perform the job with which he has been tasked by the Ancestors.

At the other’s silence, Vash adds,

Adhipan Balidor thought––

What do you think, beloved friend?

There is no rebuke in her words.

Even so, Vash feels that heavier pain return to his light.

He contemplates his bare feet in the sand, his toes squishing through the cool, white grains. He imagines shells under his feet, clams, bird’s eggs and sand crabs.

The light in front of him is growing brighter, but he imagines clouds there now. Darker, heavier portents build behind his eyes, waiting beyond the confines of this beautiful space. He feels the weight of that change, even inside the living, breathing presence that surrounds him. He watches the birds wing overheard, feels their individual souls.

He thinks about his old friend’s question. He thinks about what he would have wanted, if he could have dictated things on Earth.

He thinks about the differences down there compared to how they work up here, where time has no meaning.

Where no one ever has to be alone.

I think brother Dehgoies is now fully functioning in the role we require of him as the Bridge’s guardian and protector, he sends, sighing as he clicks under his breath. I think we no longer have to worry about him approaching her prematurely…or overstepping his bounds in regard to either her person or her light.

He feels his friend’s silence, even as she speaks.

Is that all that matters?

Vash sighs again.

It is all that can matter now, he says.

That time, her silence is total.

Inside that endless stillness, however, Vash feels her heart open to his.

18

STEREOTYPE

“You are back, Mr. Dehgoies…? I had not heard…”

Revik turned from where he stood at the balcony, a hiri between his fingers drifting smoke up into the night sky. Startled out of his own thoughts, it took him a few seconds to pull himself back, to focus on the woman standing there.

She wore an emerald-colored gown on this night, not a white one.

It made sense. It was getting close to Christmas, and the ballet was Tchaikovsky.

“I should have thought to check the balconies before,” she said, her expression bemused as she looked him over in the tux. “These seem to be your go-to place, whenever there is a black tie event…at least one that surrounds you with humans. Are you a ballet fan, Mr. Dehgoies?”

“Revik,” he said. “And yes. Well…sometimes. I like the Russian composers.”

“I see,” she said, smiling wryly. “And of course you appreciate the Russians. They are dire…overly serious. Quiet. Given your gruff exterior, what other composers could you like, really?”

“Wagner,” he said. “When I’m in a warlike mood.”

She smiled for real that time. He couldn’t help noticing that it lit up her face.

“The Nazi?” she said. “I wouldn’t go sharing that around here.”

Revik smiled back, straightening up from where he’d been leaning over the stone balcony. He felt his light coil back around his body as he did it, but he didn’t take his eyes off the female human’s face. She looked slightly drunk, even apart from the martini glass she clutched in one gloved hand. Or buzzed, maybe. He remembered she had a fondness for seer weed and fished for the packet in his pocket, offering her one.

“Miranda, right?” he said, as she took it.

She flushed a little at his use of her given name.

He could feel her reacting to his light already.

“Are you going to tell me where you’ve been?” she said teasingly, straightening from where he’d lit the hiri for her, using an organic coil he had in his pocket. “Or am I supposed to choose from one of the many salacious theories around your absence…?”

He smiled again, shrugging. “I’ll let you choose.”

“Very generous of you.”

“It’s in our nature to be generous. Seers,” he added.

She laughed aloud at that, throwing back her head, and Revik found himself looking her over again. He remembered the first time he’d met her, on that balcony in Belgrave Square.

Since that time, Durenkirk had approached him again.

Revik told him to go fuck himself. Further, he’d threatened to use his connections to Torek to out him as a member of the seer fetish circuit, if he ever came near him again.

That last part finally did the trick.

Looking at the gray-haired human now, he could feel the part of him that still liked her, that still felt a strange pull to talk to her…to confess his sins, maybe.

But he knew he couldn’t.

The thought of telling her where he’d been for the last three months was laughable at best. She would be horrified. Moreover, he would never be able to make her understand, even if she wouldn’t judge him for it.

She was human.

He took another drag of the hiri, still looking at her light.

“Do you want to spend the night with me?” he asked her, blunt.

She blinked, nearly choked on the inhale she’d been halfway through with the hiri. She looked up at him, still laughing, her eyes wide and incredulous.

“Are you toying with me, Mr. Dehgoies?” she said, her voice teasing.

He watched the blush creep over her light. He found himself getting turned on by it, even as he continued to study her face almost from a distance.

“Not at all,” he said, leaning against the balcony. “I like you.”

“You like me?”

“Yes. You’re not married, are you? You’re a widow?”

She shook her head, now visibly nervous, and incredulous, but still watching him. He didn’t see disgust there, though. Really, he saw more curiosity in her eyes than anything. But that bewilderment washed most of the other emotions away.

“I’m not married,” she said.

“Neither am I,” he said, smiling faintly.

“You are toying with me,” she said, shaking her head slightly. She raised her martini glass to her lips, taking a longer drink before exhaling in a laugh. “I thought you said you seers weren’t all whores…that that was nothing but a stereotype?”

Revik shrugged. “Some stereotypes are true.”

“So you would charge me, then?”

“I wasn’t thinking I would, no,” he said. “I wouldn’t have offered sex freely, if I meant to charge you…”

“But you wouldn’t turn down money?”

Revik only shrugged again, still watching her face. “I wouldn’t turn it down.”

The truth was, he couldn’t say she was wrong.

He didn’t even care that she wasn’t, not anymore. He’d gone on Torek’s regular payroll at the club as soon as he got released from their original agreement. True to his word, Torek let him go after that night, no strings attached. The clients Revik saw from the club had already earned him twice what he made at the Academy in a year, and in less than four weeks’ time.

They’d had a lot of sex before Torek released him, of course. Revik couldn’t remember the last time he’d had that much sex, at least not all at once like that. Maybe never. All in all, it took him about a week to recover from the whole thing, but, strangely perhaps, he didn’t harbor any resentments. Not now. He felt better. Not happy, but better.

He’d never come like that before, either.

That first time with Torek, he’d left his body totally, blacked out.

Extricating himself from the memory even as it sent a flush of heat through his light, he refocused on the woman in front of him.

Her eyes studied his openly now, holding a kind of blank incredulity. He felt her wondering if he could be the same person she’d met, just a few short months ago.

“I think I’m going to say no to your generous offer, Mr. Dehgoies,” she said.

“Revik,” he corrected her. “I told you. We don’t use those titles.”

“Revik,” she said, bowing a little to concede his words. “I still think I’m going to have to say no. I’m afraid I don’t like this version of you quite so much as I did the other one.”

“The other one?”

She smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes that time. “Yes. The angry, political one. The one who came out here, hurt and embarrassed because he’d been mistaken for a mercenary…and a prostitute.” Her eyes grew more serious. “I’m afraid they’re turning you into both already, my very attractive friend. I feared it might happen, even that first night we met…but I never in a million years thought it would be so soon.”

When Revik didn’t react, she only sighed.

Lifting her martini glass in a kind of salute, she tilted her head, then backed towards the balcony door.

“Best of luck, Mr. Dehgoies. I truly do hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

“I doubt that,” he said, smiling back. “But thank you for the sentiment.”

She was in the process of closing the glass doors behind her when she stopped again, looking him directly in the face.

“You should know something,” she said, her voice lower that time, almost conspiratorial. “That other man, the one I met that first night…?”

“Yes?” Revik said, his voice polite.

“Him, I would have definitely slept with,” she said.

She shut the door behind her with a click.

For a long moment, Revik just stood there, staring out over the city streets.

I leaned back on the sand on my elbows, sighing up at the sun that beat down on us.

One of those golden, rare days of real sun in San Francisco.

It was such a beautiful city in the sun. Maybe the fog was meant to remind us of that, meaning those of us who lived here.

It was spring. I’d been waiting for spring. We sometimes got some genuinely hot days in the spring. Like eighties and nineties hot, especially in May.

It wouldn’t be that hot today, but it still felt pretty damned amazing. Amazing enough that I’d worn a bikini top under my T-shirt, and was contemplating braving the Pacific Ocean, even with how damned cold it would be this time of the year. Any time of the year, really, apart from maybe August or September.

Next to me, Jaden sighed. He sat up while I watched, grabbing the collar of the dark blue Eye of Morris shirt he wore and pulling it over his head.

“Ack!” I said, shielding my eyes jokingly. “The whiteness…it blinds…”

He turned, grinning at me. “Stuff it, Taylor. Not all of us can be swarthy like you.”

“Swarthy, eh?” Sitting up more, I rested my arms on my knees, sighing a little in contentment as I looked out over the crashing waves of Baker Beach. I’d always loved it out here, even if it reminded me of Dad. Maybe especially because of that.

In the distance, the Golden Gate Bridge shone a blood red against that blue sky.

“Yeah, swarthy,” Jaden said, bumping me with his shoulder. “Why? You going to argue about it?”

“Nope. I like it. It’s so…pirate-y.”

He snorted. The smile didn’t leave his face, though.

I found myself looking at him. Really looking at him.

Cass had informed me we were in the “disgusting” stage of being in a relationship together. Meaning we were sickeningly cute, doing all of the stereotypical, barf-worthy things, according to her. Meaning no one else could stand to be around us, unless they were in the same sappy stage with someone themselves, and then they wouldn’t even notice us.

It made me laugh, I couldn’t help it.

I supposed she was right, but it hadn’t graduated to a “stage” in my mind, not yet.

After all, this was my first one. It was all pretty new for me, including being a walking stereotype of a bad rom-com, I guess.

I used a finger to brush a few stray locks of black hair out of his eyes. He was looking at me, too, and I could see what lay behind the look that time.

We hadn’t said it to each other yet, not in almost five months of dating, but something caused me to say it then.

“I love you,” I told him.

Pain hit me in the chest. Hard, nearly catching my breath.

In front of me, Jaden blinked in surprise. Then he grinned wider.

“Really?” he said. “You do?”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling back. “I do.”

Even so, I rubbed my chest, confused by the heat that continued to pulse there. I looked up at Jaden though, and seeing the look in his eyes, I nudged him with an arm.

“All right, all right,” I smiled. “Don’t make a big deal about it or anything.”

“I’m just wondering what kind of sexual favors this buys me.”

I laughed, I couldn’t help it.

Looking up at him, I saw the happiness in his eyes, and some part of me relaxed.

In the reflected sunlight, his eyes almost looked clear in that pause. Glass-like. Like two panes of crystal, only faintly tinted with color.

Something in seeing him like that caught my breath.

Then he turned his head, kicking at the sand.

“Want to go swimming?” he said, looking at me again, still grinning.

His eyes were blue that time. Just blue. Like the ocean behind him.

The change startled me, even as some part of me tried to bring back that other color, the one that mesmerized me whenever I saw it.

But I snapped out of that, too.

“Yeah,” I said, smiling back.

He grabbed my hand, yanking me to my feet after he’d climbed up on the sand himself.

Once I was upright I glanced up and down the beach, wondering if it was safe to leave our stuff. But we were alone. We wouldn’t be for long, I knew, but it was early yet.

Jon and Cass had each said they might join us, but I kind of doubted they would. Cass mostly liked to give me shit for having a boyfriend in general, so I knew it wasn’t personal with her, she’d just rather spend the day alone with Jack. As for Jon, I strongly got the impression that Jon didn’t like Jaden very much. I didn’t know why. He wouldn’t really admit that he didn’t like him, not in so many words, but I knew he didn’t.

I could feel it.

“I love you, too, you know,” Jaden said.

Startled, I turned, looking at him. I smiled when he squeezed my hand.

“I wasn’t going to say it,” he said. He leaned closer, kissing me on the cheek, lowering his voice to a murmur. “I was worried it would sound like, you know…b.s., since you just said it. But I do. Love you. I just was waiting for a good time to say it.”

I smiled at him when he raised his head.

“So what about that swim?” he said, maybe to break the awkwardness of that moment.

“Okay,” I said. “I’m game if you are.”

“Oh, I’m definitely game, Taylor…so no wussing out on me when your ass hits the first wave. You have to stay in at least long enough for my balls to crawl up into my ass…”

I laughed at that, too.

It hit me, somewhere in the midst of that laugh, that I was happy.

Well, mostly. More or less.

I still had things to work out, of course.

I hated my job. My mom was a mess. Cass was a different kind of mess, and I was pretty sure her boyfriend, Jack, was a full-fledged junkie by now. Jon wanted me to go back to school and wouldn’t stop nagging me about it. I wanted to be an artist, but I couldn’t figure out how to get anyone to pay me a living wage to do it.

I missed my Dad.

I missed him so much it just about killed me some days.

But overall, yeah, I was happy.

Maybe for the first time since Dad died, I was really happy.

For some reason, the thought made me feel strangely guilty.

I brushed that away too, along with another fleeting impression of those colorless eyes, of a narrower mouth than Jaden’s, of a taller, leaner body. I pushed it all away, tilting my face up towards the sun as I willed myself to just appreciate what I had…what I actually had, the things that were real in my life, right now.

As I did, I sighed up at that warmth, smiling into it.

Then I was laughing again as I let Jaden drag me by the fingers towards the curling waves. We were splashing each other in minutes, trying to dunk each other.

And yeah, I knew this was just another breath in time.

The clouds would come back. They always did.

Until then, I was going to enjoy the sun.

Find all of JC Andrijeski’s books and vendor links at her website: http://jcandrijeski.com

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THE ALLIE’S WAR SERIES is a dark, unique and gritty psychic romance involving a young woman grappling with her role in bringing about the end of one world and the start of a new one. Follow Allie Taylor and her antihero partner in crime, Dehgoies Revik, as they fight terrifying enemies and one another in a passionate story spanning centuries, and filled unpredictable twists.

THE ALIEN APOCALYPSE SERIES is a dystopian new adult romance about a tough girl named Jet Tetsuo who grew up on Earth following an alien invasion. Forced into living among her conquerors, she must learn to navigate a treacherous world full of enemies who pose as friends, even as she becomes their most famous fighter in the Rings, their modern day version of the coliseum where she must fight just to survive.

THE GATE SHIFTER SERIES is an unusual shifter romance centering on shifters from another world altogether, called morph. Earth humans remained blissfully ignorant of the existence of alternate dimensions until Nihkil Jamri tries to save private detective, Dakota Reyes, while he is surveying Earth. Part urban fantasy, part detective series, part paranormal romance, part science fiction adventure, the Gate Shifter series explores crime solving, interstellar warfare and alien romance with the least likely candidates imaginable.

More Books by JC Andrijeski

“Seeking Truth in Made-Up Worlds”

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THE ALLIE’S WAR SERIES

MAIN SERIES

Rook: Allie’s War Book One

Shield: Allie’s War Book Two

Sword: Allie’s War Book Three

Shadow: Allie's War Book Four

Knight: Allie's War Book Five

War: Allie’s War Book Six

Bridge: Allie’s War Book Seven

Prophet: Allie’s War Book Eight

PREQUEL NOVELS

New York: Allie's War Early Years (FREE)

Revik: Allie’s War Early Years

Terian: Allie’s War Early Years

Birth: Allie’s War Early Years

London: Allie’s War Early Years

ALIEN APOCALYPSE SERIES

The Culling (Alien Apocalypse: Part I)

The Royals (Alien Apocalypse: Part II)

The New Order (Alien Apocalypse: Part III)

GATE SHIFTER SERIES

The Morph (Gate Shifter Book 1)

Crash Morph (Gate Shifter Book 2)

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NEW REVELATIONS by HEATHER TOPHAM WOOD

ARMAND by APRIL AASHEIM

TUESDAY’S CHILD by DALE MAYER

JUST A LITTLE NUDGE by JESI LEA RYAN

HAUNTED ON BOURBON STREET by DEANNA CHASE

SPIRITS AMONG US by MORGAN HANNAH MACDONAND

LONDON by JC ANDRIJESKI

AMONG THE LIVING by JORDAN CASTILLO PRICE

VAMPIRE VACATION by C.J. ELLISSON

TOUCHED by HAZEL HUNTER

AMONG THE LIVING

A PSYCOP Novella

BY JORDAN CASTILLO PRICE

Victor Bayne, the psychic half of a PsyCop team, is a gay medium who’s more concerned with flying under the radar than in making waves.

He hooks up with handsome Jacob Marks, a non-psychic (or “Stiff”) from an adjacent precinct at his ex-partner’s retirement party and it seems like his dubious luck has taken a turn for the better. But then a serial killer with a gruesome M.O. surfaces–and no one agrees what he looks like.

Solving murders is a snap when you can ask the victims whodunit, but this killer’s not leaving any spirits behind.

Heat Level: 5

Chapter 1

Once upon a time if you told doctors you heard voices,
they’d diagnose you as schizophrenic, put you on heavy drugs,
and lock you away in a cozy state institution
to keep you from hurting yourself or others.

Nowadays they test you first to see if you’re psychic.

Maurice was a sixty-two year old black man who had a lot more gray in his hair at his retirement party than he’d had when I first met him. We’d never been close in a way that some partners at the Fifth Precinct are. We didn’t hit sports bars after our shift for a shot and a beer. We didn’t watch the game at each others’ houses. We didn’t invite each other to family functions—not that I have any family to speak of.

Maybe it was the race difference. Or the age difference. But despite the fact that we didn’t connect on any sort of deep, soul-searching level, I was gonna miss working with the guy.

I stood behind the kitchen island and watched through the glass doors that led to the deck as Maurice ambled by. He laughed as he tried to balance a Coors Light, a styrofoam tray of bratwurst and a small stack of CDs. He looked genuinely happy. I supposed he was ready to retire—not like those guys you hear about that are forced out, along with all of their years of honed experience, in favor of some young buck who’ll work for half the salary.

Maurice set the CDs in a sloppy, listing pile next to a tinny boom box and drained his beer in one pull. I wondered if being retired would entice him into a long slide down the neck of a bottle, but then I felt a little guilty for even thinking it. Because Maurice never, ever made comments about my Auracel—whether I had taken any, or was out, or was rebounding after a weekend of “accidentally” doubling or tripling my dosage. Nothing.

Maybe that was the actual reason I was gonna miss him so much.

I turned away from the deck and made my way back down the hall, and tried to remember where the bathroom was. I veered accidentally into the rec room and a bunch of black kids, mostly teenagers, all fell silent. I nodded at them and wondered if I’d managed to look friendly or if I just came off as some creepy, white asshole, then headed toward the basement where I remembered there was a half bath off Maurice’s seldom-used woodshop.

“That’s him, Victor Bayne,” one of the kids whispered, so loud that it was audible to my physical ears. Not that my sixth sense would’ve picked it up, given that I was pretty far into a nice Auracel haze, and besides, I wasn’t particularly clairaudient. “He was my dad’s partner on the Spook Squad.”

I quelled the urge to go back into the rec room and tell Maurice’s kid that his dad would probably shit a brick if he heard that expression in his home. But that’d lead to a long-winded discussion of civil rights, yadda yadda yadda. Plus I’d be absolutely certain to come off as a creepy, white asshole then, in case there was any doubt at all.

I groped around the cellar wall at the top of the stairs for several long moments for a light until I realized the lights downstairs were already on. I made a mental note to rib Maurice about the availability of light bulbs greater than 40 watts come Monday. Except Maurice wasn’t gonna be there on Monday. Damn.

My eyes adjusted and I took the cellar steps two by two. I imagined what Maurice’s kid was probably saying about me to his cousins and friends. It was pretty plain that I was the psychic half of the Maurice/Victor team, since Maurice was about as psychic as a brick wall, and damn proud of it.

A pair of opposites forms a Paranormal Investigation Unit. The Psychs—psychic cops—do the psychic stuff, just like you’d expect. And the Stiffs—look, I didn’t name ’em—are oblivious to any psychic interference a sixth-sensory gifted criminal might throw out there. It was rough at first getting used to riding around with a guy who put out about as many vibes as a day-old ham sandwich. But I got used to it, and eventually I grew to see the practicality of pairing us with each other.

Halfway down the steps I reached into my jeans pocket and found a tab of Auracel among the old gum wrappers and lint. I felt around some more, but only managed to locate the one. I’d brought three with me. Had I taken two earlier? I only remembered taking one in the car. Oh, and there was the one I took when Sergeant Warwick came in. The irony. Popping pills within spitting distance of someone capable of cutting off my precious supply.

I swallowed the Auracel, grabbed hold of the bathroom door and barely caught myself from slamming face first into Detective Jacob Marks, the golden child of the Twelfth Precinct Sex Crimes Unit.

He was a big, dark-eyed, dark-haired hunk of a guy with a neatly clipped goatee and short hair that looked like he had it trimmed every single week. He’d always looked beefy to me from afar, standing in the background, tall and proud, as his sergeant praised his work on high profile cases during press releases while the cameras flashed and the video rolled. But up close it was obvious that he was as wide as two of me put together, and it was all solid muscle.

I think I excused myself and staggered back a step or two. The Auracel I’d taken on the stairs was stuck to the roof of my mouth and I swallowed hard, worried that its innocuous gelatin coating would dissolve and give me a big jolt of something bitter and nasty. The Auracel didn’t budge.

“So,” Marks said, deftly swerving his bulging pecs around my shoulder as he maneuvered past me. I stood there gaping and trying not to choke. “Lost your Stiff.”

A comment about the crassness of calling Maurice a Stiff stuck somewhere around the last Auracel, as I realized that Marks not only knew who I was and what I did, but that he seemed to be flirting with me. Detective Marks—queer? Who knew? And besides, he was a Stiff, too.

Or maybe he was just a jerk and the flirting notion was merely something that my mind constructed from the high it’d gleaned from two Auracels and a few fumes.

I shrugged and raised my eyebrow. Nothing like being noncommittal. Especially when I only had access to five senses, and even those were pretty fuzzy around the edges.

Marks leaned back against Maurice’s workbench and crossed his arms over his chest. That pose made him triple my diameter, and his tight black T-shirt was stretched so taut over his biceps that it probably wanted to surrender. “New partner lined up yet?”

I wondered if “partner” was also supposed to be flirtatious, as in “sexual partner.” But even my Auracel-addled mind figured that’d be a pretty far stretch. I had nowhere to lean, so I stuffed my hands in my jeans pockets and hunched a little, as kids who are taller than their classmates tend to do. Marks was as tall as I was. I like that in a man. “It’s all hush-hush,” I said, belatedly thankful that I didn’t make a tongue twister out of those last couple of words. “I think they had like a hundred applicants.”

Marks cocked his head to one side, considering me. The bitterness of Auracel spread over the back of my tongue and I swallowed convulsively—smooth move. “Probably more like a thousand,” Marks said, “but they screen ninety percent of them out before the interviews start.”

A thousand people wanted to be the Stiff half of a Paranormal Investigation Unit—homicide, no less? I imagined I’d be flattered, if I weren’t choking.

I stifled a cough and dry-swallowed three, four more times. My eyelashes felt damp.

And Jacob Marks had pushed off from the workbench and pressed right up against me. “What’s in your mouth?” he said, and his voice was a sexy, low purr. He pulled my face up against his, pried my mouth open with his and skimmed his tongue across the inside of my upper lip. “Auracel? Isn’t that the strongest anti-psyactive they make?”

How would he know what Auracel tastes like? I probably would’ve asked him myself, except I wasn’t quite fit for speaking. Or even breathing, for that matter. I squeezed my hand up between us and managed to push back from Marks before I hurled all over him. The bathroom sink was only a yard away, and I turned both taps on, scooped up tepid water with both hands, and struggled to dislodge the pill from my soft palate.

Finally, the foul thing tore free and made its way down my throat. It felt like it’d left behind a chemical burn on the roof of my mouth and the back of my tongue. I cupped a few more handfuls of water from the tap, drank them, and then splashed one on my face for good measure.

I stared down at the sink as the water dripped from my hairline. Cripes. Jacob Marks kissed me, sorta, and I was too busy choking on a pill to get into it. I assumed I’d just blown a perfectly good shot at some hot, nearly-anonymous sex when I heard Marks’ voice again coming from the doorway. Apparently I hadn’t succeeded in scaring him off. His reflection met my eye in the medicine cabinet mirror.

“One in every five hundred people is certifiably psychic, and they’re all clamoring for something to shut their talent off. What kind of sense does that make?” he asked. There was a friendly lilt to his tone of voice, but the look in his eye made his words feel like more of a challenge.

Well, didn’t he know his facts and figures? I ran my hand up through my half-wet hair. The mirror reflected it back at me. It stood up in a crazy, black thatch. I needed a haircut.

I flipped open the door to see if maybe there was some Listerine in there to wash away the taste of the Auracel, but found nothing but a bottle of Jergen’s lotion and a few yellowed aspirin left over from the Reagan Era.

“You’re a PsyCop.” I turned to face Marks. “Why don’t you ask your partner?”

“Carolyn’s all natural,” he said. And I wondered if they were fucking each other, though I guessed it was really none of my business.

I think his prying would normally have pissed me off. But I’m not normally three Auracel to the wind, so I played along. “Good for Carolyn,” I said. “Do dead people like to talk with Carolyn? All day, all night? Describe how they died? In excruciating detail?”

“Carolyn can tell if people are lying.”

“A human polygraph,” I said, and I supposed it was clever. You didn’t need someone’s consent to use your psychic ability, not if you had a federal license. But you did need a court order to hook someone up to a lie detector. “No wonder you collar so many perverts.”

Marks broke into a smile that was almost more of a leer, and I realized he was probably a lot more fun than I’d ever imagined he’d be. “It helps,” he said. “But Carolyn’s only a level two, and criminals can be incredibly evasive.” He pushed the bathroom door shut with his foot and locked it behind us. The tiny doorknob twist lock seemed pathetically inadequate, considering that any cop upstairs could kick the door in without even breaking a sweat, but maybe the sanctity of the bathroom would protect us from discovery.

Marks eased up to me and then stopped, that infuriating—yet sexy—grin plastered on his face, framed by his impossibly neat goatee. I wondered what he wanted. More witty repartee? The third Auracel was kicking in and I hardly had two brain cells to rub together, so I closed the distance between us, slipped my arms around his neck and initiated a kiss of my own.

His tongue tasted beery, but pleasantly so, like he’d just had a drink or two at the party. I wished I could drink, but while alcohol loosens me up just like anyone else, it also amps up the voices. I don’t drink.

He got a hand around my waist and slipped the other around the back of my jeans, kneading my ass hard, showing me his strength. I grazed his lower lip with my teeth and he grunted a little into my mouth, ground his fly against mine.

Marks backed me into the towel rack, which settled right beneath my shoulder blades, and started kissing me hard, rubbing up against me while his sweet tongue swept over my bitter one.

I was the one to fumble with buttons and zippers, to expose our stiff cocks to the ambient light of my ex-partner’s bathroom. Marks seemed pleased enough to let our experience take him where it would and to have me call the shots. But then again, Marks could probably pick people up whenever he was horny. I had to jump on any chance that presented itself to me and hope I was on Auracel—or at least able to get my hands on some. I really hate threesomes when one of the participants is dead.

Marks had a thick, fat cock, rock hard and ruddy. Mine had a certain delicacy and grace beside his as he took them both in his hands and pumped them, hard, even strokes, while I cupped his jaw between my palms and languidly tongued his mouth.

He knows, I thought, and though his grip was harder than I might have liked, my body still responded to it, thighs clenching and warmth building at the base of my spine. He knows who I am. And he knows what I do. And he’s willing to jack me off anyway.

I trailed my fingertips over his scalp, through his closely-shorn hair, and he groaned into my mouth, his hands moving faster on us. My breath hissed in and I caressed the tips of his ears and the curve of his jaw with a feathery touch. I sucked on his tongue.

He pulled back to watch himself as he came, his jiz rolling down over his knuckles as he clenched his cock hard, and I suddenly liked his face a whole lot better. Open like that, and vulnerable. Not the handsome, self-assured detective who always got his man, but just a guy jacking off with me. His mouth was so pretty—a little swollen now, from kissing me. I imagined it closing around the head of my cock, taking me into its soft, wet warmth, and then my hips gave a twitch and I was coming. It was a pretty energetic spurt, given the amount of drugs in my system, and the first rope of come managed to paint itself down the front of Marks’ T-shirt and across the leg of his black jeans.

I sniggered a little as I shot again, more weakly though, just over his bare forearm, and again. Marks stared at me, our sticky cocks loose in his grip, and then he broke into a big grin, too. My vision was going all starry around the edges and I was glad of the towel rack behind me, and the big cop in front of me. I still had my arms draped over his shoulders, and couldn’t think of any good reason to let go.

Someone banged on the door. “Bayne? You in there?”

I pressed my forehead into Marks’ shoulder and exhaled carefully. I could’ve ignored it, if it was anyone else but Sergeant Warwick. But that voice, in that tone, would need to be answered. “Yeah, Sarge.”

Marks gave my cock a slow, teasing stroke. It gave up a final bead of semen.

“I need you at the station. Now.”

On a Sunday? When we were all at a party, some of us drunk, some of us pill-buffered, and some of us getting lucky? Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be pretty. “Okay,” I said. I considered dropping something into the toilet to make it sound like I was taking a big dump, but then I’d either have to fish the object back out or leave it in there to screw up Maurice’s plumbing. Instead, I tugged at the toilet paper roll and tried to make it rattle. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

We both listened to Warwick’s footsteps as he headed back upstairs. Marks’ face had shifted back into cop-mode, his shrewd, dark eyes scanning the empty air in front of him as he analyzed whatever theories he was assembling inside his head. “Something big just went down.” He pulled a yard of toilet paper from the roll and wiped my jiz off his leg.

Chapter 2

Sergeant Warwick was a square, middle-aged man with a thick neck. His graying blond hair was thinning on top, but at least he had the decency not to subject us all to a bad comb-over. He sat behind his clunky metal desk, rolling a pen between his thumb and forefinger like he did every time something really pissed him off. “Bayne, this is your new partner, Lisa Gutierrez. She’s worked homicide four years now, in Las Vegas and Albuquerque. Gutierrez, Victor Bayne.”

Lisa Gutierrez looked as Latina as she sounded, her long, dark hair pulled back from her fresh-scrubbed, no-makeup face so hard it almost made my head hurt to look at it. She was young, mid-twenties, and my guess was that she’d been a uniformed cop in her previous job. She must have done something extraordinarily special to land her current assignment—a job that a thousand other people lost out on, at least according to Marks.

I tried to look really focused as I shook her hand, but maybe I was just kinda making my pale blue eyes bug out at her instead. Three frigging Auracels, three, not even counting the one I’d had the night before, and the whole world seemed like it was made out of cotton candy with some interesting sprinkles thrown in for shits and grins. I’d come right over from the party and I hoped to God I didn’t smell like sex. I thought our encounter was brief and furtive enough that I probably didn’t. I considered taking up smoking to cover any inappropriate smells I might someday harbor. I didn’t necessarily have to inhale if I didn’t want to.

“Are you medicated?” Warwick said. Because it’s so professional to accuse someone of being high right as you introduce them to their new partner. It’s some kind of newfangled team-building exercise, all the rage in L.A.

“I was at my partner’s retirement party,” I snapped, deciding I would have to admit to one Auracel, but not three. They couldn’t prove I’d taken three without a really expensive and time-consuming drug test. “What do you think, I wanted that idiot who hung herself in his garage to follow me around the whole afternoon? That’s my idea of a great party, lemme tell you.”

Warwick twirled the pen harder while his jaw worked. “Detective Bayne is authorized, when he’s off duty, for the use of Auracel…” he started to explain.

“An anti-psyactive,” said Gutierrez. “I know what it is. Now tell me what’s so unusual about this case that you’d call Bayne in instead of assigning it to the team on call.”

Warwick blinked, and then pulled out a manila folder, opened it, scanned the contents and began gathering his thoughts. I stuck my hand in my pocket in order to stop myself from giving Gutierrez a high-five, since she seemed so clipped and professional that she’d probably leave me waving in the wind. But damn, I liked her.

I was happy to let Gutierrez drive since I was legally impaired, although a breathalyzer wouldn’t have been able to pick up on it. She was just in from Albuquerque and didn’t have a car yet, so we took mine. She had to move the seat up three whole clicks.

“That was…um…cool,” I said as I got into the car, wondering if I could possibly sound any more retarded. “The way you got Warwick off my case.”

She glanced at me. “Your pupils are totally dilated. You should put on some sunglasses before you damage your retinas.”

Maybe she was genuinely concerned, or maybe she wasn’t so lax on the whole drug thing after all. She had that deadpan delivery that was kind of hard to read. I rummaged around my glove compartment and found an old pair of shades crusted with mysterious dust. How did things get dusty while they were shut inside a glovebox? I also saw half a tab of Auracel cradled inside the hinge. I took a pen and flicked it out to stop it from being crushed when I closed the door, and then moved my registration over to cover it up. Gutierrez’ eyes were on the tiny GPS navigation screen. Also dusty, I noted.

“It’d be faster if you turned up Clark,” I said.

Gutierrez ignored my directions, preferring instead to trust the Magellan. She’d turned the audio down, but still glanced at the map occasionally.

“Were you a PsyCop at your last job?” I asked.

A little smile played on her lips, and she was actually kinda cute in that moment, like a kid sister. “They don’t even have ’em in New Mexico.” She pronounced Mexico with an “X” in the middle, like I would. I wondered if the “Me-HEE-co” pronunciation was reserved for the country.

We passed Clark again, a diagonal street that defied the grid of the rest of the city, and I sighed. “Then how’d you land this job? Not that I’m complaining, but I heard the competition was pretty…fierce.” I wondered if she thought I was crass enough to say “stiff.”

Gutierrez shrugged and turned on Lawrence. Her jacket didn’t quite fit her in the shoulders. She was petite and a little stocky, would probably need something tailored. I wondered how I knew that, given that I owned only two sportcoats and my sloppy dress shirts were about twenty years out of style. I figured it was the Auracel thinking for me. And then I realized I was still in jeans, a big no-no given the department’s dress code. That’s what they got for calling me away from a party on the opposite side of the city from my apartment.

“My track record’s good,” she said. “Beyond good. And besides,” she gave me a sly look. “I count as two minorities: a woman and a Hispanic. Your boss’s got his quotas to fill, just like everybody.”

I stared through my dusty plastic lenses at a string of Indian grocers and sari shops and noted that I could kind of see over one lens but not the other. Therefore, the shades were probably crooked as well as dusty. Charming. “Our boss.” I tried to straighten out the glasses and failed.

The Magellan beeped as Gutierrez missed a turn onto Artesian and then readjusted itself to plot her a new course to the scene. I figured she must’ve been sightseeing and just passed it by.

“The Auracel,” she said, taking the next right, “it works for you?”

“It makes the dead people shut up,” I told her. And, by golly, the high was just an added bonus. I didn’t tell her that. Oh, and it only muffled the ambient dead people. If I really, really wanted to, I could try real hard, pick one out and make him spill his guts. But I didn’t mention that, either. A guy’s gotta have some boundaries.

She nodded and pulled up behind a pair of squad cars. I glanced down Artesian and saw a pair of orange-striped sawhorses blocking the area and a surly resident getting nasty with the uniformed officers for not letting him park in front of his apartment building. Good thing Gutierrez missed that turn or we would’ve still been struggling to get around that moron to flash our badges and get onto the scene.

Even though it wasn’t my regular shift, I knew the men on duty, and thankfully they weren’t weird around Psychs. I introduced Gutierrez and let the officer in charge walk us through the scene.

“The victim was found by his downstairs neighbor. Says she pounded on the ceiling with her broom handle so long that she put a hole through the plaster trying to get him to turn his music down. Came up to tell him to his face and found him…well, you can see for yourself.”

“The door was unlocked,” Gutierrez said, more than asked, and the officer nodded. She stopped at the door to slip on a pair of latex gloves and plastic booties. I looked at my jeans as I slipped the booties on over my holey Converse All-Stars and wondered if I’d gotten any jiz on them in Maurice’s bathroom. I didn’t bother with gloves since I didn’t plan on touching anything.

Gutierrez paused in the victim’s vestibule and then stepped aside to let me enter. She stared straight ahead of her into a living room where a couple of techs were setting down numbered cards around a sofa-bed and snapping photos. I came in behind her and nearly had to scoop my jaw up off the floor.

The victim was splayed buck naked on his red velvet bedspread like a piece of fucking performance art. Shards of mirror surrounded him, at first making it appear that a disco ball had taken vengeance on an unsuspecting naked guy. But on closer inspection, it was obvious that every piece had been painstakingly placed around the body so that, from the proper angle, the whole thing became a glittering, psychedelic swirl.

It might’ve even been fun to look at, given my current state of medication, if it weren’t for the hot dead guy in the middle of it all. Not a mark on him, but obviously quite dead.

Gutierrez was already getting briefed. The victim was one Anthony Blakewood, twenty-seven, Caucasian, single, worked downtown in the Loop at a brokerage firm, no known enemies.

“Sexual penetration?” Gutierrez asked the Medical Examiner’s tech, a thin girl with a blond ponytail who was still snapping photos.

“We haven’t flipped the body yet, but it’s a good possibility. The Coroner will have the final word on that.”

I fixed my gaze on a completely irrelevant nail hole on the wall and pretended they weren’t talking about anything gay. I always figure I’m going to get some kind of telltale look on my face and tip somebody off about my own “lifestyle.” As far as I knew, the only one besides Hotshot Marks who might’ve guessed about me was Maurice, and Maurice just didn’t talk about those kinds of things, period. That was that.

I then noticed that Blakewood had a little collection of miniature furniture with Scotty dogs painted on it, arranged on a semicircular shelf in the corner. Yeah. He was queer.

I wondered what I had in my apartment that would incriminate me to a casual observer. Not much, surprisingly. I tended not to hold onto stuff, because stuff usually held vibes, and vibes are a pain in the ass.

I almost ran my fingers through my hair again, but stopped myself just in time to keep from contaminating the crime scene by shedding. I jammed my hands into my pockets instead. The tech said that judging by the open container of lube nearby she’d just spotted, the victim had likely been penetrated, though the Coroner would have to verify that. A psycho murderer who lubed. How considerate.

Chapter 3

I stared up at my featureless white ceiling as I waited for the Seconal I’d taken to kick in. I’d loaned my car to Gutierrez with the stipulation that she wake me no earlier than noon. The victim hadn’t spoken to me while I was at the apartment, and I’d taken three Auracels I needed to sleep off.

And while three was a pretty high dose for me, it wasn’t like I’d never imbibed that many before. (Actually, my record is seven, but at that point you can’t walk anymore and you tend to start vomiting.) Even after three Auracels, I should’ve been able to talk to Blakewood. Yeah, that’s right. Even with my sixth sense trapped under all those meds, if I tried really hard, I should’ve been able to hear him. And I hadn’t—not even a peep. So I was beginning to get concerned.

Anthony Blakewood, collector of Scotty dog miniatures, reamed out and discarded among several thousand other glittery bits. I wondered if he kind of dug it, being snuffed out in his prime and displayed so lovingly…or at least exactingly. I might have asked him as much, if I’d been able to find his ghost.

I dreamt of shards of silvered glass, seven years’ bad luck and who’s the fairest one of all. I woke with a post-Auracel sandpaper tongue and a piercing pain behind my right eye. I considered downing a handful of aspirin, but knew I’d only be asking for heartburn after lunch if I did.

I was at work on my second pot of coffee when Gutierrez called on the intercom. I buzzed her up from the lobby.

“Coffee?” I asked her as she stared over my shoulder and into my three-room apartment.

She hesitated for just a second, and then came in and took one of the two barstools by the kitchen counter. “Sure.”

I looked around, not seeing the place anew, exactly, but reminding myself how stark it looks to a anyone who’s never been there. “I’m kind of a minimalist.”

Gutierrez’ shoulders relaxed a little at my admission. “Is everything in here white?”

I handed her a white coffee mug and then pointed out the cream. She shook her head and sipped it black.

“White matches white,” I said, and fiddled with my own cup, which had chilled and grown a skin on its surface. “I guess it seems easiest.”

“I talked to the Coroner,” she told me as I dumped my congealed coffee down the drain. “Our perp’s even sicker than we thought.”

You have absolutely no idea what I was thinking, I said to myself. But I didn’t know her well enough to tease her like that. And besides, I didn’t need anyone trying to read between the lines about anything I had to say on this particular case. With the gay and all. “Yeah?”

“The Coroner found pieces of mirror stuck under the victim’s eyelids. But they’d been placed there so carefully they hadn’t even scratched him.”

I tried to imagine why I hadn’t noticed that my victim had something angular beneath his closed eyelids, but since I was pretty much looking everywhere but at him, I wasn’t very surprised. “I was so busy trying to talk to him…” I said, thinking that it wasn’t altogether untruthful. I had tried.

“On Auracel?” Gutierrez asked. She drained her cup and came over to put it in the sink. “Why even bother?”

“I dunno.” I pulled a black sportcoat off the peg on the back of my kitchen door. “I had to do something.”

“We’ll go try again now. You, uh…. You have better reception at the scene or at the morgue?”

Reception. I liked the way she was trying to be so casual about it. “His spirit’s probably at the apartment,” I said. “Accidents, suicides and murders tend to be sticky.”

“Okay, we’ll start there.” She offered me the keys, but I waved them toward her. She’d get to know the city that much quicker if she was the one who drove. And there was that lancing pain behind my eye to consider.

Traditionally, the younger partner was the one to do the driving anyway. Maurice let me slide on that responsibility when I told him that on bad days I tended to get visuals of accident victims, and that on certain intersections they got pretty numerous. They didn’t look quite as solid as real pedestrians, but when you’re doing forty-five on a residential street you don’t necessarily have tons of time to study them. Maurice had said it explained a lot of the swerving I did. I’d let him think that. It seemed less incriminating than admitting that the Auracel didn’t help my driving any, either.

At the scene I donned the plastic booties, and this time, the gloves, too. It irked me that the night before I’d been in the same room as a homicide victim and he hadn’t said a word. But I was fairly clean now, having taken my last Auracel about twenty hours prior. I was ready to hear Blakewood’s side of the story.

A couple of guys from the lab were combing through the apartment with their powders and brushes and ultraviolet wands. One of them muttered “Spook Squad” in a voice so low I almost didn’t catch it, and the other one straightened his tie and looked nervous.

“Just tell me where we won’t be in your way,” I said. I was actually only paying them partial attention, because I was sure that any minute I’d be bowled over by Blakewood’s spirit.

“Can you work from the kitchen?” the tech who’d called us Spook Squad asked. “We’re done processing the kitchen.”

I figured he wanted to get rid of us so they could gossip, and I almost suggested that Gutierrez and I go have a sandwich and come back later, when it occurred to me that a dead queer might very well be hanging out near the fridge. I jerked my head toward the kitchen doorway and Gutierrez followed me. Undoubtedly she’d been given a job description the size of the phone book, but I thought I could summarize for her in a few sentences.

“So here’s how it works,” I told her. “You record all the factual stuff, plus whatever impressions I give you. Then you record your impressions about my impressions.” I peeked into the kitchen, but didn’t see Blakewood in there. I was glad. I really didn’t want a visual on those mirror eyes. “You score points for being as skeptical as humanly possible.”

“So I’m supposed to shoot you down,” she said.

I stepped into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Chinese takeout, Diet 7-Up and fat-free yogurt. “If my impressions are right, the facts’ll back them up and you won’t be able to debunk me.”

“That’s bullshit,” she muttered. “We’re partners. We’ve gotta watch each other’s backs, not tear each other down.”

“Hey.” I gave her a smile over my shoulder. “Don’t take it so personally. I never do.” I liked hearing her swear. It left me free to do the same.

I walked into the kitchen and waited for that telltale sensation, like a drop in temperature that only I could feel, before the voices started. Except the kitchen was toasty, and the only sound in it was the motor on the refrigerator.

“Blakewood,” I whispered, but the kitchen felt as flat and spiritless as…mine. “What’s his first name?” I asked Gutierrez.

She flipped open her pad. “Anthony.”

“Anthony,” I said, figuring that maybe he’d died so horribly that he couldn’t leave the side of his sofa bed. “Tony,” I called softly. “You here?”

I planted my hands on my hips and looked around. Nothing.

Gutierrez stared at me with her pen poised over the tablet. She was a lefty. “Forget it,” I said, easing past her into the small foyer. “There’s nothing here.”

I stood there while Gutierrez scratched what sounded like lots and lots of notes onto her pad. I didn’t see the victim, didn’t hear him. I wondered if it was possible that he died of natural causes and was just set up pretty by some kind of necrophiliac. Sure, that would be weird. But I’ve seen plenty of weird in my time.

“What now?” Gutierrez asked.

I crept closer to the archway that opened into the main room where we’d found him. “Anthony,” I said, quiet, just barely moving my lips, but the tech who thought I was creepy blanched and started tugging at the collar of his shirt.

I listened hard, but didn’t hear anything but the sound of Gutierrez’ pen. “You’re not picking anything up,” she murmured, “are you?”

I shook my head just a tiny bit and we backed up into the vestibule. “We can come back when those guys are through,” she offered. “Maybe they’re blocking it.”

I looked at a set of keys hanging beside the door. There was an embossed Scotty on the key fob. “Believe me, it’d take a lot more than a couple of guys with powderpuffs to block a fresh murder victim.”

Gutierrez scratched out some more notes. “Okay, then. What if he didn’t die here?”

I considered her theory. No one had mentioned any evidence of the body being relocated, but given what I wasn’t hearing, it made sense. Her brow furrowed, as if she’d found a hole in her own logic, but I thought we should explore the idea more conclusively before we shot it down.

“What if,” I said thoughtfully.

Chapter 4

My cell phone rang, displaying the number for the Coroner’s office. “The crime scene was definitely the victim’s apartment.”

Unfortunately, Gutierrez and I had come to the same conclusion, given that a neighbor had sworn he saw Tony walking back home that night with some new boyfriend he didn’t recognize and, predictably, couldn’t describe—except to say he was very handsome.

I sat in the passenger seat of my car and picked the brim of a styrofoam coffee cup into a dozen small, ragged pieces. I hesitated before letting them fall to the floor, and then I realized that it was my own damn car and I could do what I wanted. Styrofoam fluttered to the carpet around my shoes.

“That ever happen to you?” Gutierrez asked. “A dead guy that won’t talk?”

“Never.” I said it quietly, through clenched teeth, to keep myself from yelling at her. What did she know? It was her first time on the Spook Squad…er, PsyCop Unit.

She flipped open her notepad, rested it against the steering wheel and scanned it. “There’s gotta be a reason, then. Something unique to this case. We just need to figure out what it is.”

My cell phone rang. I pulled it from my coat pocket and flipped it open. “Bayne.”

“Gutierrez with you?” Warwick asked.

I refrained from asking him where the fuck else he thought my partner would be in the midst of an investigation. “Yeah.”

“Get back to the station. Both of you.” He hung up on me before I could try to figure out if he knew that the victim was giving me the silent treatment. What if one of the techs had overheard me talking to Gutierrez and had called him to tell him that I was a waste of taxpayer dollars? No, that was stupid. They had no idea how easy talking to dead victims usually was for me. They didn’t know the silence was freaking me out.

If Gutierrez had any smarmy platitudes to offer on the way back to the squad house, she kept them to herself. The GPS unit beeped every now and then and styrofoam squeaked under my heels, but at least my performance anxiety wasn’t exacerbated by a bunch of meaningless comforting phrases.

We went straight to Warwick’s office. He motioned for me to shut the door behind us. “Interesting report came through from Albuquerque today,” he said.

Albuquerque? Gutierrez was from Albuquerque. I thought that was a pretty odd coincidence until I realized the whole face-to-face could very well be about her, and not me.

“Test results,” he said, spreading the pages of a gray, degraded fax in front of us. “Did you know that your scores were identical on every psy-test you took, Lisa? Different tests, different days, and on each and every one you hit the exact score of random probability. To the percent?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” I said, “but isn’t that a good thing for a Stiff?”

“Stiffs vary,” Warwick said, and I noted that a red flush had broken out across his formidable neck. “Usually between six and thirteen percent. This,” he said, gesturing at the fax, “this is not random.”

Gutierrez had ability? That probably explained what I’d seen in her right away that set me at ease. Normally I’d be happy to hear it, if she were my dry cleaner or my bridge partner. But certifiable psychics weren’t allowed on the force without spending half a year training at Camp Hell. Otherwise known as Heliotrope Station, to those who’ve never done time there.

“You’re off the case,” Warwick said. “In fact, you’re off active duty until I can figure out what to do with you.”

Gutierrez’ face was a bland mask as she handed over her badge and gun. She hadn’t said anything to defend herself. And she hadn’t denied her ability, either. She turned and walked out without a word.

“Where are you with this case?” Warwick said to me. His voice seemed normal, but his color was way too high.

“We, um.” I missed Gutierrez already. “The victim.” I shrugged. “It’s a tough one.”

“I’ll assign a pair of uniformed cops to back you up. Broaden your contact area and see what you can find.”

Great. I’d have a pair of superstitious flatfoots following me around as I went from the cemetery to the victim’s childhood home to anywhere else he liked to hang out while he’d been alive. I wondered if he had a favorite bar and, if so, the chances of eluding my babysitters and getting lucky. Ideally with Detective Marks, who’d just so happen to be there. Not that he hung out in gay bars or anything. At least, that’s what I assumed, though I didn’t hang out in gay bars either, so I didn’t actually know for sure.

Warwick turned back to his notes and picked up the phone. I was dismissed.He’d call me when he had someone lined up. I could go to my desk and start trying to make sense in writing of what was going on, but writing had never been my strong point. Even Maurice, with his two-fingered, misspelled typing, was Shakespeare next to me.

I went out to my car with the intention of grabbing a very late lunch when I saw there was someone sitting in my drivers’ seat. Since Gutierrez still had my keys, I realized that was a good thing.

“Wow,” I said as I got in. “That was….” The fact that she’d been crying stopped me dead in my tracks. I can’t stand it when girls cry.

“It’s not fair,” she said. “I earned this job.”

I tried to recall a time in my life where I would’ve gotten as worked up as she was over a job, and failed. But that’s just me. And then I had to remind myself that she’d needed to beat out a thousand other applicants to get it, and I could empathize at least a little.

“For what it’s worth, I like working with you.”

She gave me a sidelong glance. Her eyes, nose and lips were all red and puffy.

“What if I want to be a Stiff?” she said. “I make a better Stiff than a psychic. I’m a good cop. Really good.”

“You got pretty far without being found out,” I said. “Give yourself some credit for that.” I realized that was a pretty stupid thing to say, since now that she’d been discovered, her career with the force was likely over.

She just hunched and looked down, getting tears on my steering wheel.

“Maybe they’d pay to retrain you. Your abilities might be bigger than you know.”

“You saying I should try for Camp Hell?”

Oh. I wouldn’t have wanted to be a woman there. It was hard enough being myself there.

“Look,” I said, desperately trying to change the subject. “We shouldn’t be sitting here like this in front of the station. Let’s go to Dairy Queen. I’ll buy you a milkshake.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “You’re gonna get called back in any time now. I’ll just go home and try to figure out what I’m doing next.” She pulled away from the curb into the lazy, midday traffic.

“Too bad I’m not precognizant,” I said. “I’d try to give you some advice.”

She smiled at that just a little, her eyes fixed on the road. “Your dead people got any ideas for me?”

I looked out over Montrose. “There’s this fat Korean guy, hit by a bus, who’s always hanging around the intersection at Damen. But I dunno that you want to follow his advice.”

Gutierrez had picked a place in an old brick hotel less than a mile from the station. It’d been converted into studio apartments thirty years prior. The old lettering had been taken down long ago, but they’d left behind pale impressions on the brick that still read “Parker Inn.”

My phone rang just as we got out of the car. She tossed me the keys over the hood and I had to juggle a little to grab them while I tried to flip my phone open. “Bayne.”

“Get back to the station.”

“Okay…?”

“There’s been another murder.”

Chapter 5

The vinyl miniblinds on Warwirck’s door were tilted open and I could see him at his desk with his fingers steepled in front of his face as I approached. I opened his door and staggered back to avoid plowing into Jacob Marks, who’d been lurking to one side of the doorframe. I noted belatedly that his partner, Carolyn, sat on the other side of Warwick’s desk with her hands folded on her lap. She was a neat, small blonde and her skirt suit fit a lot better than Gutierrez’.

“Got a call from the Police Commissioner,” said Warwick, “and it seems we’re gonna try something a little different.” He said the word “different” like some people say “colored,” or “alternative lifestyle.”

“Detective Marks,” Jacob said, sticking out his hand to shake mine. I took his hand in a daze and let him jerk my arm up and down. It was smart of him to pretend he didn’t know me, I realized. And I supposed I looked blank enough to pull off his little act. “This is my partner, Carolyn Brinkman.” Carolyn nodded. I stammered my name, wondering if she would notice that, technically, Jacob was lying to her. But maybe he wasn’t. After all, her name was Carolyn Brinkman.

Warwick piped up. “Now I know that all of your training—years of training—says that a Psych and a Stiff are like salt and pepper, yin and yang, or whatever metaphysical bullshit you want to call it.”

Ham and eggs, my brain said. Ernie and Bert. Shit and shinola. My brain could just go on and on for days. Apparently, it was panicking. Not enough to miss the fact that Marks looked like some kind of Italian supermodel in his suit. But enough to spew out random words that I had to struggle to keep from saying aloud.

“But the Commissioner don’t give a damn what all your gurus and your mental masters say about the PsyCop pairbond. See, he don’t work with PsyCops, not directly. He’s old school. And if it were up to him, crimes would get solved with sweat and brains and elbow grease and luck.”

“And maybe a few hundred thousand dollars’ worth of the latest crime database technology,” Marks added smoothly.

Warwick made a little barking sound, and I realized that it was a laugh.

I’d never made him laugh.

“But the Commissioner says we gotta do something,” said Warwick, “and unless it puts one of my men at risk, we do it.”

I looked at Carolyn with her hands folded on her knee, and at Marks, who may or may not have had a secret smile playing over his expression.

“He wants us to team up?” I asked. I’d almost used the analogy of a three-way, but considering that I’d had a literal petting session with Marks, I thought better of it.

“Exactly.”

Marks pulled a leatherbound notepad from his inside pocket and flipped it open. “The case does straddle both of our jurisdictions.”

“The second victim…?” I asked.

“Anal penetration and mirrors,” said Warwick. “Happened two nights prior to Blakewood, according the techs. You’ll need to work out some kind of game plan to work the scene without stepping on each others’ toes.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” said Marks. “Carolyn and I would interview the victims ourselves, but our victims are usually alive. Seems natural for Detective Bayne to assume that duty. We’ll handle the witnesses.”

Warwick scribbled an address on a sticky note and handed it to me. The homicide was indeed on the border of the Twelfth and Fifth Precincts. It was as if the perp had specifically chosen the very method and location that would bring Marks and me back together in a sea of fumbling awkwardness.

“I’ll meet you there,” I said quickly, and snatched the note from Warwick’s hand. I’d rather fly solo than ride along with Marks in the back seat of his car like a third wheel while prim little Carolyn sat up front and continually adjusted the air conditioning.

I arrived to see Marks parallel parking his Crown Victoria with stunning accuracy in a space adjacent to the scene. I found a spot a block away in front of a hydrant, slapped my police permit atop my dashboard and started jogging toward the duplex.

And since when did I ever walk any more quickly than was absolutely necessary? I slowed my pace as I felt the prickle of sweat in my armpits.

Marks was talking to the uniformed officers on the scene. Carolyn turned to face me. “Sergeant Warwick wasn’t very clear about what happened to your new partner.”

My initial impulse was to make something up about Gutierrez, help her save a little face. And then I remembered that I was talking to the human polygraph. “Turns out she has some ability.”

“That’s too bad. It would be better to keep our numbers even.” She tugged her impeccable suit jacket down, though it hadn’t needed straightening. “Next thing you know they’ll be giving Psychs double duty, trying to spread us over two or three NPs.” I hadn’t heard that old term for Stiffs—NPs, or Non-Psychics—in ages. I guess it was more respectful, but still. I had to quell a smirk.

“But our ratio’s tipped the other way,” I pointed out. “Two Psychs to a Stiff.”

“The brass won’t look at it that way,” she said. “Wait and see.”

The thought of being told to do more work didn’t worry me much. Overtime was fine by me. And when I felt overwhelmed, I’d just stand around and zone out, and everyone would assume I was talking to dead people. I think Maurice’d had his own way of doing the same thing. Sometimes I found pages and pages from his notepads covered in loop-de-loops.

Marks turned toward us and gave a little come-hither nod. I let Carolyn go first with the intention of tagging along behind the two of them, but Marks hung back so that he and I were side by side. “Sink or swim,” he said.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” I said, trading a maxim for a maxim.

Marks stopped in front of the victim’s outer door and faced me. “Do you need anything from me in there that I should know about? With Carolyn,” he said, gesturing toward her, “I’m the muscle. The people we’re interviewing don’t get inside her personal space unless she wants them to. But you?” He shrugged, and his crisp suit rode up and down on his broad shoulders. “I don’t know what you need.”

I needed Maurice, was what I needed. I struggled to articulate what, exactly, he’d done for me. He was solid. He didn’t judge me. He believed me.

Maybe that was really it. He believed that when I mumbled to myself, someone replied, and that when I stared really hard, there was something there, even if he couldn’t see it himself.

“General backup is fine,” I said.

Marks gave me a withering look. I wasn’t trying to be cagey. It just came out that way.

Ryan Carson was a junior architect at a high-priced firm that dealt with gigantic corporate clients. His duplex was probably worth a cool half-mil, and the interior looked like a great big Ikea display. Queer.

I snapped on the plastic booties and edged into the master bedroom, mouth-breathing against the smell. The closet had once had mirrored doors, but what remained of them was scattered around the room. I squinted and saw that the shards were set in more of a burst pattern than a swirl this time around, as if the killer couldn’t stand to repeat himself exactly.

Ryan Carson was splayed in the middle, arms and legs outstretched like he was in the midst of winning some Olympic event, naked and triumphant, though starting to bloat in the middle. His eyelids looked wrong. Covering bits of mirror, I guessed.

But where was Ryan Carson’s spirit? I looked around the room and saw nothing but a pair of techs, one snapping photographs and the other taking notes. “Ryan?” I said, quiet, but the techs heard. I’d worked scenes with each of them dozens of times before, but there was still that little pause while they seemed to steel themselves against my presence.

And to make matters worse, Ryan wasn’t talking.

I usually got visuals on murders. The spirits were just so pissed off, they couldn’t wait to tattle on whoever’d done it. Cases where the victim knew the perp were practically open and shut. But there was no visual on Ryan. Or anything else, for that matter. Just a cold dead body on a bed surrounded by mirror fragments.

I headed to Ryan’s kitchen just in case he was hanging out there. On the way, I passed Carolyn and Marks. Carolyn was grilling a witness in a quiet and professional manner, while Marks loomed behind her, looking very big and threatening while he took notes. I had to give it to them, they certainly did have their method down pat.

The kitchen, a landscape of black enamel and stainless steel, was empty.

I cycled through the various rooms, edging around the perimeter and doing my best to fly under everyone else’s radars. The Auracel was ancient history by then, and I should have picked up Ryan about as easily as I could order a pizza. So where was he?

I strained so hard in the living room that I actually got a visual on a dead goldfish. He just floated there above the mantle, looking translucent and bored. If Ryan’s spirit was around, it wasn’t in the living room.

The duplex had an attic—not the finished kind where there’s a guest room and a spot for out-of-season clothes, but the creepy kind where you’ve got to pull a set of folding stairs out of the ceiling to get up there. I’d had no luck anywhere else, so I decided to see if maybe Ryan was haunting the attic.

The feeling up there was calm, though through the vents I could hear people on the street chattering, and the squeak of investigators’ feet treading up and down between the first and second floors drifted up through the trap door. Ryan had a lot of stuff up there, but it was all boxed and labeled. Christmas decorations, camping gear, a bunch of old board games.

I reached out to him with my mind, trying to composite the dead body on the bed with the snapshots stuck to the fridge and come up with a semblance of how the victim had really looked. “Don’t you want us to get this sonofabitch?” I asked aloud. “C’mon, Ryan. Throw me a bone.”

I listened, and I reached. Nothing. I walked farther in, crouching beneath the slope of the roofline and squinting to make out the blocky architect’s writing on the boxes: College. Badminton set. Mom’s House. As my gloved fingers brushed against the final crate, I thought I heard the distant sound of a woman crying. But it was gone so quickly I couldn’t have said for sure.

Chapter 6

We reconvened back at the Twelfth Precinct, since Carolyn and Marks were the only two with tangible work to show for our afternoon of digging. Neither of them seemed to think it was unusual that I hadn’t gotten a hit from the crime scene. And I don’t think either of them would’ve hesitated to question me if they had. They were both similar shades of blunt, though Carolyn tended to be so soft-spoken she almost came off as polite.

“So the guy from the newsstand saw Ryan the architect come home with a Chinese guy,” said Marks, “and the cab driver swears the second man was Pakistani. Is that what I’m hearing?”

Carolyn’s gaze went wide, like she was watching a movie screen inside her head. “They were positive, Jacob. Absolutely certain.”

“But given the timeframe,” said Marks, “about twelve thirty p.m., they had to be talking about the same guy.”

I broke in. “Maybe he was just, uh…tanned.” I felt like an idiot the second I opened my mouth, but Carolyn’s answer took the sting off.

“I thought of that,” she said. “But when I was reading the witnesses, it wasn’t a skin tone they’d noticed. From the guy at the newsstand, I kept getting images of his cousin back home. And the cab driver thought the subject looked exactly like some Eastern movie star.”

“Then something else is going on,” Marks suggested. “The perp’s got talent and he’s doing something to obscure his identity.”

“We don’t have enough to go on to work that theory,” Carolyn said.

“Not yet,” said Marks. “We’ll have to dig up some more witnesses.”

He looked at me. I wondered if he wanted me to find some dead people at the scenes, other than the victims, to canvas. How could I tell him that they’d both been total paranormal voids—except for the goldfish?

I hoped he could make do with a little show of support. “It’s worth looking into,” I said.

Carolyn flipped through Marks’ notes and made ticks by a couple of his observations. “It’s all we’ve got,” she said, “so we might as well try.”

We hit the street again and broadened our net. Anthony Blakewood, the Scotty collector, had likely picked up his date at a gay nightclub on Belmont that wouldn’t open for another four hours. We did trace Ryan Carson’s path back to a coffee house on Clark, though.

I was parking-challenged yet again and found Carolyn and Marks already there, questioning a barista. The girl was college-aged and chunky, and intent on battering a piece of chewing gum into submission with her molars. Carolyn made little squiggles and ticks on Marks’ notepad while they talked.

“I’m sure you see hundreds of people every day,” Marks was saying, “but just think back to last night and see if this man is familiar.”

I flashed my badge and mumbled my name as I fell into place beside Carolyn. The employee gave me the briefest once-over and then focused on Marks’ photo of Ryan.

“Oh, I dunno. Working in Boystown, they all start looking the same. Especially these quiet, plain ones.”

I don’t know that I would have called Ryan plain. He’d had a nice build and a sincere, open look about him. But maybe she meant plain compared to the kids with pierced eyebrows, noses and lips talking computer games over their lattes.

“Three nights ago,” Carolyn prompted. “Maybe he lingered a while.”

The barista began to shake her head, but then went still. “Oh yeah. The chai. That’s right.” She pointed toward the window. “He was sitting up there with a Powerbook and he had a croissant special, no meat.”

“Them fucking fags. Maybe they’d get straightened out if they ate a little meat like regular people.”

I swung around but there was no one visible behind me. The gargly, decayed quality of the voice clicked in my head and I felt my mind shift to a different kind of listening. I recalled the idea I’d had earlier about interviewing a dead witness. Whatever I learned wouldn’t be admissible in court since technically it would be hearsay, but I was open to anything that’d help narrow down our search.

I reached over Marks’ shoulder for the photo of Ryan and tried to pretend that I didn’t notice the barista looking at me funny. “Could I, um…? Thanks.”

I turned away from Marks and held the photo in front of my chest. “Did you see this man Friday night?” I spoke so softly that your average NP would think I was talking to myself.

“That one? Yeah. He comes in here two, three times a week and has a chai.”

“Mmm hm. And was he with anybody?”

Gooseflesh rose on my arms as whomever I was speaking to grew excited. “How could I forget? Some faggot wearing a Halloween costume in June.”

“Oh,” I said, disappointed. “Like a drag queen? A transvestite?”

“You know I had a clean bill of health not three months before I kicked the bucket? Then they cracked me open. Massive coronary, they said. Arteries seventy-eight percent blocked. It’s them HMOs that’s the problem, ya know. Turn people around like short order cooks.”

“What was she dressed as? The female impersonator.”

“Are you stupid? When’d I say there was a Cher with a pecker in here, huh? That’s nothing new. Them faggots do that all year ’round. I’m talking a real costume.”

I imagined a mascot gone astray—maybe someone dressed as a hot dog. “Describe it,” I said. I’d raised my voice a little, but Marks and Carolyn had shifted their bodies to block anyone from disturbing me. Their postures were casual, but their timing was fantastic.

“Scary,” said the disembodied voice. “I dunno. Lots of black, like a big cape with a hood.”

“What was he, a white guy? Hispanic? Young, old?”

“I…I dunno.” The voice wavered and grew softer. “I couldn’t see his face.”

“How to you know it was a man?”

“I dunno. I just do.”

A shiver coursed through me and my relative temperature returned to normal. I guess the dead blowhard couldn’t stand being asked a question that he couldn’t answer with obnoxious certainty.

I turned back to Marks and Carolyn, who were both staring at me, anticipation glittering in their eyes.

“The man who ordered the chai,” I asked quietly. “Was he with somebody in a cloak?”

The barista burst out laughing. “What, like Dracula?”

I felt my cheeks color. “Maybe something like a cloak. A rain poncho. A long duster.”

“I think I’d remember someone in a cloak,” she snickered, then turned her attention back to Jacob Marks.

Chapter 7

I made a mental note to reintroduce myself to the bar scene. Even if I’d had a drink or two in me, the music was so loud that I probably wouldn’t be bothered by disembodied sob stories. Unfortunately, no live person at the bar knew Anthony Blakewood well enough to have any idea who he’d gone home with. Any dead bar-hoppers were drowned out by the music, and no one even cruised me. So the trip to the GloryWhole was a total bust.

I split off from Carolyn and Marks around 11:30 and swung by a 7-11 for something to eat. I reached for an avocado wrap, but then I remembered what the dead creep at the coffee house had said about queers and vegetarians, and opted for a roast beef instead. Halfway back to the counter I turned around and exchanged the beef for the avocado again. And I did my best to ignore the mostly-transparent guy with the afro jacking off in the corner, and the voice coming from aisle three that kept repeating, “But he loves me. I can’t leave him.”

I ate as I drove home, wondering how it was that I was queer enough to pick out an avocado wrap, but not queer enough to get cruised at a gay bar. It could’ve been my badge that they were avoiding, sure. But I think the idea of laying a cop gets a lot of guys off. And besides, plenty of ’em were drooling over Marks, not that I blame them. I took a bite of the wrap and mayonnaise squirted out the end and dribbled down my lapel. I steered with my knee while I tried to wipe it off, but only succeeded in getting mayo all over my hand. Maybe it was my wardrobe that was the problem. Not that I had any intention of doing anything about it in the near future, since I think shopping’s about as much fun as going to the dentist.

I finished the wrap before I got home and spent an extra minute trying to get mayo off my sportcoat. I gave up when it became obvious that all I’d accomplished was embedding rolled-up fragments of cheap paper napkin all over myself. I realized that I’d dropped my other coat off at the dry cleaner’s about four months prior. And I wondered if they would give the thing to me without the pickup slip, or if they’d foisted it off on Goodwill by now.

To top things off, the ghost of Jackie the Loudmouthed Prostitute had ranged up from her normal turf about two blocks south to tell me, yet again, about the john who’d shanked her. If I’d known about Jackie, I might have picked a different apartment. But she hadn’t made her first nocturnal appearance until I’d completed my week long stake-out and written a check for the security deposit. Sometimes I thought about moving, but I reminded myself that she only harassed me a couple of times a month. The spirits around my old place had managed to waylay me every single week.

“So I said, ‘You got a place, baby?’ And he said, ‘Come on over here, sugar, no one can see us back in this here alley.’”

Though they were infrequent, her tirades tended to get on my very last nerve. “Go find someone who gives a shit,” I said, pushing open the gate to my walkway.

“Are you disrespecting me?” I felt a small chill, like Jackie might be gearing up for a temper tantrum, but it was weak enough that I was able to blow it off. “You hear me, white boy? I said, are you disrespecting me?”

There’s a technique Camp Hell taught people like me—spirit mediums, to use the technical term—for when we were done talking. We’re supposed to surround the entity with a bubble of light, white on the inside to draw them toward the light, and blue on the outside, to protect us from any potential malevolence. I thought real hard about putting one of those bubbles around Jackie. I formed it in my mind and I pushed until my ears popped, imagining my power coursing out to surround her and get her the fuck away from me.

But that was apparently all in my head.

“No one talks to Jackie that way,” her voice continued. “You know what I’m sayin’? White boy—do you know what I’m sayin’?”

“Talk to the hand,” I said, and waved her off as I went into my vestibule. She’d never yet followed me into the building. I think it might’ve been too far away from the spot where she’d died. At least, I hoped it was.

About a foot of free newspapers and sales fliers were piled up on the floor. They’d drifted back against the security door, preventing it from shutting completely. One of these days I was going to fling all that crap out onto the lawn. But not while I was covered in mayonnaise and had a pissed off hooker ghost railing at me from the courtyard.

I stuck my mail key into the bank of mailboxes on the wall, wiggled it to get it to that precise depth where it would turn, and opened my mailbox. Sales fliers slipped out and I let them join the rest of the paper on the floor. I studied what was left. A phone bill. A free sample of shampoo and conditioner all in one.

The outer door swung open, startling me, and I half-turned as a bulky figure pressed me into the open mailbox. “You know how hot you look when you talk to yourself in coffee shops?” Marks said. The cellophane-wrapped plastic packet of shampoo crinkled between us while he leaned in for a kiss. The after-work stubble around his goatee scraped my cheek, and he tasted like cinnamon gum.

I pulled back from the kiss, though, wanting to make sure that I had things straight. “You’re not pissed off that you got stuck with me for this case?”

Marks tilted his head. His features were harsh in the yellow buglight. “I’ve got two Psychs on my team. Why should I be pissed?” He leaned forward again and his lips were softer on mine, gently caressing my mouth and parting my lips for a slow, tender sweep of his tongue. My knees went all rubbery.

Evidently, he wasn’t worried about us getting caught fraternizing—and if he wasn’t concerned, then I sure wasn’t gonna make a stink. I’d always thought that rules were just for people who tended to get caught.

“Look,” I said when he let me come up for air. I was just about to tell him that I could hear Jackie screaming about her no-good pimp and it was a total buzzkill, but I decided it would be better to take the paranormal things slowly since my talents were probably much freakier than Carolyn’s. “Let’s go upstairs.”

We sprinted up to the third floor like we hadn’t just spent ten hours combing for witnesses. I had my key in my hand, poised at lock-level, when I rounded the top of my stairs and saw that some long-haired woman was slumped against my front door. I was fairly sure she was alive, too.

The girl sniffled. Marks stopped behind me on the second stair to the top. I stared at her and tried to place her, and then recognized the oxford-blue blouse that had once been hidden by an ill-fitting suitcoat. “Gutierrez?” I said.

She peered at me through the zig-zag waves of her unbraided hair.

I tried to act like it wasn’t all that unusual to find someone sprawled at my front door. “Marks, this is my partner, Lisa Gutierrez.”

Marks stepped up beside me and peered down at her. Gutierrez made no move to stand. She seemed kind of distant. I wondered if she’d been drinking. Or maybe if she’d slit her wrists and I just couldn’t see the puddle of blood due the lousy hall lighting.

She squinted at me and then nodded, as if she’d only just placed me. “Good, you’re here. Ask me a question.”

“Huh?”

“Just ask me,” she said. She seemed to have a Spanish accent that I hadn’t noticed before. “Something with a yes or no answer.”

I shook my head. “What, trivia?”

“Anything,” she said, drawing the word long and pronouncing the end like “theeng.”

“Am I married?” Marks asked.

Gutierrez swung her head around to peer at him. Her brow furrowed. I waited for steam to come out of her ears. “I don’ know. Ask something else.”

Marks glanced at me and raised his eyebrow. I shrugged. “Am I Jewish?” he said.

Gutierrez thought hard, and then nodded with a satisfied smile. “I don’ know.”

Marks pulled a pen light out of his suitcoat, crouched down in front of Gutierrez and shined the beam in her face. “She’s the one with the gift they just discovered, right?”

I nodded.

Gutierrez just sat there while Marks looked her over. “You give her any of your Auracel?”

“What, are you crazy? That’s way too strong for someone without any tolerance.” And then I took in her wooziness and her general ennui and I had to wonder. Where would she get ahold of something so tightly controlled—something for which I just happened to have a prescription? And then I remembered. The pill in my glove box.

Good thing it was only a halfsie or we’d probably be on our way to the emergency room.

I reached over Gutierrez’ head to unlock my front door with the goal of getting Gutierrez inside and getting rid of Marks. “I can…uh…take it from here,” I said.

Marks looked at me like I was nuts. “What, you just remembered you’re not single or something? I thought you invited me up two minutes ago.” He’d started helping Gutierrez to her feet as if caring for a massively stoned partner was all in a day’s work.

“I hadn’t planned on….” I gestured toward Lisa.

Marks managed to support Gutierrez with one arm and reach over me to push open my front door with the other. “But you know what to do, right? There’s some kind of hangover cure for anti-psyactives, isn’t there?”

“No,” I said, mostly to myself. “Not really.”

I hurried inside before them to flip on the light and made sure there wasn’t a kitchen stool in the middle of the floor waiting for someone to trip over it. Marks looked around as he pulled Lisa inside. “Postmodern Institutional. Nice.”

I bristled at the “institutional” remark, and did my best not to have a Camp Hell flashback. I supposed Marks thought he was being witty. Just because he was turning out to be a Psych groupie didn’t mean that a psychic had ever told him a Heliotrope story. Most of us did our best to forget them.

“Put her on the futon,” I said, figuring I could just buy another plain canvas cover if Lisa ended up puking on it. Marks steered her into the living room. I ran the tap until the water was as cold as it was going to get and then looked in the freezer for some ice. Both ice cube trays were empty. I wondered why I’d just left them there like that.

“Vic,” Lisa said as she saw me come through the living room door. “You gotta do something for me.” Marks sat beside her on the couch, relaxed, but keeping an eye on her.

I handed her the glass of water and some slopped onto her knee. “I’ll try.”

She leaned forward and more water dribbled onto the hardwood floor. “Tell my Papa I’m a good cop.”

“I’m sure he thinks so,” I said. “Parents are always proud when their kids make the force.”

She shook her head, but the remainder of the water stayed in the glass. “Crackhead shot him down when I was seventeen. He don’t know.”

“He was a cop?” Marks asked.

Lisa nodded. “Twenty-three years.”

I closed my eyes and tried to figure out how to sound genuine without being too truthful. Because chances were that Gutierrez’ father was walking around in an outdated uniform complaining about the sonofabitch who’d shot him and reliving it down to the last freaking detail. Murders just are that way.

“They didn’t have PsyCops then,” Lisa said. “Not out west.” She stared at me through her hair and it disturbed me, seeing her like that, her control stripped away by the drug. “He thought I wouldn’t be nothing better than a fortune teller like my abuelita.”

Marks was listening intently. He’d followed me home to have a good time, and he was getting it—just not in the form he’d expected. “What’s your talent, Lisa?”

She clutched the water glass hard and turned her face toward him. “My sister and me call it sí-no.”

“Sí-no.”

“The yes-no game. We played it all the time. Will it rain tomorrow? Yes. Is Mama making chicken tonight? No. Will I like my new teacher? Yes.”

“Limited precog,” I said.

“Maybe not so limited,” said Marks. “I’ll bet she can work some pretty big questions into the sí-no.”

“And her psych tests,” I said. “That’s how she managed to come out completely average. She knew that anything consistently above or below would have filtered her into the positive or negative psychic tiers, so she got half the questions right, half wrong, on purpose. Maybe you’re right. Maybe her gift is incredibly accurate.”

Marks eyed her greedily. “Can you imagine what she’d do with some training?”

I closed my eyes and remembered the night at Camp Hell when the doctors in surgical masks blew my synapses wide with a powerful psyactive. They’d left me strapped to a gurney for three days until I stopped twitching. “Training’s a very personal thing,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice even.

“My Papa’d want me to be a real cop.”

I supposed I could’ve taken offense at the implication that I wasn’t one, but maybe I secretly agreed with her. “Don’t worry about that now,” I said. “Get some sleep.” I stood up to scrounge a blanket off my own bed while Marks managed to open out the futon with Lisa still on it.

Once we’d gotten her settled, Marks headed toward my bedroom. I followed him and paused in the doorway, watching him loosen his tie. “I don’t think you should stay,” I whispered.

“Why not?”

I glanced back toward the living room. “I’m not, um. Y’know.”

“What?”

I crossed my arms and sighed, and hated that he was going to make me say it. “Out.”

He smirked. “Not to anyone? You don’t strike me as a virgin.”

“Don’t be stupid. You’re a cop, too.”

Marks eased over to me a hell of a lot more gracefully than someone his size had the right to. “I don’t show up at the squad house in a pink tutu, no. But my family? My friends? My partner? I’m not gonna waste my time and energy playing games with them.”

I looked back at Lisa, wondering if she was asleep or just zoning out with her eyes shut. “I only met her a couple of days ago,” I said in my own lame defense. That was my excuse for not telling my partner. Family and friends? That was simple. I didn’t have any.

Marks pulled a business card from the breast pocket of his suitcoat and tucked it down the collar of my shirt. He pressed his lips against my ear and spoke softly, his voice a low buzz. “Call me on my cell if you need anything.” His tongue traced the outline of my ear and then darted inside to draw a long shiver out of me. “Anything.”

I stared at the kitchen doorway long after Marks was gone.

Chapter 8

I swabbed the shower out before Lisa woke up. Just because my whole apartment’s white doesn’t mean I’m a clean freak or anything, and I’d started noticing dust bunnies, clumps of hair, and fingerprints that would send a woman running for the Formula 409.

“I think my eyeball is gonna fall out.”

I turned to find Lisa leaning against the doorframe of the tiny bathroom, picking a tangle out of her hair.

“Yeah. I get that, too.” I turned on the hot tap and ran water into the tub. “A shower and a couple of aspirin will help. A little.”

Lisa stared down at her nails. “I feel like I should ask you if I did anything stupid last night, except I actually remember it all.”

I sat on the edge of the clawfoot tub and played with the white vinyl shower curtain that hung from an oval track suspended from the ceiling. I noticed some mildew on the bottom and tried to hide it in one of the folds.

“Who was that other detective? He your new partner?”

“Temporarily. He works for another precinct and he’s already got a partner.”

“That’s too bad. He seemed like a good cop.”

I found a black T-shirt in my closet that I’d accidentally bought a size too large and never worn, and tossed it into the bathroom while averting my eyes. Then I brewed some double-strong coffee and wondered if Lisa would have the stomach for chicken pot pies for breakfast. Probably not. We’d need to eat out.

Lisa emerged from the steamy bathroom with the end of a tight braid pinched between her fingers. My T-shirt was stretched taut on her, making her seem chestier than she’d looked in a suit. “Got a rubber band?”

“Um…doorknob.”

Lisa found a band and wrapped it around the end of her braid.

“How’s your power today?” I asked her.

“I dunno.” She sat on the second stool and took the cup of black coffee I handed her. “I think it’s coming back. Answers pop into my mind when I ask questions, but I don’t feel so sure of them.”

“It comes back gradually,” I said. “We’re people. You can’t turn us on and off like TV sets.”

Lisa sipped her coffee and winced. “You really gotta clean out your coffee pot.”

“Put some cream in there, you won’t notice it so much.” Lisa attempted to gag some coffee down while I slid a couple of aspirin her way. “If you want, I can take you somewhere with decent coffee.”

Lisa peered at me suspiciously.

“Where the second murder victim just happened to be hanging out the night of his death,” I added.

Lisa’s eyes went wide. “You can’t do that, Vic. You’ll get in trouble bringing me in on the case while I’m suspended.”

“But we’re just going out for a little coffee,” I protested.

Lisa looked into her cup. “The second crime scene—all covered with mirrors like the first one?”

I nodded.

“Those poor boys,” she said, getting up to dump her coffee into the sink. That seemed like an odd thing to say, considering that they were probably about her age, but I didn’t remark on it.

A kid with a pierced eyebrow was working the counter and I was relieved that I didn’t have to deal with the gum-chewing girl who’d seen me talking with the dead guy. I got a latte and a chocolate chip bagel while Lisa just ordered a black coffee, extra tall. “Let’s sit over here,” I said, carrying our coffees to a table while balancing my bagel in the crook of my arm. I gestured toward a table in front with a tilt of my head. “That’s where the second victim supposedly had chai with Darth Vader.”

“And a dead witness told you this,” said Lisa. She peeled off the lid and blew on her coffee. “Dead guys ever lie?”

“Why don’t I ask you, Miss sí-no. Do dead guys ever lie?”

Lisa grinned. “Yes.”

“And they get their stories all mixed up, too,” I told her. “They’re just as thick as the living. Sometimes worse, since they get stuck in these crazy ruts and keep repeating themselves.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You hear any dead people talking now?”

I shifted my focus but the room felt quiet. “Not now. But this is a new building. The older ones almost always have someone hanging around. It’s worse at night.”

“No wonder you take Auracel. Once I took that pill and the sí-no was gone, I felt kinda lonely. I couldn’t figure out why you’d want to get rid of your power—unless it stopped you from doing your job. But I guess it’s pretty different from mine.”

“And how could you ever think that a talent like sí-no would stop you from doing yours? You put yourself in some hot water by applying to be a PsyCop. If you’d just stayed in the regular force, you’d probably make detective with the first opening. What were you thinking?”

Lisa slouched against the back of her chair. “The sí-no told me to. I saw the job posted in the breakroom, with about a hundred others. PsyCops, they’re still pretty novel in New Mexico. ‘Should I apply for that job?’ I asked myself. Si.”

The sí-no told me to. The courts would have a field day with that explanation.

My cell phone rang—Marks. “Carolyn and I are at the Twelfth putting our notes together, and it looks like at least three more witnesses who saw the suspect would identify him differently.”

“Hold on,” I said. I hit the mute button on my phone and turned to Lisa. “Did the same person murder both Blakewood and Carson?”

“Yes.”

“And is he doing something to disguise his appearance?”

“No.”

I un-muted my phone. “Something’s definitely up with the killer,” I said, “but I’ll be damned if I know what it is.”

“I think it warrants some serious discussion over dinner tonight. Say eight o’clock? Cottonwood Lounge.”

I stared hard at my phone. The restaurant was fancy enough that I could hardly mistake the invitation for anything but a date. And it was nowhere near either of our precincts. Marks was persistent, I’d give him that. “Um…okay. Sure.”

“See you then,” he purred, and the noise of his line cut off.

I realized Lisa was staring at me. “Ask me,” she said.

“Huh?”

“You want to ask me a sí-no. I can tell.”

I drummed my fingers on the faux-marble tabletop. “Is Marks…” I started, and then wondered how to phrase my question. The incriminating part seemed to be out of the bag with just that single word—his name. “Is he just some kind of player, messing with my head?”

“No.” Lisa blushed a little and turned her attention toward the remainder of her coffee. I wondered if what I’d just done counted as “coming out” to my partner. Lisa was no dummy, so I suspected that was a “yes.”

I dropped Lisa off at her apartment and went back to my desk at the Fifth, figuring I’d hunt-and-peck my way through what little I had to report while I counted down the minutes until eight p.m.

I’d been there a couple of hours when my phone buzzed and Betty the receptionist’s voice came through. “Detective Bayne?”

“Yeah?”

“Sergeant Warwick wants to see you.”

Betty’d been at the station for something like forty years. She was the main reason they still used the same phone system they’d installed in the early eighties. But I gave her credit. She could take the most mundane sentence and, with the addition of a well-placed but subtle inflection, let you know exactly what was going on.

In this case, the way she lingered over the word “see” implied that I was in some kind of deep shit.

Warwick knew about me and Marks. That was all I could figure. I could see it now, a great big scandal. Two members of the already-controversial Paranormal Investigation Unit fired in a shocking gay sex scandal—details at eleven.

Warwick stood up and loomed over his desk as I came in. I closed the door behind me so fewer desk cops could hear me getting reamed. “You want to tell me what you were doing meeting with Gutierrez earlier today?” he demanded.

A small, giddy part of me wanted to tell him that I was fucking her. But then I thought of Marks, strong enough to tell his inner circle who he actually was, and I thought better of it. Besides, how could I do that to Lisa’s reputation?

“We were discussing anti-psyactives,” I told him, figuring that even Carolyn the lie detector wouldn’t be able to find anything wrong with that explanation.

Warwick frowned, sure that I wasn’t being truthful, but unable to discount what I’d said without challenging me. “You are not to discuss the case with her,” he warned me. “She’s suspended. And if I find out you’re leaking evidence to her, that’s where your ass is gonna be, too.”

“Yes, sir.” I suspect that legally he couldn’t tell me not to see her on my own time. But it seemed that he thought if he glared at me hard enough, I would infer it.

Warwick picked up his phone and told Betty to get his wife on the line—his way of dismissing me without giving me the courtesy of saying it aloud. Maybe most NPs really think that every Psych is a mind reader, but Warwick was taking it that one extra step just to be an ass.

Chapter 9

I hoped that buying a new jacket at SaverPlus Department Store wouldn’t mark me as a complete and utter loser for the rest of my life, but I’d ended up working until 6:45 and needed to get something fast. An ancient salesman who smelled like cigars kept yammering on about how I needed a 39 long, an unusual size, but he thought he might have it in navy. I grabbed a 40 regular in black and headed for the cashier while he was still rummaging around.

I pulled the tags off in the car while I cursed at the GPS for taking me through the most congested six-way intersection in the city. I popped open my glove box and searched for a comb each time the traffic lurched to a fitful stop. Not that I’d ever actually put a comb in there. But it seemed like it’d be a likely place to keep one.

When I got to the Cottonwood Lounge, I found Marks sitting at the tastefully set table, sipping a glass of dark red wine like he didn’t even notice I was fifteen minutes late. “I, um…traffic was lousy.”

He shook his head from side to side like I’d said something funny. “Wine?”

“Wine? Um, no.” I pointed to my head. “Doesn’t agree with me.”

“Really?”

I sensed that he wanted me to give him some kind of Psych story to gnaw on, but I just wasn’t up for it. “Warwick laid into me for having contact with Gutierrez.”

I thought he would ask me how Warwick knew, but instead he just shrugged and drained his glass. “And you’re so worried about what Warwick thinks.”

“He is my boss.”

“How many years?”

I counted back, just to be sure. “Twelve.”

“You were in one of the original three PsyCop units when the whole thing was hardly more than a crazy experiment. Your hit rate was the only thing that kept the program alive, especially after that witchhunt exposé on the psychic gambling ring that Channel 2 aired. You think he doesn’t remember that?”

I sipped my ice water and thought back. Those things had all happened. But I didn’t recall anyone ever acting like they were anything special.

Marks leaned forward and his casual demeanor fell away. Intensity blazed in his dark eyes, and he grasped my forearm from across the table. “We’re gonna nail this bastard. Me and you. Carolyn and Lisa. And then see what kind of respect you command.”

I considered Marks. It was easy enough for him to be confident. This case was like any other to him: get evidence, put evidence together, solve case. But me? My evidence collection was on the fritz and it was really starting to piss me off.

Over dinner I managed to get marinara sauce on my new blazer, though it left less of a telltale mark than the mayonnaise had on my old one. But at least I found Marks to be pretty good company—a lot easier to talk to than other men I’d attempted to date. There’d been the record store clerk who got squeamish when he found out I carried a gun. And the hairdresser who couldn’t stop making wisecracks about my handcuffs. But Marks just commented on the food and gave me sultry looks between every bite he took. I could handle that.

I followed him back to his place, a small second-floor condo on the lake. It looked more lived-in than the architect’s duplex, but just about as expensive. A phantom cat sat on his radiator, tail lashing back and forth, but other than that we were alone.

“It’s good,” I said, happy to get out of that new sportcoat. I threw it over the arm of his burgundy leather couch. “No one here but us.”

Marks grinned as if he’d been waiting for me to say something spooky all night. He loosened his tie like he was doing a striptease, then pulled it off and let it fall in a silk heap on top of my jacket. I was relieved that he wasn’t compulsively neat. “C’mere,” he said. He put his arm around me, led me to a floor-to-ceiling window and pulled open a set of vertical blinds.

The lake spread out before us, tiny lights flashing here or there where a boat floated at anchor, and the yellow grids of high rise windows glowing in my peripheral vision. I’m not usually one to go out of my way to see the sights, but the view from Marks’ window was pretty nice. “Wow.”

His hands slipped around my middle as I said it, and my breath hitched as he pulled my shirt from my waistband. I felt his palms glide over my bare stomach and I shivered as he fit himself to the curve of my back, his breath warm on my neck.

I tried to turn around and face him, but he had me spread up against the plate glass window and there was no way I’d be able to move unless he let me. He pressed into me harder, grazing the nape of my neck with his teeth as his hands slid higher. His fingers closed over my nipples and he took them gently, just rolling them, rolling, rolling, as his teeth combed my neck and the bulge of his cock rubbed against the back of my pants.

I reached back over my shoulder with one hand to see if I could touch him, stroke him, anywhere. But I was splayed like a bug on the glass and couldn’t do anything but writhe while Marks’ hands played over my chest and his mouth seared tingling trails over my neck. Eventually I stopped trying and just pressed my cheek into the window, my breath fogging the lake skyline until it took on the spectral look of the dead world that dogged my existence.

Marks teased my nipples until they were stiff and then squeezed them harder—just a little—until I groaned aloud and pushed my ass back against him. He pressed his teeth into me and held me there by my neck while his hands slid downward and made short work of my fly. My slacks pooled around my ankles and my cock stood out in my boxer briefs, the tip butting against the cool glass through the thin fabric.

Once my pants were off, Marks’ hands slid up my sides, along my ribs. They crossed themselves over my chest as he pressed himself into my back from chin to thigh. “Just stay there,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I want to get you off.”

Had he actually said that? Had anyone ever said that to me before? Ever? Another of my breaths bloomed against the window as Marks dropped to his knees behind me and took the waistband of my underwear between his teeth. My damp fingertips squeaked at the glass, searching for something to grasp, while Marks’ goatee whispered across the skin of my bare ass as he tugged my underwear down. The briefs got caught over my hard-on, which was now sticking up at an angle, and he nibbled around the plane of my hip and the bony crest of my pelvis as he worked at undressing me. My cock snapped free and the glass was colder than I thought it would be, though maybe the smear of precome I was painting there was giving me a chill.

His head dipped low as he wedged it under my butt and pressed his lips against my inner thigh, trailing his hot tongue in slow swashes that inched higher and higher. My legs trembled as I stepped out of the underwear and spread my feet, the length of my cock now forced vertically between my belly and the glass that was no longer cold; the heat of my body had warmed it.

Marks’ warm, damp breath enveloped the back of my balls as he sighed, and then his tongue was there, teasing at them as they shifted inside my scrotum, which wrinkled at the touch of his mouth. He kissed them and laved them and bathed them with his tongue, and all the while I jammed my cock against his window, squeaking it up, then down, and wishing there was something warm or wet or fleshy against it instead of a pane of hard, smooth glass.

“Please,” I mumbled against the window while his tongue traced the divot between my balls.

“Please what?” he said, his mustache tickling me right below the asshole while his hot breath had me squirming.

Damn him for making me say it. “Suck me,” I said, and it hardly even sounded like my own voice saying something so porno. He reached a hand around the front of me just enough to press my stiff cock downward and aim it between my thighs, toward his mouth. He led with his chin and could hardly reach me, but my whole body bucked against the glass when he dragged his lower lip over my cockhead, swirled at it with his tongue, and teased my slit between long, leisurely sucks of the tip.

“Please, oh God. Please do it deep.”

He slid his hot mouth from me and then flipped me around, one strong hand keeping me from tripping over the wad of clothing at my feet. “That’s right,” he said, caressing the side of my cock with his cheek. “I want to look up into your face while you come.”

And then my awkwardness increased exponentially as I realized Jacob Marks was gonna stare at me while my cock sank into his throat. He was gorgeous—simply beautiful. The most handsome man I’d ever been with, that I ever even dreamed I’d be with. And yet it was easier to spread myself wide open and half naked on that damn window than it was to look into his eyes.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on the rhythm he set, on the exquisite suction he maintained and the way he opened his throat every few strokes to take me all the way in. But then I heard a murmur of distant laughter—maybe just some tourists on the lake, but maybe not—and I opened my eyes again to keep myself with Marks, anchored in the present, among the living.

I grabbed his short hair, struggling to find something to hold on to, and he grasped me by the hips and sucked hard. My whole body tensed, poised on a painful brink, and then everything crashed open, my hips bucking as Marks rode out my orgasm. His fingers sank deep into my hipbones with a force that’d leave bruises.

Marks pulled off slowly and gave my wet, red cockhead a lingering lick while I stared down at him, dazed. He looked up at me for a long moment, and then kissed it again. And licked it. I pulled back from him, quelling the need to giggle at the sensitivity. “Stop it, Marks. You’re killing me.”

He sat back on his heels, still fully clothed, and licked his lips. “Why don’t you call me Jacob?” he suggested.

Chapter 10

Marks—Jacob, I mean—snores a little. I think I was relieved to learn it. If he was absolutely perfect, I’d have to be suspicious.

I woke around six, and while it would’ve been nice to get a few more hours in, I was surprised to have slept as soundly as I had. I hadn’t spent a night in another man’s bed since…I thought back. Maybe eight years earlier. That college professor who was always high—on weed, not Auracel. That was back before they even made Auracel and I’d needed to take Neurozamine with a Benadryl chaser to shut out the voices.

Eight years. I felt old. Jacob mumbled a little, as if my stirring had bothered him, and then rolled onto his back and settled into the long, slow breaths of deep sleep.

I stared at his gorgeous profile and told myself, yet again, that I was actually sleeping with him and that he’d been the one to initiate it. Maybe I’d just been poised for a little good luck. It was about time.

I’d showered and made a pot of coffee by the time Jacob shuffled out of his bedroom in nothing but a pair of blue paisley boxers. “It’s seven o’clock,” he said, squinting. “Are you crazy?”

“They did treat me for schizophrenia for a couple of years before they figured out I was talking to real dead people,” I replied. I’d meant it as a joke, but it’d come out kind of edgy.

Jacob looked me in the eye for a long moment before he sighed and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Well, you’re not a kid in an institution anymore,” he said. He took a sip of the coffee and winced, then scooped a few spoonfuls of sugar into it. “You’re a cop. You can speed. You can carry a gun. You can tell other people what to do and they’d damn well better do it.”

Maybe in his world. He was a big, strapping guy with a deep voice and a piercing gaze that could nail you to the wall. I just talked to dead people.

But Jacob didn’t see me that way. Psychs were like shiny new toys to him, endlessly fascinating and inspiring. If he felt cheated that he only had access to five senses, he didn’t let it slow him down much. And why should it if he could demand the services of two federally licensed Psychs and a suspended cop with the elusive gift of sí-no?

“Someone told Warwick I was talking to Gutierrez,” I reminded him as he speed-dialed Carolyn.

“And?”

“And he said he’d suspend me if….”

“Carolyn? Hey. Let’s get together at my place today for some brainstorming. No, you don’t have to bring anything. Mmm hm. Yeah, I do have some ideas, but it’ll be easier to just show you when you get here. Right. Bye bye.”

I got Lisa’s number from the Fifth Precinct and convinced her to take a cab over to Jacob’s. She insisted that there wasn’t much she could do without her gun and badge, but I reminded her that she’d been at the Blakewood scene and seen the victim with her own eyes. We’d just bat some ideas around, I told her. I hung up and looked at Jacob. He had that grin on. Okay, and maybe I was also a little curious about how far sí-no could actually be taken.

The girls arrived at Jacob’s around noon and we convened around a table full of salty Chinese take-out. “So you’ve played the sí-no game most of your life,” Carolyn said, “but haven’t had any formal training.”

Lisa nodded. I think Carolyn intimidated her. Heck, Carolyn intimidated me a little.

“We’ll need to be careful how we phrase our reports,” Carolyn said. “You’re not officially part of this investigation at this time.” She looked at me. “Unless you think you can convince Sergeant Warwick…?”

“Not a chance. I thought he was gonna have an aneurysm.”

“Fine. Then we’ll just need to be aware that anything Lisa says is unofficial. Nothing appears in the report. If her talents lead us to the murderer, fine. But we’ll have to scrape together some kind of evidence that could’ve plausibly led us there besides the sí-no game. Got it?”

“Carolyn can’t simply lie,” Jacob winked at her. “The downside to her talent.”

Carolyn ignored him and consulted her notepad. “Let’s establish some boundaries first.” She fired off a series of questions about current events and other factual things to establish a baseline.

“Does Lawrence Avenue run North-South?”

“No.”

“Do I have an aunt named Mabel?”

“Yes.”

“Has Jacob ever owned a dog?”

“No.”

Carolyn looked to Jacob, and he nodded. “Poor baby,” she said, the corner of her mouth twitching. He smiled. Carolyn turned her attention back to Lisa. “Am I happy?”

Lisa stared.

“Well?”

“I—I dunno.”

“Too broad,” Carolyn said, scribbling notes. “Do I like my job?”

“Y-yes.”

“You just let me unnerve you—don’t worry about it. Not everything can be answered yes or no. Sometimes it’s both. Sometimes it’s neither. And sometimes the question is just too vague.”

It occurred to me that Carolyn would make a good Psych Coach. She was just so nonchalant about it all, and yet you could see she had all eight cylinders firing. Plus, she knew if you were lying. Okay, maybe that part was a little bit scary.

“All right. Let’s look at the case. You understand you are here in an unofficial capacity.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Let’s focus on the killer. Is the killer male?”

“Yes.”

I thought about the anal penetration and blushed. Lisa knew I was with Jacob. And Carolyn? Jacob said he was out to her. So she probably knew, too, because if the subject had come up at all, it wasn’t as if he could hedge. I blushed harder and drank some soda, tilting the huge cup back to hide my face.

“Is he Caucasian?”

“He….” Lisa stared off as if she had to search for the sí-no.

“Is he Latino?”

Lisa thought hard.

Carolyn scribbled some notes and then looked up. “Is he of mixed heritage?”

“No.” Lisa looked as if she’d surprised herself. “No, he’s not.”

Carolyn tried a barrage of ethnicities: Greek, Lebanese, Egyptian, every Asian type she could think of, and on and on. Jacob and I chimed in too, but all of our guesses were definite “no”s.

After fifteen minutes of hunting, Carolyn held up her hand. “Let’s move on,” she said. “We’ll wear her out if we continue in a nonproductive vein. She’s a resource, not a suspect.”

“Unofficially,” Jacob said.

“Unofficially.” Carolyn turned to face Lisa, her hands on her knees. “Let’s look at his history. Has he killed more than two victims?”

“Yes.”

“More than two in this city?”

“No.”

“Is he intending to kill again?”

“Yes, I think.”

“Too vague,” I said. “Maybe he’s crazy and he doesn’t even realize he’s killing them.”

“Right,” said Jacob. “He’s so sexy they just die from the touch of his dick.”

I felt my face flush so red at that one I had to hide it in the napkin, but Lisa went pale.

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“You’re kidding,” said Jacob. “Yes?”

“There’s something paranormal at the heart of this,” Carolyn said, mostly to herself, as she jotted some more notes.

“Yes,” said Lisa, and I shivered.

Chapter 11

We rested awhile, turning on the news, which nobody watched, and then they grilled Lisa again. I could tell she was getting fatigued, but she’s a tough girl and she was willing to keep going with it late into the night.

If we couldn’t get an I.D. on the killer from the witnesses, Jacob reasoned, we’d just have to get a look at him ourselves. We narrowed our questions down from, “Is he in the city?” to “Is he east of…?” “Is he north of…?” “Is he on this block?” “Is he in this building?” “This apartment?”

I think even Lisa was amazed at the power of the sí-no in the hands of a pair of relentless questioners.

“Does he live in this apartment?” Carolyn asked.

“No.”

“Is he alone?”

“No.”

Jacob stood up. “I think we’d better pay Casanova a visit. Right now. You go home,” he told Lisa. “No gun, no badge—it’s safer for you that way.” He turned to me. “You riding with us?”

The image of me riding in the back seat like a little kid returned. “I’ll…uh…take my car.”

Carolyn verified the address with me and I nodded. “Let’s go,” he said, and we were off.

I turned off the GPS and drove there myself. We headed for the northern edge of Boystown again, not two blocks from the record store where the clerk I’d dated used to work. I wanted Maurice. Or Lisa. Or even to be sitting in that damn back seat. I turned the GPS back on just to have a little company, though since I hadn’t entered a destination, its tasteful British voice was silent.

An SUV pulled away from the curb right next door to the apartment building and I pulled in, glanced around, and found Jacob parking across the street. We met up at the gate.

This gate actually locked, unlike mine, but Jacob ran a pocketknife down the edge and it popped right open. We trooped across the courtyard to the far right vestibule, and Jacob studied the apartment numbers by the beam of his penlight. “Here’s the one,” he said, tapping on the name “J. Barlow.” “Get one of the neighbors to let us in.”

Carolyn glanced up to see which windows were lit. “They’re less likely to hide from her,” Jacob explained. “Strangers don’t realize that she’s the one they need to be afraid of, not me.”

“Ha ha,” she said dryly, then pushed a button. A woman’s voice said “hello.” “Official police business, ma’am. Please buzz us in.”

A crackle that sounded kind of like, “…bzzt…finally here…called…” came through the speakers and the inner door clicked open. Music with a heavy, thudding beat flooded out.

We jogged up to the second floor and stopped. Someone’s stereo blared so loud that I could feel the vibration through the soles of my shoes. Carolyn gestured to me and I bent so she could talk in my ear, not that I thought the suspect would’ve heard her if she’d shouted aloud. “Loud music—like the first victim.”

And maybe the second, for all we knew. The other half of Ryan Carson’s duplex had been empty that weekend. That’s why it’d taken so long to discover his body.

Jacob scowled at the unmarked doors. We were looking for apartment 2a. But there were three doors to choose from. Was ‘a’ on the far left or the far right? I touched one door, then another, but they were both rattling equally from the cranked up stereo. Jacob gestured for Carolyn to go with me, then pulled out his gun and approached the left-hand door—the most likely door, in my mind, if the lettering system went left to right like a western alphabet.

Of course, the right-hand door was closer to the stairs, and would be the first door you’d approach. I drew my gun and wished Maurice was there. He wasn’t very quick, but he was accurate.

Jacob’s hand was on his doorknob and he watched me to make sure I’d do the same. I put my hand on mine and felt the vibration carry right through it. Jacob nodded and we both tried our doors at once. Mine opened. I didn’t have time to see if his did or not.

I held my gun at my side, camouflaged by my body. There was no need for the whole, “Police! Freeze!” business since we were acting out a routine noise call, but the thought of coming face to face with the mystery man gave me the creeps.

Carolyn had her gun out, pointed to the floor. She edged to the right, my usual position, so I went left. I passed by the stereo and saw it was on. Framed photos on top had fallen over. I swallowed. I’d picked the magic door—lucky me.

I wished I could turn the damn music down. The beat of generic technopop made my fillings rattle. But at least it hid the sound of our entry and would give us a chance to get a look at whatever we were up against.

Carolyn ducked into a doorway then came out signaling clear. We made our way through a sparsely furnished dining room. I glanced into the kitchen—empty. She checked a bathroom. There was one room at the end of the hall, the door open a few inches with yellow light shining through the gap.

Carolyn held my glance for a moment and then nodded. The bedroom. It was the only thing left. I nodded back and we burst in together, both our weapons drawn.

It was like a bad porno, only I was there, front and center. A dozen candles ringed the bed, lighting the room in a warm, inviting glow. The pair on the bed were kissing while they fucked, and the muscles of the top’s buttocks flexed as he pushed in. The bottom was a tanned guy who clearly worked out. He lay back on the bed with his feet slung over his lover’s shoulders. The guy on top was tattooed and sinewy, his amber hair cut in a shag like an early-70’s glam rocker.

Carolyn stepped back, but I just stared. The tattoos were so strange, colors and whorls, and they seemed to undulate as the man moved, always moving, caressing, thrusting.

He couldn’t have heard us over the music. Couldn’t have seen us with his eyes closed. Yet somehow I could tell he knew we were there. He raised his head to look, breaking the kiss, and that’s when I knew for sure that he was our killer.

Something stretched between his mouth and his lover’s. It was thick, viscous, and thinner in the center than either end, like the tanned guy was full of syrup and the tattooed guy was sucking it out. It quivered there between them, glistening and slimy, and then it grew so thin in the middle that it snapped.

I know it was probably there just a nanosecond. But I saw what I saw. When this gelatinous funk snapped back toward the guy on the bed, there was a face in it, a stretched-out, human face. And it looked like it was screaming.

Then I staggered back, sickened by the sight of that ooze, but Carolyn was at my side with her gun leveled at the tattooed guy. “Freeze,” she shouted, her voice hardly audible over the music. “Police!”

He cocked his head and looked at her as if she were the most peculiar specimen, and then he looked back at me, and somehow, into me. He opened his mouth.

I didn’t want to know what was in there. I tried to look away, but the strength had leeched right out of me. I didn’t have enough left to even avert my eyes. I’d rather see anything but that sickening maw. But there it was, filling my vision, opening wide.

He was displaying himself to me, I think. Showing me that inside him was nothing, an absolute void. Pitch black where teeth and tongue and throat should have been. Flat black and featureless, like a poorly doctored photo. Nothingness had never been so scary.

And then he screamed.

At least, that’s the best way I can describe it. It was more like the shriek of a train trying to brake, hitting too many discordant, screeching pitches all at once. Horribly loud, even over the blare of the music, loud enough that it hurt, badly, and I shrank back and covered my ears.

I saw the dresser mirror beside me shatter, rather than hearing it. It was almost beautiful, like snow falling. A thousand shards glittering as they rained against my side.

Then the windowpane blew out, and gauzy curtains fluttered through with the force of the blast, like a gale had whipped up inside the room and sent them streaming toward the outdoors.

The guy with nothing inside him stretched, very quickly, until he was more of a rubbery line than a person. And he was out the window and gone before I could fully register how he’d even moved.

The beat of the music continued to pound through the soles of my feet, but I realized I couldn’t hear it. My ears were still ringing from the sound of that metallic shriek the killer had made before he’d disappeared.

Carolyn was beside me, tugging at the sleeve of my sportcoat, but I was just too stunned to acknowledge her. Then she was gone and the music stopped reverberating, and the quality of the sonic aftershock changed somewhat in my own hearing. And then Jacob was there, shaking me by the shoulders, hard. “Vic,” his mouth said, judging by the shape of it. “Vic.”

I tried to focus on him. I think he was clutching me so tightly he might’ve actually been hurting me, but I didn’t really care. Then Carolyn dragged him toward the bed and he left me there, leaning back against the closet door, standing amidst a spray of broken mirror.

Chapter 12

The sun was up by the time I was coherent enough to talk to Jacob. The paramedics said I was in shock. Jacob had done CPR on the tanned guy, one James Barlow, until the paramedics arrived, but it had been no use. James was victim number three—in our city, at any rate.

We lingered in Barlow’s courtyard, well away from the plainclothes officers and the techs who were starting to swarm the scene. “I couldn’t hear anything over that music,” Carolyn said. “But Vic held his head like he was getting split in two.”

“All right,” Jacob said. He pulled out his notepad. “So what did you see?”

“Well,” Carolyn said, “the men were…together. Having intercourse. And the man, um…well, the killer, looked at us and opened his mouth, like he was yawning. And then the mirror and the window shattered and he was gone.”

Jacob wrote very quickly. “Okay. But what did the killer look like?”

“Caucasian. About forty-five. Short hair, salt and pepper. Brown eyes.”

Jacob frowned. “That’s nothing like the other descriptions.” He turned to me. “Is that how he looked to you?”

I shook my head. “Thirty, maybe less. Tattoos.” I felt myself color. “Actually, I thought he looked like a young David Bowie.”

Carolyn looked away. “George Clooney,” she said.

Jacob’s eyes narrowed as he considered Carolyn. “You got a thing for George Clooney?”

Carolyn scowled at Jacob as if he was a jerk for even asking. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not. I have a theory, and I know you can’t lie to me if I ask you something directly. So. Do you?”

“I think he’s attractive, yes.”

Jacob looked at me. “David Bowie fan?” He wasn’t making light of it, not in the least, but it still felt too personal to divulge that Bowie’d been my biggest masturbatory fantasy until I discovered flesh-and-blood boys who were willing to experiment with me.

I thought of making a snide remark anyway, but I figured if Carolyn could admit her crush, I could admit mine. “What she said,” I echoed.

At least Jacob gave me the courtesy of not verifying my truthfulness by double-checking it with Carolyn.

“So our killer looks different to every person who sees him, tripping some part of the witness’ neurological wiring and showing him or her the image of someone they consider to be extremely attractive,” said Jacob.

Carolyn considered. “And so a majority of people are going to see the killer as someone of their own ethnicity. But different ages, different particulars. We haven’t asked any of the witnesses whether or not they thought the suspect was attractive. But it might be a promising line of questioning to pursue.”

Jacob stifled a yawn. “We’ve been at this more than twenty-four hours straight. I suggest we get some sleep and regroup at the Twelfth around two. That sound good to everybody?”

Carolyn was halfway to her car before I’d even had the chance to agree. Jacob blocked me with his body before I could follow. “Stay with me,” he said, so quiet I almost couldn’t hear him over the residual ringing in my ears. Or maybe it was my brain.

Relief washed over me, but it drained away as I realized that I really didn’t want Jacob to see me that way—spooked by some killer psychically disguised as David Bowie who sucked souls out of men while he fucked them. Because that was the only thing that syrupy stuff could’ve been. A soul.

And the killer’d gotten too much of it before we’d arrived, and now James Barlow was on his way to the Coroner’s.

“I really need to change my clothes,” I said, squeezing past Jacob as I tried to recall where I’d parked.

Jacob fell into step beside me with a couple of long strides. “Then stop at your place first and then come over. You don’t look so good.”

I neglected to say that I had to buy a jacket, actually, since both of mine had doubled as splatter guards in the past two days. Damn the police department’s dress code.

I found where I’d parked and we approached the spot. “Two o’clock,” I told him, got into my car, and shut the door. I wouldn’t say he looked hurt standing there beside the car while the morning commuter traffic flowed behind him. But his self-assured grin was nowhere in sight, either.

I pulled into the stream of traffic and gave the finger to some jagoff who honked at me. I’d wanted to stay with Jacob. In fact, I was kind of blown away that he’d even asked. But I felt like what I’d seen earlier had soiled me somehow, and taken a lot of the parlor-game fun out of my talent. And if Jacob figured that out, I’d go from being creepy and fun to just plain old creepy in his eyes.

I wasted a good twenty minutes getting to SaverPlus, only to find it didn’t open until ten, and it was barely nine. Not having another hour to waste, I headed home and took a shower. I wish I could say it was a long one, but there just wasn’t time.

And then I got into bed and closed my eyes. I’d been kinda scared that I might keep seeing that black, empty mouth again, the hole that led to nothing. But I could summon up images of lake skylines and whatnot to keep it at bay.

The ringing in my ears was another thing entirely. I got back up and swabbed them out with Q-Tips, which changed nothing. I found a pair of earplugs in the back of a drawer and put them in. The ringing changed in pitch, but also seemed to intensify. Finally, I turned on the radio, desperately seeking something other than asinine morning DJ banter. I found a Spanish language station, which seemed okay at first, if a little chipper and bouncy. But then a commercial came on and it was so jarring it nearly blew me out of my bed.

Finally, I flipped the dial until nothing but garbled noise came through, popped a Seconal, and passed out.

Two o’clock was ancient history by the time I woke up—two o’clock in the afternoon, at least. It’d be two a.m. in about fifteen minutes. Shit.

I checked my cell phone for messages. There were only a couple, both from Jacob. From two-thirty: “Vic. Your input would be helpful on this report—but if you can’t make it until tomorrow morning, that’d be fine, considering the shock. I let both of our Sergeants know what the paramedics said. We’ve got Archives researching to try to figure out what this thing is, based on Carolyn’s statement. Give me a call.” He left his home number.

And then, from nine: “It’s me. Look, I hope I wasn’t out of line this morning. I just need to know that you’re okay. Call me.”

I decided it wouldn’t be worth waking Jacob up just to tell him I’d overslept, so I texted him a note that said “SRY I MISSED U, WERE OKAY” It occurred to me that “we’re” looked more like “were,” but I was too lazy to find the apostrophe. I wondered briefly if SaverPlus was open at two a.m., and then considered that perhaps the shock hadn’t worn off yet. My ears still rang, but just a little, and I turned on the white plastic 9-inch TV in the living room to drown it out. Infomercials.

Aside from the obvious concern in Jacob’s voice, the thing that stuck with me most was the idea that he and Carolyn thought they could put a name to this thing, this seductive souleater with a big, empty void inside him. And what if they could? What if it was actually some sort of known entity—and what if there was some sort of method or charm we could use to stop it?

Each apartment unit in my building had a storage locker in the basement, behind the coin-operated washing machines. I kept my textbooks from Camp Hell down there. I figured I might need them someday, though I didn’t want the evil I associated with them in my living space 24/7.

As I dug the basement key out of my kitchen junk drawer, it occurred to me that maybe I could wash the marinara off my new jacket. It was from SaverPlus, after all. Maybe it was made out of indestructible, machine-washable polyester. I checked the label. Wool blend. Dry clean only. I wondered how bad it’d be if I machine-washed it anyway. And then I realized that since I didn’t own an iron, it probably wouldn’t do me any good to even try.

I felt naked venturing down into the basement without a load of laundry to protect me. The narrow, dark stairs were a lot creepier at 3 a.m. than I’d imagined.

I stepped carefully to avoid pissing off whoever else lived in the building and made my way down into the cellar. The part that housed the furnace and hot water heaters was closed off with some newish looking drywall, but the exterior walls were nasty, old limestone slabs with crumbling mortar and greenish mildew between. A bare 75-watt bulb shone scant inches from the top of my head, but the unfinished wooden floor joists above it were so dark that they seemed to eat the light. Kind of like the mouth of a certain creature whom I was absolutely not going to think about until I was safe and sound in my white apartment with every single light turned on.

A gurgle sounded to the right of me and my glance snapped downward. I flinched back, thinking, “Rat!” But the thing that had caught my attention was barely visible, faint bluish lines that I had to squint to make out against a dark concrete floor.

And then it came together all at once. A spectral baby, fists flailing, with an umbilical cord still attached.

Jesus. Someone’d left a newborn to die down here. It could’ve been a month ago, it could’ve been half a century ago. I didn’t care. Humankind just sucked. If I had a bottle of Auracel in my hand I would’ve downed the whole thing in hopes of never seeing another fucking revenant.

I stepped over the baby’s ghost and unlocked my storage unit, too disgusted to try to keep quiet any longer. I let the metal door bang open and yanked out an old nylon gym bag. How many times had I stepped over that damn baby and never seen it? It’d probably died somewhere around 3 a.m. and that’s when its presence was the strongest. Damn it all to hell. I was gonna have to start using a laundry service.

I stomped back up toward the first floor. A door swung open on the landing and a guy in a robe came out to see what all the noise was about. He stepped into my path, but then recoiled and shut his door. I guess I must’ve looked pretty pissed off.

Once I was back in my apartment, I turned on every damn light and left the TV going, tuned to a station I don’t receive so that it played nothing but a staticky white glow.

I’ve never been booksmart, and I didn’t pay much attention to what they tried to teach me at Camp Hell unless it brought about immediate relief. And nothing had really done that except pharmaceuticals. But I remembered enough, if I pressed myself, to recall that there was a section on paranormal creatures in one of my texts.

Vampires were the first thing that came to mind, but the two main categories I found were blood fetishists and psychic vampires. Since there’d been no blood at any of the scenes, maybe our killer was a psychic vampire, and that stuff I’d seen stretching between him and the victim was some kind of ectoplasm. I followed that line of thinking, about how the vampire was charismatic and seductive, and if he or she sapped a victim long enough, the drained person would eventually weaken and die.

Except that didn’t make sense. The book said they’d die, not be utterly destroyed. It was a gradual thing, not the result of a one-night stand. And the thing we were hunting didn’t just drain people of energy. It ate their very essence.

My eyes felt sandy. I closed the book and rubbed them, which made them feel worse, and went into the bathroom to see if I had any eye drops. I stopped in front of the mirror and stared hard, making sure the guy looking back was actually me.

Sure, my hair was a mess, as usual, and I was working on three days’ worth of stubble. But my face itself was a wreck. Tiny red lines crosshatched my cheek, some crusted with dried blood, others just there, bled out. And my eyes were something from a bad horror flick, the whites all red with burst blood vessels. I’d always gotten some attention for my frost blue eyes, especially since they were set off by my black hair. But the red…it was a whole new look for me. Jacob had invited me over looking like this? Boy. He really did like his men creepy.

That’d teach me to let mirrors explode on me. But my eyes—crap, that thing must’ve burst the blood vessels in my eyes with his scream. I shuddered and twisted open the eye drops, only to discover they had evaporated, leaving nothing but a tiny, plastic bottle crusted around the tip with salt.

I watched the sun come up, then went to the drug store and grabbed some eye drops and sunglasses. After that I stopped off at the cleaner’s, only to determine that they kept items no longer than 90 days. I left them to deal with the marinara sauce, and then sat in the parking lot of SaverPlus until they opened.

I bought two sportcoats. Both black. Tore the tags off and threw one in my trunk, put the other one on.

Everything I needed to do had taken a lot longer than I’d thought it would, so I figured I’d better let Jacob know I was on my way. I peered over my sunglasses into my rearview mirror while I waited for him to pick up the phone. The part of my eyes that was supposed to be white was blood-crimson, even more hideous in natural light than it’d looked in my bathroom. No wonder Jacob had sounded worried.

I got Jacob’s voicemail. “Hi,” I said. “I’m running a little late this morning, but I’ll meet you over at the Twelfth. Unless that’s not where you’re gonna be. In that case, call me.” Boy, was I slick or what?

As I pulled up alongside the Twelfth, I realized that I could’ve called Jacob earlier instead of sitting outside SaverPlus twiddling my thumbs. I could’ve called Lisa, too, and filled her in. Sonofabitch, why was my brain such a sieve?

I walked out and shifted my jacket, thinking that either I’d grabbed a different style or accidentally taken a 42. At least the sleeves were long enough. As I blew by the front desk, one of the plainclothes officers peeled out of his regular spot to intercept me. “Detective Bayne?”

I stopped and turned, and wished I didn’t feel the need to wear my cheap new sunglasses inside. Between them and the overlarge jacket, the cop probably thought he was having an 80’s flashback. “Yeah?”

“Sergeant Warwick called. He wants to see you at the Fifth Precinct.”

I felt myself sag inside. I used to coexist peacefully with Warwick, but lately everything he said to me made me cringe. Or maybe it’d been Maurice who’d actually gotten along with him all these years.

“Okay. I’ll just touch base with Detective Marks….”

“He’s not here. I think you really need to see Sergeant Warwick.”

My blood curdled in my veins as I wondered if something had happened to Jacob. I hopped in my car and slapped the police light on the roof, doing ninety all the way to the Fifth Precinct. I barreled through the front doors, up the stairs, past Betty’s desk and into Warwick’s office.

He stood up and glared at me. “What’s with the sunglasses?” he demanded. “Are you on drugs?”

I stopped and stared, flabbergasted by his question, but too scared to challenge it. “Where are my partners?” I asked him. “Have you heard from them?”

“Marks and Brinkman are at the Commissioner’s office, giving their reports about the murder scene you discovered last night.”

“Oh,” I said, and my heartbeat slowed. “Okay. Good.”

“But they’re not your partners anymore.”

“What?”

“You’re off the case. In fact, you’re suspended.” He tapped on the desk with one thick, callused finger. “Your badge and your gun.”

“Suspended? What for?”

“I warned you not to leak information to Gutierrez—and who did you run to the second you left my office?”

I gaped at Warwick, wondering who could’ve possibly told him we’d gone to Gutierrez for help. Could he have a wire tap? Someone tailing her? Wouldn’t he need a court order for any of that?

Whatever he had on me, I had no idea how to talk around it. I put my badge and my gun on his desk, thinking that I’d always imagined it would feel worse to give them up. It felt like nothing, like paying for the sunglasses or asking the pharmacist about eyedrops.

It felt mundane.

“And just so you don’t get any bright ideas, Gutierrez is in police custody.”

“You arrested her?” My voice cracked.

“She hasn’t been charged with anything…yet. But the two of you are through playing psychic telephone.”

“What the…? You can’t just hold her. She can sue you. I hope she does.”

“And then she and I can discuss the consequences of all those tests she cheated on.”

Shit. I wished I was up on my legal rights, but I’d never even considered that I might be suspended. Never even known anyone who was.

Warwick sat down and took my badge in his palm. I thought maybe he looked regretful as he stared down at it, but what did I know? My eyes hurt. “Go home and get some rest, Bayne. You look like shit. Let Marks handle it.”

“I need to give my statement,” I said, grasping for some way to keep hold of the investigation. “I haven’t given my statement.”

“I’ll tell Marks. But for now, Vic, just go.”

Chapter 13

I was glad that voicemail doesn’t register hang-ups, because then Jacob would know that I called him approximately every ten minutes, although I only left him one message where I stammered something about being really sorry that I wasn’t at the Twelfth like I’d said I would be, and that my text message was supposed to say “we’re” and not “were,” but that I was feeling much better and I really wanted to see him. I somehow managed to keep from apologizing for even being born. Barely.

As I thumbed through my Camp Hell textbooks yet again, I wished that I’d made a friend or two there, someone I could call and ask, just theoretically, what kind of supernatural beastie sucks out people’s souls while they screw.

And then it hit me. A succubus.

I flipped my book open to the index and found a half dozen references to it.

Succubus: Lascivious female demon who takes the form of a comely young lady; said to possess mortal men as they sleep and to sup on their essences. According to one legend the succubus and her male counterpart, the incubus, were fallen angels.

Sup on their essences? I glanced at the date of the text and found it was written in 1964. Queer. And not in the way I like. None of the other passages were particularly enlightening, either.

So it was possible we were dealing with…what? A gay incubus, or a male succubus? Maybe. If I could just get in touch with the archivists at the Twelfth, I could give them my impressions. They had access to stuff that was written sometime after the dark ages, unlike me. Even databases. They’d know the latest research on entities that used to be called demons.

Because there had to be some sort of modern take on the demon. Red men with pointy ears and pitchforks: unlikely. Powerful psychic beasties that could pop all the blood vessels in your eyes by hitting the right note? Well, we had to call it by some name, and incubus was as good as any.

But I was off the case. The archivists at the Twelfth probably couldn’t even talk to me. I glanced up at the clock. It was nearing seven p.m. They would’ve gone home by now anyway, I told myself. And I called Jacob’s cell phone again.

“Marks.”

“Oh! It’s uh…you picked up.”

“Hold on.” I heard him cover the phone with his palm and excuse himself. A moment later, he was back. “Thank God, Vic. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. But Warwick took me off the case.”

Jacob’s voice was an urgent whisper. “It came down from the Police Commissioner. They’ve been going over my statement with a fine-toothed comb all day. It’s out of the bag that we used a psychic without a federal license to locate the crime scene, but I think that since we caught the guy in the act, they’re gonna find a way to let it slide.”

“But what about Gutierrez? Warwick said she was in custody.”

Jacob sighed. “I can’t talk now—this place is crawling with the Commissioner’s elite officers. Meet me where we had dinner on Tuesday and I’ll fill you in. Same time.”

“Okay. But, Jacob…?”

“Gotta go. See you then.”

In an attempt to clean up, I went into the bathroom and started shaving. The shaving cream stung as I smoothed it on, and even though I opened a new razor, it seemed to keep catching on scabs and hunks of dried blood as I dragged it over my cheeks. By the time I was through, I came to the realization that the stubble would’ve looked much better. And then I stuck a dozen little bits of toilet paper to my face. I wondered if SaverPlus sold welding masks.

I had half an hour to kill, so I got on the phone with the Fifth and tried to call around and find someone who could tell me where they were holding Gutierrez. An older cop who worked the night desk, one of Maurice’s friends, told me she wasn’t there—but that was as much as he knew.

Too bad I didn’t have a touch of the sí-no or I would’ve tracked her down myself. But what did I have? I was a fifth-level medium. That was almost as high as you could go. There were a few level-6s scattered around and a single level-7, an old lady in France who could actually command spirits. But she’d died in her sleep a couple of years back and become one of those spirits herself.

So I could hear, and sometimes see, the dead. And they seemed to sense it and be sure they talked my ear off. Thing was, they never knew shit.

I needed to get going to make it to the restaurant by eight, so I slipped into the goofy new blazer and set out. The GPS managed to lead me, yet again, into the worst snarl of traffic I’d seen since the time I was late for a root canal. Eventually, I crept by an accident. A couple of glowing blue spirits gawked from the side of the road, but since they were dressed like they’d come right out of an off-Broadway production of Grease, I figured they weren’t a result of the accident that they were rubbernecking.

I turned down an alley, out onto a main thoroughfare and picked up some real speed. Maybe Jacob would know where Gutierrez was. He’d help me get her out, or at least get me in there to talk to her, tell her it was gonna be okay.

I got to the restaurant ten minutes late, a miracle considering traffic, and didn’t spot him anywhere. For once I wasn’t the latest one. The maitre d’, a thin Midwestern guy with steely gray hair, seated me. I wolfed down a bread stick, and then another, and then I realized that I hadn’t eaten anything yet that day.

Eight twenty and still no Jacob. I ordered an iced tea. I flipped open my phone and tried his number, just to gauge when he’d get there. Maybe I could start with an appetizer. Maybe I could even finish it before he got there and order another one like I hadn’t just inhaled one by myself. I’d have to pick up the check then, but fair is fair.

His cell went directly to voicemail. “Hey, Jacob. It’s Vic. Let me know how long you’re gonna be. I might need to start without you. Bye.”

I ordered some soup—nothing that would stain my blazer too obviously—and scarfed down half the bowl. Jacob was probably talking to his sergeant, or maybe to Carolyn. Had her statement been taken separately from his? Likely, since the three of us had come up looking fishy. In retrospect, I was glad I’d overslept.

The iced tea caught up with me, and I flagged the maitre d’ over so that he could tell Jacob I was there, in case he showed up while I was in the bathroom, which Murphy’s Law said he would. “White male, olive complexion, six two or three, well built, black hair, brown eyes, short goatee.”

The maitre d’ frowned in thought. “One moment,” he said, and flipped open his reservation log. “Jacob Marks. He was here earlier, sir. He left.”

“Shit! Uh, sorry. How long ago?”

“Shortly before you arrived.”

“Did he leave a message for me?”

The maitre d’ shook his head. “I’m very sorry.” He turned to greet some new customers that had walked through the door, but I caught him by the sleeve.

“Did it seem urgent?” I asked him. “Was he on his phone, in a hurry?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, and turned toward the customers.

I grabbed him more forcefully and wished to God I had my badge. “Look. I’m a cop, and this is police business. What else can you tell me?”

The maitre d’s eyes showed white all around. “He left with someone. A young man.”

“What did he look like? Describe him.”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Height, weight, race, hair color.”

“Thin. Athletic. Blonde. He looked a little bit like Brad Pitt, actually.”

Or maybe he looked an awful lot like Brad Pitt. And George Clooney and David Bowie. I hardly remembered letting go of the maitre d’. I was back in my car with the flashing light on the roof and absolutely no idea where I was headed.

I fishtailed into traffic and tried to think. Every crime had happened at the victim’s house. And there’d been one every night, or every other. The incubus got around.

I swerved down a side street and headed toward Jacob’s. I shut the GPS off and then flipped open my phone. “Information? Connect me to Carolyn Brinkman.” Electronic noises came through as I begged that her home number was listed. “Douglas and Carolyn Brinkman,” the computer voice said after an excruciating pause. “To connect, press or say one, now.”

“One,” I barked, and after some more weird, muted digital sounds, Carolyn’s phone started to ring. “Thank God,” I said. “Pick up, pick up, pick up.”

Instead, a man answered. “Hello?”

I swerved around an overturned shopping cart that was laying in the road for no apparent reason. “Carolyn—I need to speak to Carolyn.”

“Who is this?”

“Detective Victor Bayne. It’s an emergency.”

“Look, Mister Bayne, I know things look bleak, but you’ve got to see it from Carolyn’s point of view. She’s sorry about what happened, but it wasn’t her fault. The poor woman can’t lie.”

“What? Yeah, I know about her talent. But I’ve gotta talk to her. It’s about Jacob.”

“She’s finally calmed down enough to get some sleep, and she’s on enough Neurozamine to obliterate The Amazing Kreskin, so she’s not going anywhere tonight.”

Jesus H. Christ on a bike. Coolhand Carolyn had doped out on us. Shit. That was usually my department. Jacob had told me on our first day together that Carolyn never took meds. I assume she hadn’t been lying to him, considering Carolyn’s double-edged talent.

“Look…ah, I get it. I’m a Psych, too.”

Her husband sighed. “Then you know how hard it is. I’m sorry, Detective. But this business with Jacob will have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Can I at least come and get her gun?” I asked. But the line was already dead.

You’d think I would’ve had some reason to buy a gun other than my service weapon during the last twelve, fifteen years. Then again, you’d think I owned more than one or two sportcoats, too. Shit.

But I knew someone who did have a gun, someone I’d been dying to see. I hit memory dial one, Maurice’s cell phone.

“Hallo.” A crowd noise swelled around Maurice, and I tried to imagine him among a sea of humanity, but couldn’t place where he might be.

“Where are you?”

“Fort Lauderdale. Don’t you remember? I told you on Sunday. I’m at the casino.”

Shit. Oh shit. No. He couldn’t be in Florida. I needed him here.

“Good thing you ain’t a precog or I wouldn’t even be able to talk to you in here. Nichelle just won five thousand nickels on a slot machine. You believe that? That’s only two hundred fifty bucks, though. You say five thousand nickels, it sound like some huge jackpot.”

The first vacation Maurice has been on since his fucking honeymoon and I call him, hardly able to restrain myself from begging him to hop the next flight home. What good would it do, other than spoiling his good time? It wasn’t as if he could get back here any sooner than tomorrow morning. And by then it’d be too late.

I tapped my brake as I flew through a stop sign. “Look for a slot machine with a…a star,” I said, pulling a psychic prediction out of my ass even though Maurice and I both knew I was about as precognitive as he was. “And don’t let anyone know I told you.”

“A star, huh?” Tinny ringing, jingling noises filtered through the murmur of the crowd. “You’re all right, Bayne.”

“Gotta go,” I said, and hung up before Maurice could figure out how stressed out I was. The fact that he could barely hear me had worked to my advantage, but I wasn’t gonna push it.

How much of a lead did Jacob and the incubus have on me? Maybe half an hour, but maybe less. They were probably driving like normal humans, not like me. I turned onto Jacob’s street and swung into a spot by a hydrant, bumped the car in front of me and left the rear end of my car sticking out at an angle as I ran toward Jacob’s condo building for all I was worth.

As I wrenched the vestibule’s outer door open, a low, thudding vibration tickled the base of my skull.

Technopop.

Chapter 14

I nearly rang Jacob’s doorbell and then realized he might not be able to answer. I rang every neighbor’s bell instead. “Police,” I shouted to the first one who answered. “I’m here about the noise complaint.”

They buzzed me right in.

Some little part of me must’ve been holding on to the hope that Jacob wasn’t really with the incubus. That all the clues I was seeing—that he’d left the restaurant with Brad Pitt, that the same inane electronic beat buzzed through the floorboards of his condo and out into the hall—actually added up to something else. But when I put my hand on his doorknob and the door swung open, unlocked, my stomach clenched up and I felt numb all over. Because the unlocked door was just like every other scene.

I took in the entryway, the broad living room and the archway leading to the kitchen in one glance. Jacob’s jacket was in a pile on the sofa, and his holster lay on top of it.

I grabbed his gun.

The stereo was right there. I could’ve turned it off and bought myself some space to think. The incubus probably already knew I was there, or would know before I had a chance to blow it away. But something about the music seemed inevitable, like I needed that throb to shift myself into the incubus’ plane well enough to kill it.

They’d be in the bedroom. Because that’s where all the other victims had been. I ran full-tilt toward the bedroom door, because if there even was a remote chance that I hadn’t yet been detected, that damn music covered the sound of my approach. I held the gun at face level—none of that vertical-beside-the-head stuff you see on TV. That fucker took Jacob, and I was gonna nail him right between the eyes.

I hoped they weren’t too intertwined. I’m not all that good of a shot.

I rounded the corner and—thank whatever powers there are to thank—the incubus was in the midst of peeling off Jacob’s shirt. He himself was still fully clothed. Jacob wasn’t moving on his own, but if the incubus hadn’t gotten to third base with him yet, I still had hope.

If it was possible, the creature looked even more like David Bowie tonight, as if my brain had had a chance to peg him into some sort of category and was going all the way in reassuring itself that he fit. He was Ziggy Stardust, down to the glittery spandex outfit and the lightning bolt on the cheek.

“Freeze,” I said, in a voice that would’ve sounded firm and clear in a normal situation. The music totally covered it, but I had a feeling the incubus could filter things like that out. “Police.”

He looked up at me and started a little. Maybe he hadn’t known I was there. Maybe I could’ve gotten right on top of him and squeezed off a few rounds before he’d been able to turn into spaghetti and fly out the window. Shit.

With just his head turned toward me, he started to open that black, empty mouth of his. I pulled the trigger. The shot sounded like a pathetic snap that hardly carried over the blaring music. I hit him…I think. I didn’t see any blood, any bullet holes in either him or the wall, but he thought better of pulling that sonic scream crap on me again and turned to face me fully.

Jacob remained limp on the bed. I didn’t have time to watch him and see if his chest would rise and fall, but I told myself he was just asleep—some kind of psychic trick the incubus had managed. Because the texts said that incubi struck while their victims were asleep, and damn it, something in that worthless book had to be true.

The incubus saw me glance at Jacob and smiled. His lips were closed, stretched over the blackness even more thinly. He reached toward Jacob. I squeezed off another round, aimed at his arm. A black bullet hole appeared in the wall behind him.

Ziggy Stardust thought that was funny. He stretched his arm closer to Jacob, going in slow motion to savor my reaction to it all the longer.

I was getting nowhere fast with the gun. I didn’t fling it aside or anything melodramatic like that. Heck, I might still need it. But I used another weapon that I supposedly had in my arsenal, at least according to Camp Hell.

I shot a blue bubble of protection from a space between my eyes and above, a little outside my physical body. Third eye, pineal gland, seventh chakra, it’s all the same. When you’re psychic, it’s where all your weird shit lives.

The bubble was so strong I actually saw it. Maybe nobody else would’ve, but I saw it in the same way I’d seen the dead baby in my basement or the spirits hovering around the accident. It sealed Jacob up tight. I let go of it, and it stayed there.

Take that.

The incubus saw it, too. He poked at the bubble and it stretched a little, but held. He looked back at me, his eyebrowless forehead hitched in the middle to show me his displeasure. He grabbed at Jacob more forcefully, but his hand glanced off the bubble.

I knew what I needed to do. Send him toward the light. I took a deep breath and then shot a sphere of light out toward him. It encircled him like a psychic spotlight, glowing beautiful and pure.

He touched it, and it shattered.

He smiled, showing Bowie-esque teeth a little square and crooked, but I could still feel the blackness lurking there behind them. “Aren’t you just a breath of fresh air?” he said in a melodious English accent, his voice carrying effortlessly over the grinding cacophony of the electropop. “And what’s that little trick you just tried to pull?”

I leveled the gun at his face.

“Now, now. Why so jumpy? I just want to talk. There’s no harm in talking, is there?”

Probably. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply.

Instead, I made another white bubble, and I imagined it was a hundred times stronger, swirling with layer upon layer of psychic energy, impenetrable. And I flung it.

It engulfed him, pearlescent white whirling around him like a cloud cover. It held for a moment. And then it shattered.

“How did you do that?” it asked. “You’re mortal. I can smell your soul. Come on,” he coaxed, easing forward, “Let me get a better look at you.”

I backed up a step. That was a good white bubble, a damn good one, and yet the incubus was just too strong for it. It was a stupid idea anyway, trying to scare off a demon by putting him in a bubble like Glenda the Good Witch. What I needed was a house to drop on him.

He took a dainty step forward, then another. “You don’t need to be afraid,” he said. “We’ll just get to know each other a little better. I can make you feel very, very good. You’re such a fascinating chap—I promise I won’t kiss you until you grow tiresome.”

He was on me now, his pale, slender hand reaching toward me. I didn’t know how I’d respond to physical contact with him, since it was possible he’d trip some psychic synapse in me, maybe short me out. “Your pickup lines need a lot of work,” I said, and then I pulled an image from the cop portion of my brain. I imagined something black, thick and suffocating, a shape that was man-sized, yet vague and featureless. I wrapped him up in a psychic body bag and zipped it up tight. And then I imagined it was totally lined with mirrors and sent that idea blasting toward him.

He just stood there for a second while I waited for him to shatter my shield. He flexed and wriggled, but my body bag stayed solid. I poured more energy into it, imagining the mirrors inside showing him a hundred thousand reflections of himself, except maybe there really wasn’t anything to see, only blackness. He let his sonic scream rip, and the bag muffled it and made it even more shrill and ugly, psychic feedback. And I poured strength into the body bag until I started getting lightheaded.

And then I emptied the whole clip into it.

Chapter 15

There was no body to recover, just a bunch of stringy slime—which analysis found to be inconsistent with human remains. And though I’d left twenty bullet casings scattered in an arc around my feet, only a single bullet was recovered, the one I’d aimed at the incubus’ arm. That one had lodged in Jacob’s bedroom wall.

Jacob’s condo was now a crime scene. I’d invited him to stay with me and he’d accepted, though he was still too groggy from the incubus’ sleep-whammy to shuttle me to and from the eye doctor’s. I’d been about to call another cab for my trip home when Lisa called my cell phone and offered to pick me up.

Lisa waited right outside the clinic, idling in a little red hatchback. She’d walked right out of lockup and bought herself a used car. Not quite the reaction I would’ve had to incarceration, though she’d had the sí-no to keep her company, while I would’ve gotten a dead serial killer hanging by his shoelaces for a cellmate.

The clinic’s automatic doors whooshed open and I stepped through, blinking against the glare of the sun. The ophthalmologist had dilated my pupils to look around inside my eyes, and he’d told me the residual blood in the whites looked much worse than it actually was and it wouldn’t affect my vision in any way. I made him look inside again just to be sure. They say if you lose your sight, your other senses increase. And if my sixth sense got any sharper, I’d probably kill myself by tripping and falling on it.

Lisa gave me a big grin and reached to turn down the Mexican radio station as I climbed in. “It’s okay,” I said. “Leave it.”

She ignored me and left the volume low anyway. “What do you think of my car? Is it haunted?”

I grimaced and took a quick look in the back seat before I buckled myself in. “Nope. Sorry.”

“I didn’t think so.” She pulled away from the curb and swung around the U-shaped arc of the driveway, slipping into traffic with an ease that made me think she was learning her way around just fine. No GPS unit strapped to the dash. Maybe the sí-no was a more accurate way to travel anyway.

“I had a hard time deciding,” she said as we idled at a red light. “I think I started out asking the sí-no the wrong questions. ‘Is this car gonna last me five years?’ I got a ‘no’ on everything, and was starting to think the lot was full of lemons.” She put her left turn signal on and crept into an intersection. The oncoming traffic showed no gaps, but she waited for the end of the yellow light without any trace of anxiety and took a smooth turn just before the cross traffic gunned into the intersection. “Then I started worrying that maybe I was gonna be crippled in five years, not able to drive a car. Or maybe even dead.”

I looked out my window at the line of orderly brownstones we passed. I didn’t trust myself to attempt a reassurance that’d probably come out awkward and make things worse.

Lisa waited for a moment, maybe giving me some time to respond, and kept going when I didn’t. “I talked to Carolyn. She told me I was reaching out too far. That I should ask questions like, ‘Does this car have any mechanical problems?’ Or, ‘Will I enjoy driving it?’“

“Makes sense,” I said. I noticed the leaves on a maple coming up were starting to turn gold. One more year just passing by.

“She’s real sorry about leaking our plans to Warwick, you know.”

I sighed. “Yeah. I know. I told her it wasn’t her fault.”

“When Warwick asked her what we were up to, she didn’t even answer him, did you know that? He suspected, though, and when she wouldn’t say whether you were talking to me or not, he just took it as a yes.”

“I get it. I just said it was okay.”

Lisa pulled into a space a couple blocks south of my apartment building. I assumed the sí-no had told her there wasn’t anything closer. “She thinks you hate her now.”

“Jesus. I don’t hate her. It just scares the shit out of me, how it happened. The thought that Warwick could use her own powers to manipulate her. The idea that maybe someone could do that to me.”

Lisa cut the engine and slumped back into her seat. “Yeah. Me too. That’s why I think I’m gonna get some training.”

I swung around to grab her and shake some sense into her, but the seat belt caught me by the neck. I swore at it and clicked it open, but by then I’d calmed down enough to stop myself from acting like a lunatic. “Did Warwick talk you into it? He probably believes that fucking brochure that Heliotrope Station sends out, but lemme tell you….”

“Vic,” she said quietly, putting her hand on my knee. “Calm down. Not Camp Hell. There’s a new place in Santa Barbara. It’s called PsyTrain.”

I hated PsyTrain instinctively, but since I’m not precognizant, my instincts weren’t worth much. “Sounds like a fucking disco locomotive.”

“The department will pay for it. And when I’m done, I’ll have a job waiting for me.”

So that’s how Warwick had talked her into it. He’d let her keep on being a cop. Shrewd fucking bastard. “Visit this PsyTrain first before you go,” I said. “More than once. And make sure you talk to some people that’ve trained there, lots of them. And not just the ones they recommend, either. Find some on your own and….”

“Don’t worry. Carolyn’s going with me to make sure they’re honest.”

I didn’t suppose Lisa could do any better than having the human lie detector in tow, but the mere thought of Camp Hell had sent adrenaline pumping through my veins and I think I wanted to keep on arguing just for the sake of it.

“If something doesn’t feel right, I’ll back out of it,” Lisa said. She gave my knee a squeeze. “I promise. But Jacob’s waiting for you. He’s worried about your eyes. You should go tell him they’re okay.”

I swallowed back the urge to bicker and opened the car door. I hadn’t told Lisa my eyes were okay—but she knew. I wondered how long it would be before HMOs started scooping up psychics to cut down on the cost of medical testing, and then slapping them with lawsuits whenever their diagnoses failed.

One last look at Lisa’s back seat reassured me that the hatchback’s former owners weren’t along for the ride, and I gave her a brief, sullen wave as she cranked the Mariachi back up and pulled away from the curb.

I could’ve said something like, “Hi honey, I’m home,” when I came in, but that would’ve implied that I was in a good mood. Which I wasn’t.

My futon looked strange, small and a little bit cheap, with Jacob on it. He sat there in plaid pajama pants, hunched over the glass-top coffee table, shirtless and insanely buff, poring over one of my old textbooks. I suspected he’d already read the one about Psy-ethics. He looked up as I came in, his finger marking the spot on the page where he’d stopped reading.

“My eyes are fine,” I said. “They just look bad. But they’ll clear up in a week or two.”

Jacob smiled his broad, infectious grin.

“I’m, um…gonna go lay down,” I said, and ducked into the bedroom. Part of me wanted him to follow and help me blow off a little steam. And part of me was drained and exhausted and just wanted him to stay put. I guess I’d get my wish either way.

I kicked off my jeans, pulled on an old pair of sweatpants, drew the curtains and slipped into bed. A few minutes later I felt Jacob’s weight settle behind me. “So tell me about this third eye,” he said.

I managed to not turn it into a dirty joke, since he was so earnest and all, and I didn’t feel much like joking anyway. “What about it?”

“Does it feel like an actual eye to you? Does it blink? Did the incubus’ scream affect it, too?”

“It’s all a metaphor,” I said. “It’s not a real eye.”

“But the text….”

“Is incredibly hokey and inaccurate. I used to think it was translated from Russian. They had a handle on Psych stuff a long time before we figured it out here. Them and the Chinese.”

Jacob eased his arm around me and spooned my back into his chest. We fit our bent legs together, and his knees nestled behind mine. “I know you think I’m pushy for asking….”

“What? No, no I don’t.”

“I can tell. You sound disgusted when you answer me. But you’re a difficult man to get to know. And I’m only trying to understand.”

I felt bad. Just a little. “Look at the part on chakras in one of the newer books, the one with the guy on the cover who looks constipated. That’s a little better explanation.”

I think the cover model was supposed to be expressing some sort of psychic talent in action, but I’d always wanted to slip him an Ex-Lax. I half expected Jacob to leap out of bed to go find it since he was so into the whole Psych thing. But instead he just snuggled tighter into my back, his breath warm against my shoulder blade.

And his stiff cock hard against the back of my thigh.

All I had to do was reach back and take it in my hand, let him know that I was ready if he was. And yet I still felt peevish and out of sorts. He sighed and pressed a little harder, his fingertips fanning over my ribs as he held me. I felt a flutter of arousal at his touch, and his warmth, and the sheer solidity of him.

And yet.

Jacob pressed his mouth to my ear. He had a sexy voice and he was shameless about using it. “Make love to me,” he said.

I turned my head toward him and his mouth covered mine, the light bristle of his short beard scraping at the criss crossed network of fine scabs on my cheek. His tongue traced my lower lip, drew my tongue out to meet it, but only reluctantly. I knew the incubus had used heavy psychic stuff to seduce him. Call it a glamour, or some kind of mesmerism. But I couldn’t help it. I was jealous.

I turned my mouth from his. “I don’t have any condoms or lube,” I said, and did my best not to count the number of years it’d been since I’d dated someone steadily enough to need such things. The record store guy. Too many years.

Jacob’s mouth went to my throat, and he traced a long lick down the sinew of my neck. “Who says I need them?” he asked, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “I just want to touch you. Taste you. Hold you.”

His hand skimmed up my body and his fingertips found my nipple, took it firmly this time, and squeezed. Arousal surged toward my groin as if the two points were magically linked, and then he gave a little twist that made me whimper.

His lower hand slipped palm-down beneath the waistband of my sweatpants. My breath shuddered out, but I bit back the moan that threatened to escape me. It wasn’t fair that he could make me so hard so fast. He cupped my balls with his palm and twisted my nipple again, and I writhed against him, feeling his hard cock settle in the cleft of my ass.

“Ready to lose the pants?” he asked me.

I wanted to give him a sulky answer, but he was stroking the skin behind my balls, just one fingertip, light and repetitive, and it was like all of my awareness surged into that one spot, leaving me helpless to reply.

He twisted my nipple again, and I arched and moaned.

“God, you’re so hot,” he said, and sank his teeth into the meat of my shoulder while he took his upper hand and jammed my sweats down around my thighs.

More shocks of arousal traveled down to my cock, which seemed very happy to be free and butting against the comforter.

I felt him against my lower body, thick black body hair, belly, groin and thighs, tickling against my ass and the backs of my legs. He pressed one of his knees between mine and spread my legs from behind. His thigh was so muscular and solid it felt like iron, and my back arched some more to allow him to spread me.

His lower hand slipped deeper between my legs, fingertips gliding feathery touches over my asshole that left me gasping.

“Touch my cock,” I demanded, and my voice was a desperate rasp.

Jacob let go of my nipple and ran his upper hand down my ribs. He gave my cock a cursory stroke, then fondled my balls.

“Goddamn it,” I said, but I wasn’t mad, not really. Just so hard that it hurt—and he knew it.

His upper hand slipped around back to my ass, spread the cheeks while the fingers of his lower hand continued to swirl and tease. And then I felt his balls nestle against my ass, his thick, hard cock cradled again between my ass cheeks.

“Squeeze,” he said, and I clenched up a little. He slid his cock within that cleft and shuddered against me. “Oh, God, yeah.”

His voice was thick, not the usual controlled purr I’d come to associate with Jacob, the hottest cop in the city. And I dug that I could do that to him, make him all trembly and needy and hard.

He took my cock loosely in one hand while teasing my ass, my balls, the creases of my thighs with the fingertips of the one he’d wedged between my legs. It would’ve tickled, except he shifted his grip on my cock and gave it a long, hard stroke.

I arched and swallowed down a yell that would’ve carried to the next apartment if I’d let it out.

“Like that?” he said, gravelly in my ear.

“Fuck, yeah.”

He pulled on my cock again, this time slipping a finger inside me.

I arched, hard, and stroked his cock with my ass.

He grunted and bit down on my shoulder, and pulled my lower body roughly against his on the downstroke. We caught a rhythm somehow, me grinding and clenching the length of his cock between my ass cheeks, him fingering me, stroking me, tearing at my shoulder with his teeth like some kind of beast.

I broke first, grabbing at the comforter, the windowsill, Jacob’s wrist as he jerked off my cock, fingerfucked me, his leg between mine opening me even more, spreading me, taking my body and dragging an orgasm out of me.

I gasped his name as I came, my whole body twitching helplessly on his, splayed out wide like I’d been stretched on a giant rack.

He stopped pulling my cock and just held me for those final few twitches, so violent they rattled the bedframe against the floorboards.

“C’mere,” he said, once I managed to draw a normal breath. He scootched back and helped me to roll over and face him. He took my trembling hand between his and wrapped it around his cock, and I felt my own come, sticky between his fingers. He moaned when I grasped him, and pressed his forehead into mine. He let go of my hand and brought his fingertips to my face, tracing the line of my cheekbone and jaw while I re-learned the shape of his thick, veined cock, learned how he shuddered when I thumbed the ridge under the head, learned how he groaned when I bore down hard on him and glided strong, even strokes down the length of him.

His top leg was thrown over mine and I felt his thighs begin to tremble as he got close. I slowed my strokes and he hissed, whether in approval or frustration, it was hard to say. And then his fingers wove into my hair and he pulled me forward into a slow, deep kiss as his breath hitched, and his hot, wet come painted my hand, belly and chest.

He kept on kissing me, long after he’d gotten off, until finally he drew his tongue into a gentle sweep across my lips, and he lay back just a few inches from my face and sighed.

I held him and felt his breath warm on my cheek, the weight of his leg solid and heavy just above my knee. It was so close to perfect. Except for that cold knot in my belly that told me my jealousy was still coloring everything.

“It’s none of my business,” I said, “but I can’t help but wonder whose face that incubus was wearing for you. I mean, who’s so great that you’d ditch me at the Cottonwood Lounge and run home with him?”

“You’re kidding.”

I closed my eyes so I didn’t have to see him looking at me and decided it was best to keep my mouth shut, too.

“You are kidding, right?”

As if I would make a joke about something like that. I kept my eyes closed and refused to answer.

Jacob’s sticky fingers traced the shape of my face yet again. “You really don’t know, do you?” He pressed a gentle kiss onto one of my eyebrows, then the other. “It was you, Vic. He disguised himself as you.”

-end-

The PsyCop Series

PSYCOP EBOOKS

1 - Among the Living

2 - Criss Cross

3 - Body & Soul

4 - Secrets

5 - Camp Hell

6 - GhosTV

7 - Spook Squad

More free shorts and bonus material for the PSYCOP series at: www.psycop.com

About the Author

Jordan Castillo Price is optimistic enough to hope that psychic powers could be real, and cynical enough to assume that someone will undoubtedly exploit them should tangible evidence of the sixth sense ever become incontrovertible.

She lives in Madison, Wisconsin.

www.psycop.com

Where to find Jordan Castillo Price

Author website – http://jordancastilloprice.com

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/jordancastilloprice

Twitter - https://twitter.com/jordancprice

JUMP TO...

NEW REVELATIONS by HEATHER TOPHAM WOOD

ARMAND by APRIL AASHEIM

TUESDAY’S CHILD by DALE MAYER

JUST A LITTLE NUDGE by JESI LEA RYAN

HAUNTED ON BOURBON STREET by DEANNA CHASE

SPIRITS AMONG US by MORGAN HANNAH MACDONAND

LONDON by JC ANDRIJESKI

AMONG THE LIVING by JORDAN CASTILLO PRICE

VAMPIRE VACATION by C.J. ELLISSON

TOUCHED by HAZEL HUNTER

VAMPIRE VACATION

The V V Inn Book One

BY C.J. ELLISSON

Meet Vivian. She's a 580-year-old vampire who exudes sex, has a talent for drama, and is passionate about two things: her human husband, Rafe, and their resort for the undead. Her ability to project physical illusions has created the perfect vacation spot—a dark, isolated Alaskan hideaway where visitors can have their wildest fantasies come true.

Vivian knows the best performance requires perfect timing, but the powerful vamp is put to the test when she discovers a corpse in a locked guestroom minutes before the next arrivals. Always cool-headed, Rafe hides the body, convinced he and Vivian can find the culprit without disturbing their guests.

Juggling the increasingly outrageous demands of their customers while tracking a killer isn't easy. Will their poking and prodding give them the answers they need, or will it uncover secrets Vivian would kill to protect?

Heat Level: 5

To Peter, for supporting me while I reached for the stars. May you some day get the lake house of your dreams.

Chapter One

“It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent that survives. It is the one that is the most adaptable to change.” ~ Charles Darwin

I open the door to find a body at my feet. The rich smell of blood causes my canines to lengthen. Reaching out in the darkness, I flip on the wall switches. Light spills across the room, illuminating the dead guy lying face down in front of me. The whole scene makes me wish I’d stayed in bed today, curled up next to my warm husband.

“Crap, look at the rug.”

Okay, out loud that sounds rather cold and dispassionate. Whoever this poor stiff is, he’s dead. I’m the one left with a huge mess on my hands and guests arriving within the hour. Good thing I caught this before one of the maids did. Their screams from the last time were a devil to quiet down.

Expanding my awareness, I connect with my husband in a soft electrical tingle of sensation. Rafe? There’s a dead guy in suite six. We’ve got to move fast before the next group arrives.

Rafe’s rugged face appears in my head. My extended consciousness lets me see the room around him as well as hear his thoughts. He’s leaning against the sink in our private kitchen, wearing a robe, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand.

Does it look like an accidental overfeeding?  His mental voice sounds incredulous. We haven’t had one of those in years.

No, there’s way too much blood. Can you come up here and help me?

Sure, Dria. I’m fresh out of the shower—give me a couple minutes.

I step over the body and into the room, closing the door behind me with a soft snick of the catch. I’d rather not have the guests get a whiff of this mess. Some of them would probably think we did it on purpose for “ambience.” But others might not.

Walking to the bench at the end of the bed, I sit and look around the suite. Nothing looks amiss with the king-size bed, gleaming dark furniture, and lush brocade fabrics. I turn my attention again to the body. The stark white face turned toward me doesn’t look familiar. I’m positive he isn’t a mate of one of the vampire masters staying at the inn; I make it a point to meet all of them on arrival.

Examining his brown hair and twenty-something face, I don’t recognize him as a vampire servant either. Not many have come to stay with the current crop of undead we’ve got right now. Who else?

The spilled blood staining the carpet arouses my basic vampire needs while confusing my train of thought. I think back to my peaceful morning yoga, trying to clear my head. Think, dammit, think!

Could he be a companion? A lot of masters bring “food” with them. Being a full-service, hotel we can provide for all the needs of our guests, but some still insist on BYOB.

His striped, button-down shirt and ragged jeans rule him out as an employee. Unless he’s an off-duty new hire I’m unaware of.

Rafe, have we hired anyone new?

Not in at least a month. You’ve met everyone. My husband hesitates for a moment. Send me his face and I’ll let you know if he looks familiar.

I concentrate to project the image from my mind to Rafe’s. My strong ability enables me to share the entire experience with him if I wish. I could send the metallic smell filling the air, the sticky congealing blood pooled about the victim’s head, or the dark essence of death that lingers after a vicious kill—but choose to limit it only to the image of the victim’s face.

No, I don’t recognize him either, Rafe confirms. Damn, Tommy’s flagging me down. I’ll be up as soon as I can.

Hurry, please. We’ve got guests coming, I glance down at my ever-present watch, in forty-five minutes!

Rafe ignores me. Typical. He’ll get here when he gets here. My muscles tense while I fight the urge to pace. Who could’ve killed this poor guy? And why? Why here for that matter? I’ve seen my share of corpses in my long undead life, but in the twenty years we’ve run this inn, there hasn’t been a single murder.

Okay, okay… let’s see. What should I do? I try to center my thoughts by taking a deep breath. Rich, aromatic blood rushes into my nostrils. That was a mistake. It smells so damn good. Fidgeting in my seat, I feel desperate to do something to distract myself from my desires.

We can’t call the police in this isolated area of Alaska. Not only would they take hours to arrive, but they wouldn’t be able to help. I don’t even want to think of the memory altering I’d have to do if they did show up. Instead, I can be the one to take notes and catalog evidence. That seems to work well on the detective shows.

I pat down my hips, realizing too late the black clingy dress I’m wearing doesn’t have pockets. Where the hell is my notebook? I need it to write this stuff down.

Rafe! Are you coming?

No. Not yet, my dear. A masculine chuckle reaches my mind. I’m heading up the stairs now.

The hotel resembles a large T-shape, with the lobby being dead center where all the wings converge. Not wanting to send him back downstairs, I think about what lies between there and here.

I need a notebook and a pen to write down all the facts. Can you get them for me?

I think we need to cut back on the TV, Dria.

I hear the smile in his words. He read my mind and knows what I plan to do. Jerk. That man loves to pull my chain.

Relax, liebling, we’ll handle this.

Easy for you to say. You’re not a vampire sitting next to, I glance over at the large red stain around the victim’s head, what looks like three or four quarts of blood. Rafe is my human husband. The mate bond ritual we shared sixty-five years ago, combined with our frequent mutual blood exchange, keeps him from aging.

I hear Rafe hesitate on the wide, curving staircase leading up to the second floor.

You’ll find pen and paper in the top drawer of the hall table, outside suite seven.

You want to show me too, while you’re at it?

I don’t need to see his smile to confirm he’s laughing at me.

I focus my will and gather an image in my mind, picturing the last time I fed from my spouse. The delicious smell of his sweaty skin fills my thoughts. The clean and musky memory triggers heat low in my middle. It spreads at the mere reminder of the salty taste of piercing his flesh to drink. I feel the rush of his life-giving elixir fill my mouth and tease my taste buds with its power. I push the feelings, sensations, and pictures out to his mind as he enters the suite.

Rafe stops the motion of the door before it hits the body. He staggers forward a bit as my mental projection slams into his mind. He’s holding the notebook and pen in one hand while gripping the doorknob with the other.

“Whew! All right already, I get the picture!”

I smile and pull the illusion away. Rafe closes the door and joins me on the other side of the corpse. I think I made my point. I may not need much blood anymore, but he certainly enjoys the little bit I ingest when we make love.

He tosses the notebook, aiming straight for my head. Apparently, I struck a nerve with my teasing.

I jot down the basics I’ve got for the dead guy–his age, race, brown hair, and what he’s wearing. Rafe squats near him. His gray dress slacks pull across his apple-cheeked ass and I once again lose my focus.

“Unlucky stiff,” Rafe comments. “What do you know so far?”

He looks back over his shoulder and smiles at me. My eyes are drawn up to his sparkling blue ones.

Crap. What did he say? I scramble around for an answer.

“Umm…” Good God, I’ve got to get the hell away from all this blood, and soon. “I came in to do a last-minute check of the rooms before the MacKellan group arrives. Found him dead by the door, just like you see him now.”

“As far as wounds go, all I see is this big dent in the back of his head.” He holds his fist out to the wound. “Looks like it could have been something this size. Think he has another injury under him?” Putting words to action, Rafe places a hand under the corpse’s hip and shoulder, lifting him to look. “Nothing on his chest.” He lowers the body to the carpet.

“You’re sure you don’t recognize him, right?” I ask.

“Nah. I’d have recognized that scar.” Rafe points out the small crescent-shaped mark on his left cheek, and I jot the observation in my notebook. “Did you see his shoes?” Rafe nods in the direction of his feet. “He wouldn’t be walking around outside in those loafers for long. The winter temps here would freeze his toes off in minutes.” He looks up at me, a frown creasing his forehead. “He’s fully human, right?”

“There’s only one way to find out.” I lean down to draw in a deep sniff of air from near the body. Subtle undertones of the victim’s personal scent seep into my brain. The pure, clean essence of his human blood overpowers everything else when I look for it. “He carries no blood marker from another vampire. Which means he’s not a servant or a mate. He could be a companion who arrived late, someone we’re unaware of.”

“Good point.” Rafe stands. “Who do we still have here after yesterday’s departures?”

“Hmm, let’s see…” I step back from the body. “The Natsuhara group, out in cabin two—Jet has his mate and one companion with him. There’s the loner in cabin five, Drew Lipshultz. Here in the main building, we’ve still got Salvador’s group, a party of eight. They’re in the west wing. I don’t know why any of them would have a reason to be here in the north wing though.”

“This door was locked, right?”

I wave my handy master key card. “Yup.”

Rafe pats the dead guy’s pockets. “He’s warm. Can’t have been dead too long.”

“No, you’re right. The maids were here this morning. I’m sure we would have heard their screaming if he was here then.”

“Hey, got a wallet.” Rafe holds up a tattered bi-fold. “Looks like there’s no ID. But I do see a credit card.” He takes it out, angling to read it. “John Pierre Vaughn. Ring a bell with you?”

“No. Don’t know it.” I glance around at the red mess. “This rug looks shot.”

Rafe ignores me. “What could he have been doing here? How did he get in?”

“Well, his stuff has got to be somewhere.” Scanning the room, I add, “I don’t see a coat or his bag.” I check the closet and the bath, shaking my head as I return. “Nope, nothing in there either.”

“Are you thinking the killer could be human?” Rafe stands, facing me.

“My first guess would be a human. Most vamps wouldn’t waste this much blood. Even though a newly turned fledgling only needs a pint a day, a vampire can drain a body if they want to.”

He smiles and leans forward, kissing me lightly on the mouth. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

“Ha! Like that would stop you.”

Rafe steps close, lifting a hand to run through my long copper hair. “You okay? You don’t seem yourself.”

“I’ll be good once we get rid of this body. I cannot freakin’ believe we’ve got this to contend with right now.” I sound a bit whiny, even to my own ears.

“It’ll come together. We’ll work it all out.” His calm sureness in life is always a wondrous thing to experience. “After all, we’re on 10,000 acres in the middle of nowhere. It’s pitch dark twenty hours a day and we control the only airstrip for miles around. Where is the killer going to go?”

He’s right. But the practical side of me keeps seeing one thing: we have a dead guy, cooling fast, in our hotel room.

“You know something, hon?”

“What?” He sounds distracted.

“Trying to figure this out isn’t fun anymore and we’ve got people arriving,” I cut my eyes down again to my watch, “thirty minutes. I can switch the MacKellans down one room, but we’ve got to move pronto. This guy’s going to stink and we need to make a good impression on the new arrivals.”

Pressure builds in my chest.

Rafe takes out a utility knife from the back of his slacks. I swear he would have made a great Boy Scout. He’s always so damn prepared.

He slides up the blade and motions to the corpse. “Are we agreed? I cut the carpet and roll him inside?” He notices my gimlet stare. “Hey, I’m only asking because I don’t want you getting pissy with me if I cut the carpet without checking.”

Pissy is a nice way to say bitchy, but I’m okay with it.

“No, you’re right. It’s ruined. Put him in one of the sheds outside, lock it up and we’ll talk again later about what to do.” The body will freeze solid out there in a few hours, and no one will smell him.

About two feet from the stain, he cuts a big rectangle into the carpet and padding. Quick and sure, his movements accentuate a natural grace, one that flips all my switches.

A familiar wetness gathers in my panties while watching the muscles in his back work under his tight blue polo. The blood in the room arouses the predator in me, and due to my advanced age, it’s not blood I crave but sex. I remind myself, again, to stop breathing.

If I’m not careful to keep my thoughts tightly bound, Rafe will see the erotic image running through my mind of his bare shoulders between my thighs. I experience an all-over body shiver, trying to pull myself together.

He looks up with a small smile on his face. Damn it, he saw.

“You’re a bad girl, you know that?”

“And you love it,” I reply.

He rolls the body in the carpet and hefts it over his shoulder in one smooth move. My gaze drops to his chest. Yum… his shirt shows off his definition nicely. My tongue snakes out to wet my lips. Good God, is it hot in here or is it me?

“Yeah, I do. I’ll deal with you later.” He winks. “Save your sexiness for the customers. They feed off you when you do. You exude sex.”

Our inn is renowned for bringing hidden fantasies to the surface. It’s one of the big reasons clients come back again and again. That and the fantastic sex they have when they’re here as a result.

I stick my lip out in a pout. “Fine, but dead body or no dead body, I want you later. Better not tire yourself out… I have plans.”

He chuckles as he walks out the door. I’m sure you do, Dria, I’m sure you do.

Once he leaves, and takes the main source of blood with him, I take a deep cleansing lungful of air.

Smoothing the fabric of the dress over my stomach and hips, I decide I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. I leave, re-locking the door behind me. Glancing at my wrist, I note it’s twenty-two minutes until the new group arrives. Then it’s show time!

Chapter Two

My black spiked heels sink into the carpet runner as I head down the hall. I stop in front of room seven and open the door, leaning in to inspect and assure myself there are no more surprise dead bodies. Smelling nothing more than clean linens, furniture polish, and the lingering human scent of the maids, I move on.

Dria, it’s done. The body is locked up in a small shed in the hot tub grotto. No one else has a key except Jonathan.

Jonathan, our head groundskeeper, is quite a unique man with very tasty blood. We have formed a connection because of it, though nothing like my mate bond with Rafe. My relationship with Jonathan is one of servant and vampire master. I trust him because of this bond and plan to inform him of our little problem in the shed when we speak next.

Good job. Thanks, my love. I’m checking the other rooms on this floor before I greet the new group.

Any clues so far, my little super sleuth? He’s laughing at me again.

Nothing yet, smart ass, but give me a chance to look. I end our connection and continue down the hall.

I’m in the north wing of the inn, on the second floor, which houses rooms six through ten. These suites don’t have themes like the ten rooms on the third floor—the level I think as the “fun” floor. Those larger rooms don’t hold guests for their entire stay; they are reserved for daily use by guests willing to pay an extra fee.

I inspect room eight then move on to the next door, which I unlock and open in a single motion. Nothing appears out of place. I turn to continue when a small noise from behind pulls me around. One of the maids, a young local woman of Inuit Indian heritage, walks toward me.

“Hello, Iona, how are you?” I’ve never been an uninvolved boss; I know every one of our employees by name.

“Hi, Vivian, I’m good.” She greets me with a warm smile, familiar with my routine. “Are you doing a last-minute check before the next bunch?”

My real name is Alexandria, but Iona, like everyone else since the day the sign for The V V Inn went up, calls me Vivian. Iona’s worked here about a year and has proven herself to be an incredibly organized woman. She’s one of the few employees not imported from another state or country. Her family resides in the nearby town, Dead Foot, with a population of only a few hundred.

“Yes,” I answer, “but I’m also up here because of an issue in room six. How long have you been on this floor today?”

Iona looks at me with a question in her eyes, probably wondering about what issue I’m referring to, but she answers quickly enough.

“I was up here with a team of three and we all left before noon.”

“Did you see any guests in this wing?”

“No,” she answers.

“What brought you back up here?”

“I’m doing a walk-through to check on the items the MacKellans requested.”

“Ah yes, the six-pack of Perrier and the Moét et Chandon White Star. That would be in the mini-fridge in room seven?” She nods in agreement. “I’ll check for it on my return through the floor.”

She hesitates before leaving, like she has something to say.

“Thanks, Iona,” I improvise, hoping to ease her into telling me what’s on her mind. “We would’ve appeared unprofessional if we’d missed those.”

She blushes from the acknowledgement. Iona’s attractive and the extra flush of color draws my attention to her robust good health. She looks me straight in the eye—a blatant invite in the supernatural community toward a vampire. I draw in breath, surprised.

Iona knows a little about what goes on here. Most all of my employees do. But they’re not normally involved in the fantasies of the guests so their knowledge is sketchy. The workers do talk though, and many of them have donated blood for our virile customers.

I possess a secondary trait that helps with our unique clientele. It’s not as strong as my ability to project illusions, but it’s increasing with use. I read desires through a touch.

I reach out and make contact with the exposed skin of Iona’s wrist and I slip into her mind. Her desires tumble close to the surface, like rainbow-colored snakes. Touching on a sliding thought, I see she hopes to be chosen to donate blood. Iona’s mind holds no hint of fear, even though she’s aware most of our guests are bloodsuckers. And she feels a strong family tie to me. In her mind, I’m like a great-aunt, one who holds a position of respect and kindness in her heart.

“Are you sure donating is a step you want to take?” I ask.

“Yes, very much so,” she says with sincerity.

When she stared into my eyes, she had innocently offered herself to me, unaware that I do not normally feed from employees.

“Iona, it would be with the guests, not with me. Is that still acceptable?”

She again holds my gaze a little too long. “Yes.”

“Sometimes it leads to a more intimate encounter but only if you want it to. I make sure the guests know ahead of time how far you’re willing to take it.”

“I’m ready.” Her voice sounds firm, certain. “My grandmother was Junee.”

Ah, that’s why this strong Inuit woman seems so positive in her choice. Junee worked for us when we first opened our doors twenty years ago. She was an accepting and loving woman who enjoyed her position here for ten years.

I’ve placed a compulsion on all the workers during their employment—they can share details of sexual acts, but not of the blood donation. When they leave, I take care of the rest of the details during a specialized exit interview.

“Yes, my great-aunt spoke of her very well,” I say, keeping to the ruse “my aunt” ran the inn first. The employees tell a tale every fifteen years that’s kept us safe.  They believe that after the original founder retired, a niece and her husband took over the operation. I’ve inserted this belief with care into the minds of all who have worked for me, while blurring our images a bit in the old employees’ memories so they think they see a family resemblance, rather than realizing we’re the same people.

“Very well,” I decide. “You’ll be put on the next list. Please review the guests and tell Tommy your choices this evening. Pick ones you like, and remember, it’s supposed to be fun.” I say the last part with a wicked smile on my face. “Don’t forget to tell him your limits,” I wink.

I have a hunch Iona will choose a female vampire. Those long stares were quite bold and while she caught me off guard, I’m guessing they had true intent behind them. Time will tell.

“Thank you, Vivian. I’ve been dreaming of this moment since the first week I started here.”

Gee, no pressure there. Iona throws me a beaming smile before rushing down the hall. Let’s hope the experience mirrors her dreams. To ensure it, I make a mental note to supervise part of her blood donation. I’d rather be safe than sorry.

Continuing my original journey to inspect the rest of the rooms in this wing, I take a detour on my return to check the items in the mini-fridge. All appears as it should with the rooms ready and waiting. Which does not help me figure out who could have killed that man and why. I leave the wing through the French doors and out to the bookcase-lined loft encircling the vaulted lobby.

I descend one side of the winding, dual staircase to the main floor and see Tommy working on the computer. Tommy’s our imported Aussie, who’s lived and worked on the property for five years. He glances up from his usual spot behind the front desk with a big smile. Residing on the resort comes with perks, and Tommy’s ever hopeful he’ll be put to the top of the donor list when he sees me.

“G’day, Vivian, aren’t you looking good today?”

“When do I not look good, Tommy?” Modesty has never been my forte.

“Too true,” he replies, then glances at his computer screen. “Isn’t the MacKellan party due in next?”

“Yes. Move them to rooms seven, eight and nine, please. We had an issue with the rug in room six, which won’t be available until new carpet can be installed.” I project honesty and sincerity, and Tommy doesn’t bat an eye.

“You got it, Viv, no worries.” He taps the changes into the keyboard and hands me a new file—which reminds me I’ve got some investigating of our current guests to do.

“Tommy, have the Salvador and Natsuhara files sent to my suite in an hour, please.”

He taps his fingers a few more times before glancing up.

“Yes, ma'am. Consider it done.”

I keep files on all our guests. The MacKellans are new so their file is thin. Checking it over, I confirm details in my mind, placing names at the ready to match with faces when they arrive. MacKellan is the family, or seethe, named after the head vamp in the group. Individuals go only by first name unless conducting business outside the seethe, and they all use the same surname. This convention makes it appear like the group is a big extended family, even though no one is related.

The MacKellan group is a party of five—three vamps, one mate, and a companion. Which is a fairly big vampire party for us. The max we usually see is two. Not many in a seethe choose to vacation with another vamp tagging along. I’m glad to note they will need additional sustenance while staying with us. One extra companion for food won’t be enough with two younger vamps in attendance.

Staying awake around the clock during the inn’s open season requires additional feedings for our kind. Even I need a full feeding of a single pint each month with the added strain on my system. Normally, the sips I take from my husband a few times a week would be enough to keep me satisfied, but here in the dark winter wilderness, I need more.

“Let me know if you feel like being a donor this week with our new guests,” I direct Tommy. “You can be at the top of the list if you’d like, I know it’s been a while for you.” He nods while his dimples show in a big smile. “Check them out when they arrive, choose who you’d be comfortable with and let me know.” I hesitate and then add, “Put Iona down second on the list. I spoke to her and she’s ready. Pass the word to others who like to donate, but be discreet.” Tommy nods again, his sandy blond hair falling over his forehead. “You know my rules. I’d like the list with preferences by eight tomorrow morning.”

You’d think I’d just given him an early Christmas bonus the way his face lights up. “You’re the best, Viv. Have I told you that lately?”

“No need, dearie, Rafe tells me every night.”

My accompanying grin is wicked as I turn toward the front doors. Pausing a moment, I consider the week ahead with this visiting unknown group and the additional problem of the dead John Pierre. I would be wise to make sure I’m at my peak. Turning back to the desk, I address a specific requirement.

“One more thing. Call Jonathan and tell him I have to speak with him in my office at nine tonight.”

“Got it,” Tommy replies, reaching for the phone.

I redirect my mind to the work at hand. Needing to get in the right mood to project well when the new visitors arrive, I let my thoughts drift to the previous night with my German husband. His smooth, pale skin glowed in the candlelight set around our room. Rafe wore the tight boxer briefs he knows I love. They curve and cup his body and never hide when he’s interested.

The warmth in my middle moves throughout my limbs. A burning desire to pull my dress up around my waist, right here in the lobby, overcomes me. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time, but I’d rather not forget myself in such a way more than once a season. My body shudders at the mere thought of doing just that in front of complete strangers.

My treacherous mind thinks back to my husband’s rampant desire last night. I picture the stretchy fabric straining against his arousal while reining in the pull to get on my knees to reach and peel away the material, springing him free. It’s all in my mind and I’d certainly appear odd on my knees to any onlooker in the lobby.

Dria, I enjoyed last night, you minx. You warming up for the guests? I nod my assent. That’s my good girl. Remember the part with me on my knees? I loved how you couldn’t wait and had to press yourself into my tongue so early on… liebling, what you do to me…

This time when I see Rafe in my mind, he’s straining against the front of his slacks instead of his briefs. His hand reaches to readjust…

I slam our mental door when my hand reaches to pull up my hem. Whew, close call. After the guests get settled, I am going to have to track him down. I hope he hides. It’s so much fun to hunt him when we’re hot.

I hear a van door slide closed and turn to face the front entrance. The first guest opens the door on a burst of frigid air that pushes the hair from around my face. A man walks through with a confident stride.

Well, well, well, look what we have here. Isn’t he just gorgeous?

Chapter Three

“Welcome to The V V Inn. I’m Vivian, one of the owners. I’m here to help make your stay an enjoyable one.” Turning my inner thoughts out, I project sensuality through every pore.

The man striding in from the main entrance has no mate on his arm. He’s olive-skinned with dark hair and brown eyes. Dressed in a custom-made black Italian suit, he saunters toward me. The power radiating off the handsome newcomer labels him a vampire, like a calling card for the undead. I can tell by the tingling push against my skin he’s been dead about fifty years. It’s safe to assume he is not the head of this seethe. He must be the Antonio listed in my file.

His eyes lock on mine while my desire coils about him like a snake. Approaching the front desk, his tan nostrils flare as he takes a deep sniff. “I’d heard this place was like candy for your soul,” he observes, “but I had no idea.” Like most predators, he zeroes in on what he considers to be prey—me—not sparing a glance at the surrounding lobby.

“You look good enough to eat.” His smile appears cold and calculated.

This is the drawback to pushing sexual feelings at guests when they walk through the door. Some foolish recipients direct their reactions back at me instead of the people they came with. I sense this young vamp hopes to stir my interest and entice me closer. Since I’ve never answered to corny one-liners in my past, I don’t see why I should now.

I smile, but don’t respond. My mother always told me if you don’t have something nice to say, not to say anything at all. I sometimes succeed in following her advice, but not often.

It’s obvious I’m undead, but he’s unable to guess my true age. Like all smart women, I hide my years well. Controlling what others of my species sense of my power is intentional. Old blood is desired by all of our kind, especially the young ones. It helps them grow strong enough to survive being prey to a more powerful vampire. The younger members of a seethe are bound in this need to the head of their family through exchanged blood.

Antonio’s gaze on my neck clearly indicates he hopes to taste my power and see what surprises my curvy body may hold. No matter how handsome I may find the young vamp, he will be disappointed. Although I enjoy a good fantasy now and then, it doesn’t change the fact Rafe and I are married—neither of us will break our vows.

Even though I have no seethe here, just Rafe and me, I do share my power through my blood. Contrary to the romanticizing by today’s youth, blood can be enjoyed in other ways than the mouth-on-neck route. I’m more generous than most vampires my age. We serve shots of my blood mixed with alcohol at the bar. Of course, it sells for a steep price.

I push a little to ensure Antonio will see me differently. With a delicate touch, I weave through his mind, inserting the idea of me as his latest conquest would not be worth the trouble. The exchange is quick, unnoticed by the new guest. Antonio turns to the desk to register, appearing less concerned with me.

I repeat my greeting when the rest of the party enters through the double doors then take a step back to allow them time to register. Again, I push sexual desire into the lobby, feeling my cravings wrap around their senses while invading their minds. They’ll experience warmth touching their skin as my emotions and thoughts seep in to become their own.

The rest of the MacKellan group advances about twenty feet before they stop and stare up to where the ceiling vaults away. All four are pulled into my web of desire but the three women react like a bunch of high school kids out drinking. Sounding giddy, almost carefree, they’re excited with their adventure and loving every moment. I hear jubilant sighs of “oh” and “ah” as they walk about while peering at the opulent surroundings. The sexual electricity of the crafted moment gives them a high. A few bodies spin around to take in the grandeur of the lobby all at once.

Light sparkles off the twisted glass of the hand-blown chandelier. Highly-polished wood banisters gleam in its soft light. Sounds bounce off the wood floors, rising, only to be muffled by the three-story, book-lined landings encircling the lobby.

A svelte blond vampire whispers, “Do you feel that?”

“I feel something,” Antonio states, turning from the desk.

I note individual reactions to the space while watching expressions run across their features. The female vamp who spoke looks like she’s close to going over the edge from the vibe I’m sending. She breathes heavily, her lips parted, while her glassy eyes stare at nothing in particular.

The energy signature pulsing from her feels young, close to Antonio’s age. This could be Joanna. Her black Goth attire looks cute on her athletic Barbie figure, but I bet cute wasn’t what she was hoping for when she picked the clothes out.

The only other man in the group, Liam MacKellan, sends out his energy in a wave. His rude electric broadcast prickles my skin. It’s strong. Unless he blocks it like I do, it could get uncomfortable for me to be in a room with him for any length of time. I would judge him to be a little over three hundred, much younger than my own five hundred eighty years. He’s unquestionably the head of this seethe. His regal bearing and dominant strength remind me of a clansman of ages past. Liam may be dressed all in black, but I bet he’d look more at home painted blue, wearing a kilt, and wielding an axe.

Liam’s hard countenance reveals nothing while he observes his surroundings. He feels my sexual energy projections but he’s much more controlled. He’ll be a fun one to shake up this week.

The lush brunette with a hand resting in the nook of his arm could be the Francesca listed in my file, as her coloring reminds me of Italian blood. The woman holds herself with confidence and grace; she would have to be strong to hold her own with him.

The last member of their party is a petite blond. By her pure scent, no vampire has laid claim to her yet. Interesting. They have fed from her, but there has been no mutual exchange of blood. I wonder why she was invited if she is not a servant. One companion is not enough to feed three vamps, so why bother to bring her at all? She is pretty in a sweet kind of way. I would almost call her innocent—except for the company she keeps. If I got Joanna’s name right, then this pretty young thing must be Olivia.

I can hardly contain my compulsive impulse to touch them all and read their desires, but that will have to wait a bit longer.

Tommy explains house rules with our guests while distributing room key cards. “Hungry for blood, please call the front desk. We have willing donors on the premises twenty-four hours. No sharing blood with your donors. It’s a one-way transaction. Please do not use any vampire mind control to alter memories unless asked by Vivian or Rafe directly—and she will be checking.” Handing out the last key card, he wraps up his spiel. “Tours and instruction of the third floor rooms will be given at noon tomorrow. Please call if you’d like a private viewing with one of the owners. All other information on the resort can be found in the binder in your room, including directions for items in your welcome basket.”

Francesca coos with delight, “Oh, I love welcome baskets. I can hardly wait to see what’s inside!”

Tommy’s answering grin is a knowing one. He has first-hand experience with what’s in those baskets. We give out samples of all the new toys to the staff when a shipment comes in. It’s a great way to ensure their proficient use of the intimate items.

I tune out the rest of the playful banter between the guests by lowering myself into a comfortable chair. I love this part of my job. The first feel our visitors get when they arrive can set the tone for their whole vacation.

Not many vampires have the power to project real-life illusions, and of those who can, none are able to fool their fellow undead—except for the rare ones like me. I’m the only powerful manipulator left. The rest have been hunted down and killed by the Tribunal of Ancients to ensure no vampire can mind control another.

Who would guess they were vacationing with one of the best enforcers our vampire tribunal has ever seen? My high kill rate was attributed to fighting skills, never my use of subtlety. Here, residing at a resort above the Arctic Circle, I hide to avoid the debilitating silver hood used to control my kind, while freely using my gift on the guests. The no-daylight setting, combined with my rare skill, guarantees everyone will have a good time, and my added proficiency in manipulating ensures I’m never suspected.

I cross my legs, debating how far to go tonight. This group has a lot of dynamics I’m unaware of but I’d like to take a risk and push the envelope. Opening my mate bond to Rafe’s thoughts might help me decide.

Reading my mind makes him smile. Go for it, Dria. But leave the employees be.

I uncross my legs, allowing my thighs to squeeze together before I ease them flat onto the chair.

I send out arousal, thick and cloying, into the lobby air. It slowly permeates each guest, seeping into their minds to become their own. Women cling to the person closest to them, while the men reach a hand to steady themselves on the front desk or a nearby piece of furniture. Thankfully, no one loses balance or falls. That’s always much harder to explain away.

Standing, I walk to the front desk, waiting for our guests to assimilate what they’re feeling.

All have intense expressions on their faces. The human companion, Olivia, has a dazed cast to her features. She touches her neck, associating the arousal with what she feels from a feeding. Before my eyes, the vamps ease closer to the humans in the lobby. I’m betting some major magic will happen upstairs in a few minutes.

Damn, I’m good.

Chapter Four

I head away from the lobby, pleased I’ve had a chance to greet the guests by name and shake hands. I learned a lot in each little touch. The mated pair, Liam and Francesca, have been together a long time, about forty years. What she really wants is to rule him, but hasn’t had a chance to fulfill her inner fantasy. Liam, in turn, desires for her to be happy.

Domination is a common fantasy we deal with, hence our two dungeon rooms. Both are outfitted with special silver restraints to hold vamps. It’s a big step in trust for most of our kind and I wonder if Liam has refused or if Francesca has not approached him with it.

Liam will be the biggest obstacle; he likes to have power and has trouble letting go. I will take them on a tour of the rooms on the third floor tomorrow and see if I can pique their interest without my input. If not, I’ll give the couple a helpful nudge.

The special rooms are a delight, in an evil I-want-sex-now kind of way. The west wing holds room eleven, which looks like a Moroccan desert lair. Suite twelve mirrors an old schoolroom. Thirteen’s fashioned after a gym. And room fourteen’s inspired by the classic baths of Rome.

The north wing graduates to a bit naughtier; fifteen and sixteen are done up like dungeons; and seventeen sports the nickname the “orgy room.” Oh, the fun those rooms have seen!

To the east, we have the public rooms. Eighteen is stylized after an English manor gentleman’s library, complete with dark wood, leather wing-back chairs and fireplace. Nineteen looks like an Irish pub, and twenty resembles a nightclub. Not all rooms are the same size but are big enough to accommodate a large group. Those last three rooms are located over the pool on the main level. They are not normally rented; these rooms are where the guests mingle and interact with each other.

Rafe, love, what are you doing?

Afraid I might be slacking off, your highness, and you’re cracking the whip?

Um… no… I was hoping you could check with Tommy and see if we have anyone signed up for a tour of the fun floor tomorrow.

Yeah, I’ll check. Learn anything interesting with the guests?

Yes, I did, I’ll fill you in later. Going to see if there is any magic in the rooms yet.

Sure. You’re a horny little devil with a voyeuristic streak.

I smile at the thought his words conjure. Maybe.

Gently closing the connection between us, I focus my thoughts on the guests. I bet I’m not the only one feeling like a horny little devil. Perhaps that’s the reason for Rafe’s uncharacteristic sharpness. Built-up testosterone can do strange things to some men’s normally sunny dispositions. Keeping them happy requires frequent releases.

Antonio could be the type who thinks he “needs” lots of releases but doesn’t take the time to have quality ones. My touch during our handshake revealed he is new to this seethe, only five years. His greatest desire had my stomach flipping: to fall in love. Antonio has been without a mate his whole afterlife.

The companion in this group, Olivia, craves him with every cell of her being. One touch was enough for me to see the depth of love she has for the sultry Italian vamp. A much more recent newcomer, she’s only been with the MacKellans a few months. Olivia set her sights to catching Antonio. From both their minds I saw he enjoys what she has to offer, taking her quite often. The bigger question is why has he not marked her?

The last female vamp, Joanna, came here just to relax. She tagged along with the others out of friendship, having no hidden desires to fulfill on this trip. Joanna can’t wait to try the resort’s downhill and cross-country skiing, snowboarding, snowmobiles, ice-skating, and snow tubing. She plans to enjoy everything and rest by the indoor pool. I even saw she’s contemplating a spray tan while she’s here to surprise the rest of the seethe on her return.

I head upstairs to the second floor, past rooms two, three, and four in the west wing, to see how Salvador’s party is doing. They came for a two-week extended trip. Sal and his wife, Theresa, visit every year, yet they still have a honeymooner-like quality to them.

Their group indulges in the rooms on the third floor almost daily, even if only to mingle in the bar for a few hours. The time Rafe and I spend in the bar each night mixing with our guests helps us gauge who might need my particular brand of guidance. As on previous visits, Salvador’s group has not needed any help from me.

The smell of fresh blood from John Pierre’s corpse has dissipated completely, thanks to our excellent filtration system. With luck, the new arrivals will think any remaining traces are deliberate, to whet their appetites.

At the end of the landing, I enter one of the reading parlor areas overhanging the lobby. Opening a secret door only I, Rafe, and Jonathan know of, I slip into one of the observation rooms designed into each floor.

We use them to listen and watch during feedings, and to see where I might need to whisper the thought of  a hand, or a tongue, while projecting to our guests. In twenty years, we’ve had no violent incidents. True violence, not the love-hidden-in-jealousy type. It’s never come up and I don’t think it ever will. But someone must have felt some type of savagery or we wouldn’t have a dead John Pierre chilling in the shed, right?

Too bad we never installed a recording system in the observation setup, which would have easily resolved the mystery of John Pierre. The observation room links a bunch of closed-circuit cameras on a single monitor screen with a mouse to toggle between rooms.

The thought of recording guests always rubs me as wrong—but not a little voyeurism. How else am I to know where I’m needed? Invading their minds to ensure my employees’ safety would be worse, not to mention quite taxing for me.

I wake the system and click room two.

No one there.

Move to room three.

Oh, lots going on there.

All looks good. Is that an elbow? Everyone seems happy so I move on down the line. Room four… hmm… what is this? Looks like—yes, I think it’s Sheba. She’s one of Salvador's companions. She appears to be crying. I send out a wave of calm to her. Sheba takes a deep inhale then straightens. Not sure what’s going on there; I’ll need to check on her later. Could her tears be related to the murder?

A few more clicks change the picture to room seven. Liam and Francesca seem to be getting it on in a big way. I knew the warm-up in the lobby would get some blood moving. I leave them to it and venture on to room eight. Lo and behold, I’ve struck pay dirt. I catch the end of the stunning Antonio stripping nude.

Oh, he’s the reason these cameras are golden. My, my, my, he’s a long drink of water now, isn’t he? His body could pass for a carving of Adonis—all hard edges and sculpted muscles. Since he’s undead, he must have looked like this before his change. I see why his maker chose him; anyone would be hard pressed to ignore that kind of perfection.

Staring at the glorious form of Antonio makes me think of Rafe. He’s never far from my thoughts, figuratively and literally.

Rafe, honey, you ready for me?

What do you think?

I’ll be done soon and coming to get you…

A growl of anticipation filters through our connection. Bring it on, I’m ready.

He leaves me wondering where he might be. My husband’s talent at blocking me has improved over time and I couldn’t place exactly where he’s located. It could be because I’m distracted by Antonio’s flesh displayed on the monitor.

Judging by the fastidious actions to fold his worn clothes, I bet he’s going to wash up from traveling. I relax, imagining his scent filling my nostrils: musky, sexy, and dark. Impulsively, I decide to project a waking dream to the unsuspecting Antonio.

He is fully aroused in the span of a few heartbeats, thickening and rising from his groin right before my eyes. I send an illusion of a woman in front of him. The blond hair will remind him of Olivia, but I don’t add clear features so he can’t place the face.

Antonio shakes his head as though in a daze but still reaches a hand out to guide the woman closer. I push the feel of a wet mouth meeting his own, triggering a loud groan of appreciation. Antonio appears lost in the kiss. I project Olivia’s name in his mind as the woman in front of him disappears. He turns to search the room. His body throbs with desire. He looks momentarily caught off guard, confusion clear on his visage.

Sitting back, I watch to see what he’ll do.

His chest muscles rise and fall as he labors to steady himself. Antonio’s head whips toward the door. He bolts into the bathroom with clothes in hand. A split second later, Joanna enters with her bags.

Damn, that was a close one. I forgot they had three rooms between the five of them. I cease my meddling for the time being to go and check in on Sheba as I’d originally intended.

By the time I trudge down the hallway, room four stands empty. No Sheba. Let’s hope she wandered off to talk to someone to get past the tears. I’ll check later to be sure.

Having nothing to distract me any longer, I turn my thoughts to a hunt. My body craves to be filled. I close my eyes in the hall, allowing the whole hotel to come into sharp focus in my mind.

Where would my husband be? I sniff the air, hoping to scent him. Wandering through the north wing, I try to pick up his trail from earlier. The smell takes me through the lobby, down a hall, which leads to an exit heading to the shed. My vamp senses are on high alert, enabling me to make it down the stairs and to the door without opening my eyes.

Rafe senses my anticipation; I allow it to leak into our connection to get him in on my game.

Run, baby, run. You know I love a good chase.

His answering chuckle resounds in my head before he closes the mental door. The game begins. My body hums with life. In a few seconds, I realize he did not come through this back door any time today. The choices are to go out into the snow to pick up his trail or try another spot to detect when he came in.

One glance at my heels and I opt for logic, retreating to another entrance.

I pick up signs of Rafe in our private kitchen, no surprise there, but it seems stronger by a door leading to the hot tub grotto. Could my own desire be playing tricks on my mind? Only time will tell.

Having to sort through all the leads he has left over the past few hours to find the freshest takes time, and requires a patience I don’t have right now. The strongest takes me down the hall into our bedroom. Trying to discern anything in here, where we have shared so many hours of passion, proves pointless.

The files Tommy had delivered rest on a side table, but I have no time for them right now. Ten minutes into the hunt and if I had panties on, they’d be soaked. I pause again in the hall to let my senses flow past the walls, hoping to catch my prey.

Where is he hiding? What space does he think is safe from me? He loves to be caught yet loves to outwit me. Desire sings through my veins, making my blood hot under my skin. Opening my mind to discover his location, I’m greeted by darkness.

Trying to cheat, my dear? The bastard has the nerve to say it with a grin.

It is not cheating, I answer. It’s called hunting. With an advantage.

Sure, keep telling yourself that. But the longer you take, the more inclined I’m to start without you…

Cheeky son of a bitch! Oh, we’re on all right. I concentrate and hear his zipper descend.

Oh no, you don’t, that’s mine!

In a flash, I pinpoint him. Racing down the hall, I wrench open the basement door and leap down the stairs. He’s hiding in the workroom. The lights are off, but I hear his ragged breathing. He’s as turned on as I am and loves that he can drive me this crazy.

“What took you so long, liebling? Didn’t want to arrive after the party started, did you?” He wraps a hand around his erection.

Words are beyond me. I see him in the dark, which makes his fully clothed, zipper-open position even sexier. He strokes himself, moaning his enjoyment when his fist reaches the tip. I slip off the sleeves of my dress, letting the garment puddle on the floor at my feet. Stepping out, I’m clad in a bra, thigh-high stockings, and heels.

I stalk to his hiding spot up against a wall in the corner. Jumping up, I wrap my arms around his shoulders while placing my heels on the wall to either side of his waist. His cock rests in his hand, offering guidance to help me mount him.

A harsh breath escapes him as I lower slowly onto his shaft while fastening my mouth to his neck. My sharp teeth gently break his delectable skin as I shout in his mind, MINE!

The sweet taste of his blood flows into my mouth as he responds. Technically, it’s attached to me, but I’ll let you borrow it.

The small puncture on his neck releases very little blood. The snarky rejoinder from him becomes a thing of the past with my first deep pull on the wound.

Rafe grabs my hips and jerks himself forward in response. In two thrusts, he’s seated all the way in.

“God, you feel like a fist wrapped around me.”

“Mmm… ” I murmur against his neck, unwilling to let go yet.

Never taking more than a mouthful or two, I savor every drop I ingest from his glorious body. His cock slowly slides out. The sheer size of him pulls the skin while forcing my body to stretch and accommodate. Never has any lover fit me this well; it’s like he was made a little bit bigger than I’d need. The teasing I’ve experienced all afternoon through my projections has left me moist and ready.

Drawing more blood will only make him peak faster, so I stop, wanting to extend our enjoyment. Sometimes, reading my lover’s mind is not a bad thing.

Not yet, not yet… got to hang on… God, she feels so wet… so damn tight… slow down…

I know he doesn’t mean to project, but our tight bond permits most surface thoughts to leak through.

His voice sounds rough when he speaks. “Stop, slow down, Dria. I don’t want to come yet. I’m so damn close.”

He pushes in deep, holding my hips firmly against him. His strong hands lock me in place, making it impossible for me to pull back and ride him, no matter how much I’m aching to. I start to squirm, writhing on him, silently begging him to continue.

I seal the small wound on his neck with a tiny lick, then draw away. Drinking from him pushes me closer to the edge as well. I try my best not to move, allowing him to catch hold of the sensations raging through his body, but my inner muscles start to convulse around him.

“No!” he shouts. It will push me over. I’m not through with you yet!

The twitching and spasms continue whether I want them to or not.

I can’t hold back!

Rafe pulls me from his cock.

In one swift motion, he lifts my whole body to center my opening at his face. His hot lapping tongue zeroes in on my clit; soft lips lock onto my swollen ones. My head and arms are close to the ceiling, so I reach up to grab the rafters to steady myself.

Rafe tightens his lips and sucks. It pushes me over the edge, with bright white light exploding behind my eyes.

Throwing my head back, I shout my release to the room. It comes out a bit like a small scream, and causes me to lock my thighs around his head while riding out the waves of pleasure.

When winding down from my orgasm, he snakes one hand from my hips, moistens a finger in my pussy, and pulls back to tickle my rear opening. The wetness helps him slide a thick digit in. Nice and slow.

An electric shock shoots from my ass to my clit.

I gasp, sucking in air, racing up the hill to my next peak. I let go of the rafters for Rafe to ease me down his body while he keeps the finger deep in place. My hard nipples press against the inside of my bra as I slide down, feeling the soft knit of his polo against my skin.

I shiver at the erotic picture we make of him fully clothed and me almost nude. When my heels touch down, I look into his passion-filled gaze.

“Got to work this tight little ass of yours if I’m going to get back in any time soon,” he whispers softly, plunging his finger in and out.

He knows I love anal play. It takes a lot of preparation on my end because of his size. Sometimes, I think the warm-up for the event is just as much fun. Thankfully, so does he. It took me nearly a decade to discover he would enjoy the same sensations I do, and boy, has that been fun to explore.

He hunches around my body to watch his finger go deep into my bottom. I’m on tiptoes in my heels and lean into him as the feelings of fullness start to overwhelm me. My hips move back and forth on their own volition. His left hand leaves my side to journey to my front, and two fingers plunge deep inside my pussy. Not to be outdone, I grab his cock it in a firm grasp to pleasure him as well.

Rafe sucks in his breath, pulling his hips back, successfully breaking free from my grip.

“Not yet,” he says.

My response is a whimper. The sensations of being entered from front and back are so intense, molten lava brews inside me. The pressure builds again. More.

I need your cock inside me.

Rafe responds by pulling his hands away then sweeping an arm across the workbench, clearing the top. Tools scatter haphazardly to the concrete, clattering as they land. I’m seized roughly by my waist and slammed onto the dirty, waist-high table. Something digs into my back and my head feels wedged against the steel vise. The moment he presses against my wet, hot center, I cease to care.

I raise my legs straight up to rest against his chest. His left arm wraps around my thighs to hold them together while the other drags me across the bench toward him. My ass hangs off the edge, giving him the best position to thrust.

I growl, “Hard, I want it hard.”

Rafe grunts, his body reacting with a steady rhythm. The pressure increases with each plunge as he slams into me with increasing strength. His movements cause the workbench to creak under the strain.

“More!” I bark out harshly. Going to come… come with me… Now!

Rafe’s hips piston with a last burst of energy. My back arches as I throw my head back, flailing blindly for his chest. I grab hold of both his nipples and twist while I crest. Wave after wave of release crashes over me, tightening my inner walls with each pulse.

The scream building in my throat works its way out as my vision clouds and goes black. It seems like the moans from Rafe come from a great distance. He’s reached his peak too, but I’m so far gone, I can’t tell much of the details. In a moment, I feel his soft caress cupping my head.

God, Viv, that was good. I needed it.

I can’t help but laugh. That’s my husband, master of the obvious.

Chapter Five

When our glow wears off, Rafe flicks on the worktable light. My kind, gentle lover peels the tools off my back. The items became slightly embedded in my flesh when he changed our position for the spectacular ending.

Ah… there’s nothing like a good rogering from your husband to make you feel special and push away the cares of the day.

“Okay, sweet cheeks, jump on down. You look fine.” He punctuates this with a slap to my hip.

My indignant look falls on his unaware expression. He whistles softly in his happiness. I’m a non-whistler. Those who like to whistle, and aren’t very good, like Rafe, can be difficult to suffer through.

I decide not to let anything bring my mood down, especially after I have supped so sweetly from my mate’s neck. A girl can forgive a lot after fornicating, two great orgasms, and a blood chaser. Never taking more than a taste allows me to indulge more frequently. A lap of my tongue and the enzymes from my saliva repair any damage to leave Rafe unblemished. At my age, I don’t need much sustenance to survive. Under normal circumstances, I could go weeks after a full feeding if I really had to, which isn’t an issue with Rafe on hand.

Never one to let an opportunity to tease slip by, I jump down gracefully and stare into Rafe’s baby blues. He towers over me by seven inches, but the fuck-me-heels put us a little closer. I drop my lids and recall the way my body felt when I came that last time. I push out a bit and watch his pupils dilate with passion.

Want to go again? His voice rumbles in my mind.

I turn and step away, hesitating before looking over my shoulder. The corner of my mouth turns up in a delicious little grin.

“Later,” I say aloud. “Can you keep up, baby?”

He smiles, reaching out to smack my ass. I prance away with a little burst of speed so his fingers miss me, but barely. I spread my legs in a wide stance before bending from the waist to pick up my discarded dress. His quick intake of breath indicates the only answer I need. Oh yes, he’ll be ready to play later.

Dress in hand, I stride away without looking back. “Come have coffee with me. I need to discuss our new guests and see what you think.” I walk up the stairs, with my naked butt jiggling in the breeze, the dress draped over my arm. And who happens to be standing at the top of the stairs …

Jonathan. Damn! Caught almost nude with blatant physical evidence I’ve recently made love. I can do this. I can pretend I always traipse around like this.

“Umm,” I raise an eyebrow then look down at my watch, “you’re a bit early. It’s only 7:30.”

Jonathan, a sturdy man of medium height, stands not much taller than me. He’s dressed as usual: jeans and layers of thermal with a plaid flannel shirt. His good-old-boy style screams lumberjack, and it helps him blend in well with the locals. The scents coating him contain elements of the outdoors with hints of animal musk. His broad chest supports his crossed arms, which are corded with muscle under his bulky clothes.

He could’ve made an excellent wrestler, but picturing him rolling around in a tight leotard may not be a good idea right now. His quick smile adds to his natural aura of confidence, making him a great choice to handle dealings in town.

Jonathan inhales deeply, which triggers a low-pitched rumble in his chest. That bastard scents my recent releases and is enjoying it! Arrogant prick.

“Down, boy,” I say with as much nonchalance as I can muster. “Let me get a robe on.”

I walk toward the bedroom as gracefully as possible in my semi-naked state. I’m not going to cover up with my hands, acting embarrassed. It would show weakness to a predator, which is exactly what this werewolf is, something I will never allow myself to forget.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” I add.

His eyes follow me as I walk away. He sniggers, “Nice hammer imprint on your shoulder blade.”

Rising above his school-aged amusement, I ignore him and keep moving. Rafe ascends the stairs as I cross into our closet for a robe. I grab the closest one, an emerald silk number, before hustling out.

“Watcha doing here, Wolfman?” Rafe’s voice holds a deadly edge. “Like to listen in to what you’ll never get?”

Uh-oh. Danger, Will Robinson, danger! I sprint down the hall projecting calm happy thoughts into their minds before inserting myself between the two. Catching them as Jonathan’s eyes brighten to gold and he straightens to launch himself at Rafe.

“Now, now, let’s play nice. Rafe, you must know why I’ve called Jon here.”

Jonathan’s the only werewolf on our compound. He left his pack in Canada about seven years ago when he didn’t want to challenge his Alpha for dominance. In my eyes, it made him an honorable man for doing so. Two powerful male alpha wolves can’t stay in the same pack for long, or a fight to the death would occur. Rafe stares at the shorter but still powerful man.

“The whole ‘dead body in the shed’ thing,” I remind Rafe. He comes back to himself and meets my eyes with a fond smile. He loves baiting Jon, much to my dismay.

“What are you talking about, Viv?” Jon looks like he’s almost back to his normal laid-back self. His hazel eyes darken from the lighter golden brown of his wolf form. Rafe loses interest in poking at him and sits at the kitchen table. I fill in Jonathan on everything we know so far, including the location of the body in the shed, finishing up with the question he never did answer.

“Why are you here early? That’s not like you.”

Jonathan doesn’t avoid the main building—he’s just busier outside. In addition to being head groundskeeper, he cares for a huge pack of thirty Alaskan Malamute-wolf crossbreeds, which he employs to patrol the property. Jon does visit when we ask him, but it isn’t a habit of his to hang out and mingle at the bar. He’s a bit of a loner and it’s fine by me. Once I started feeding from him seven years ago, Rafe hasn’t been overly friendly toward him. Jonathan made his intentions clear: he wants to be my bonded mate, which will never happen.

The simple fact remains that Were blood carries more potency than a human’s. I need more blood than can safely be taken from Rafe in order to stay up around the clock during the long darkness, which is not normal vampire behavior. He’s never cared in the past when I had to feed from some of the employees out of necessity, but when Jonathan entered the picture, things changed.

Jon’s blood makes me temporarily stronger. Let’s face a hard fact: with so many powerful vamps on site, it wouldn’t pay to be weak. Nor does it help that this wolf is arrogant and makes a play for me whenever he thinks he can get away with it.

On principal, Rafe understands. He’s secure in our relationship and trusts me, but he doesn’t like Jon. The cold reality exists that through these feedings, Jon became my servant. He wants to please, protect, and provide for me. All the things a servant should want after a dual exchange of blood. This relationship, with all its complications, leads Rafe to tweak Jon at every turn. He wants to put the Were firmly in his place and suffers no qualms about being cruel to do it.

Other monogamous, mated couples who need servants may not choose a Were for the job, with good reason. Weres are desirable as hell by nature; it’s a pheromone they put off. Jon’s blood smells like dark chocolate, which makes feeding from him akin to drinking hot cocoa spiked with adrenaline. The mate bond allows Rafe to experience firsthand the delectable taste of Jon’s blood, and the werewolf’s powerful sexual pheromones. That’s a hard lump for any man to swallow—he also desires the wolf his wife feeds from on a regular basis.

Jon finally answers my question about why he arrived early. “There’s an unknown vampire on the property.”

“What? I don’t understand,” I say, recoiling in shock. “Could you have confused the scent with someone here on vacation?”

“No,” Jon snorts. “I don’t make simple mistakes. Besides, I double-checked outside all the cabins and all the entrances to the hotel. The trace isn’t from a guest nor is it someone who’s ever stayed here before.”

“Hmm,” Rafe says, “which means it might have something to do with John Pierre’s dead body in room six.”

That’s the real Rafe: he loves to tease me, but he’s not some sharp-tongued, witty detective either. I don’t voice my snide observation of his obvious addition, having learned enough over the years to keep such thoughts in.

“Is it possible, Viv,” he continues, “that you missed the scent of another vamp?”

Okay, now he has a valid point, dammit.

I think back to the moment. The smell of the blood overwhelmed everything. So yes, I could have missed another vamp’s scent. And to be honest, I did not think to walk around the room like a damn bloodhound. While awkward in my dress, it might have revealed information.

“Yes, it’s a possibility.” I turn to Jon. “I don’t have time now, but do you want to check out the room later with me? If it is a match, we should both get familiar with the scent.”

“Yeah, I’ll head up whenever you’re ready. Have you thought to question the other guests?”

Is that condescension in Jon’s voice? I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but I do know enough to question people.

“I’m not an idiot. I will ask them. It’s only been,” I check my watch, “about two and a half hours since we discovered the corpse. I’ve had other things to do, you know… Business to run, guests to see to… things like that.”

“You left off ‘husband to shag’,” Rafe says with a grin.

“Yes, well, no need to point out the obvious now, is there?” I reply with some heat.

“Uh-um,” Jon clears his throat. “I came by early to report my news, but why did you call me here?”

Jon knows why I called him; he just wants to hear me say it.

“It’s time for me to take a full feeding again. It’s been a few weeks so I knew you’d be able.” I try to keep my tone light and neutral.

Projecting my need, I let the hunger envelope him so he knows what to expect. It’s not a rip-your-throat-out kind of feel, more of a topping-off-the-tank one. I don’t ever get truly famished with Rafe around. The recent killing prompts me to play it safe and be at my best when I know it may be needed.

Jon’s face lights up like he’s anticipating this could be the moment he’s dreamed about. “Finally decided to dump that human you’ve shackled yourself to and mate with the stronger man?” He grins and I know it’s partly to hide his own feelings of self-doubt.

Rafe snorts while walking away from the table. “Anytime you want to see who the stronger man is, Jon, you let me know.” He gives Jon his back, a clear sign he doesn’t consider the Were a real threat. The blood bond between us has made Rafe as fast as a vamp and as strong. My husband doesn’t need to prove his point or fear Jon in any way, and he knows it.

“Done yet, you two?” I ask as bland as I can. Silence. “Okay then. Jon, come into the office with me.”

I head toward the bedroom then make a left into the office Rafe and I share. Jon follows, settling on the couch with an eager look on his face. A vampire bite transforms every experience, making it more detailed. The vampire controls the donor’s mind, removing any pain associated with the bite, and can turn the experience into passion. It’s common practice to let the donor experience an orgasm during the feeding. Since I have no desire to leave Jon hot and bothered every month, nor will I give him pleasure, I’ve had to alter the feelings he would normally get to something he really wants and needs. He doesn’t know I’ve read his deepest desire—to have a pack of his own.

We have given him that here, to an extent, with all his half-wolves and us. Some day, I’ll find him a female Were and all will be good. Until then, I do my best to not hurt him. Sitting on the couch next to him, I feel the excitement come off him in waves. He’s hopeful this time I will make it sexual, but sadly that will never happen. I angle my body toward him while he turns to face me.

He gazes deep into my emerald eyes with a sigh. “God, Viv, you’re so beautiful. You know, you ever get tired of him, you just have to call.”

Ignoring the comment, I smile while deepening my look to project calm feelings of home and acceptance, security and love. These are the key components in a pack, which I’m able to help him feel when he’s by my side.

I send aromas of the forest along with animal scents found in a wolf den. His shoulders relax, allowing him to sink into the couch. Tension drains from his body as his earlier anticipation of a romp is replaced by the warm cocooning feel of the pack. He breaks our eye contact and drops his head to the cushion behind him while breathing in the scents he thinks are engulfing him.

Leaning in, I don’t allow my body to touch his. The delicate spell takes care to weave, which means I need to concentrate not to break it. Cool lips graze his warm neck while I test his skin with my teeth. My canines elongate and sharpen, eager to pierce his flesh. I broadcast more of the same sensations, and place my mouth firmly over his pounding artery. The smell of him intoxicates me. A combination of rich chocolate and warm male makes my own pulse pound in response.

The blood rushes under his skin through the vein. This moment of control differentiates a young vamp from an experienced one. It would be so easy to rip into him and take more than I need. The desire to do the unthinkable is hard to contain, but one I always must.

I allow one sharp fang to puncture the surface, causing my mouth to fill. I drink his life source as it flows over my tongue. The flavors assailing my senses are delicious. It’s possible to read all of him in this moment if I choose. Every secret, every desire, every thought. Nothing is hidden from nosferatu when they feed.

To hold myself apart from him, to protect his heart, I block the images flooding my mind.

Jonathan sighs, closing his eyes in contentment. The mood wraps around him like a hug, both comforting and protective. He will soon fall asleep, letting the peace complete its loving embrace.

The warmth of his blood fills my body. I’m naturally on the cold side, so being infused with a lot at one time makes me almost feverish. Even though I project calm and peace, I feel a flame burn from within. It never fails to turn me on when feeding, but what I do with that arousal is what counts.

Enjoying your dinner, love? I sense the power coursing through you. You’re feeling a bit warm in all my favorite places.

I work the wound open to pull more deeply from Jon’s neck. Instinctively, I know exactly how much to take. Almost done. No matter, he tastes so damn good I want to keep going. I can’t. It’s easy to see why some vampires become addicted to Were blood. Having supped from very few wolves in my lifetime, one thing is clear; they are all damn yummy.

Yes, I respond to Rafe, it’s like licking chocolate off mister stiffy with a blood chaser at the end.

Rafe’s sharp bark of laughter sounds from the next room. At least the furball’s good for something.

Lapping at the small wound, I seal it beneath my tongue. Jon has drifted off to sleep. I rise from the couch then lift his legs onto the cushions. I cover his slumbering form with a wool blanket. He’ll be out for an hour and it’s the least I can do to make him comfortable.

The power pulsing through me feels exhilarating, as though I’ve fed from a half-dozen donors at once, but without bloating. There’s a strong sensation, like a surge of electricity, beating under my skin.

The force filling me warps my mind, making me slightly high with the thought I could rule the world. Muhuhahaha!!

God, Dria, you’re too much! Rafe laughs out loud with me. Rule the world? Now you’re sounding like you’ve had too much alcohol to drink.

Maybe he isn’t quite laughing with me. Well, okay then, maybe I can go on ruling my own little corner of the world. In my haste to leave the room, I trip on the edge of my robe, stumble, but catch myself before actually falling. Then again, maybe not.

I’ll be lucky not to make an ass of myself these next few hours.

Chapter Six

I close the office door behind me to join Rafe’s warm laughter in the kitchen. While I fed, he collected ingredients for his dinner. He’s finished prepping the vegetables and looks ready to start cooking. The need to do something, anything, pushes at me so strongly, I rush to our bedroom to dress. Sturdy, ugly clothes are the kind you need when going outside. I grab thick jeans, silk long johns, an undershirt, turtleneck, bulky sweater, and to top off my lovely outfit, a down jacket. Big boots replace the high-heeled pumps, and I’m good to go.

Vampire or not, I need protection when out and about for any notable length of time. We can withstand the cold longer than humans, but prolonged exposure would slow us physically and make us more vulnerable to attack—not to mention the effects on my skin are just criminal.

I march toward the backdoor. “Going to take a look around, see if I can find a trace of the scent Jonathan mentioned.” My voice sounds hollow to my own ears.

Rafe straightens his stance and looks up from his position at the stove. You okay?

Yeah. Need to burn some of this off. I’ll be back soon.

Grabbing a set of master keys hanging on a nearby hook, I step out into the frozen grotto. The hair in my nostrils freezes instantly. Not a land for the faint of heart, good thing I don’t need to breathe very often. Blocking the bite from the air, I take a deep breath while thanking my lucky stars my clientele doesn’t mind the weather. This extreme cold lowers our core temp, which means we do need to warm up to room temperature before any hanky panky. It brings the old phrase “cold hands, warm heart” to an entirely new level.

Along the trail leading from our kitchen, I pass fluffy pines, small and large, planted near the base of the inn and farther out. Twinkling holiday lights wrap the trees, contributing a soft glow to the illuminated pathway under my boots. We’ve created a quaint, winter wonderland that’s quite pretty in the ever-present darkness.

The paved sidewalks meander throughout the hot tub grotto, lending a private feel to each setting. Pergolas enclose individual tubs, each with hardy bushes planted next to them increasing the feel of solitude. My route takes me close to the foundation of the inn and I examine the snow under the windows. Spying footprints beneath room six’s window, I stomp through snow to investigate. They are bigger than my size seven. Could mean a very tall woman or a smallish man.

I’m annoyed at myself and the feeling is exacerbated by Jon’s Were blood coursing through me. How in the hell did I not think of the window before? The scent of blood in room six clouded my thoughts, but I had no idea it impaired my thinking so damn much. Jon was right to question me in the kitchen; I’m not at my best tonight. Damned if I’ll admit it to that hunk of fur anytime soon, though.

The clean smell of the snow, the sharp scent of pine trees, and the chemical traces of bromine from the four nearby hot tubs stabs past the frozen-stiff hairs in my nose. No lingering hints of an unknown vamp to detect, but I've come here hours after the killing and there’s a mild wind to contend with.

Let’s face it: I’m no werewolf.

Later, I’ll check inside the suite near the window. I feel stupid for not thinking of it sooner; live and learn—and try not to be snarky when Jon reams me for it.

Could a human have committed this crime? Or could the killer be one of the few vampires who can fly? Maybe they climbed the side of the building? A human could do that, but he or she would need equipment and there’s no evidence of footprints indicating the perp gauged the climb before ascending.

After completing a circuit of the hotel, pristine white snow is all I find. Snowdrifts against the hotel’s sides are quite high, especially in the corners where the wings meet the center structure

I set off at a sprint around a wide-curving path that leads to the ten guest cabins. Lighted bushes, glowing statuary, and trail markers stream past my vision like a row of headlights in a slow motion shutter release. Jonathan sniffed the structures on the outside, but I want to check inside, too. I let myself in to the farthest empty one, number ten, and work my way through the vacated units toward the main building. There’s no trace of an unknown vamp scent, so I stop outside the first occupied unit, Drew’s cabin.

My body shakes, and not from the cold. I itch as though my skin could crawl off me if given the chance. I take a moment to center myself before going those last steps to Drew’s porch. The energy leaking out of me needs to be contained before I face another vampire, or my on-going illusion of the luscious-but-average innkeeper would not be complete.

I begin a mountain pose from my yoga training. It’s the best to center me when I’m not dressed for a more complex move. Placing my feet hip-distance apart, I keep my hands loose at my sides. I raise my toes in the big boots before planting them down firmly. My spine straightens, tailbone roots down, chest lifts, shoulders back. The connection to the earth feels strong when the alignment is right, enabling me to pull the aura of my energy inside to lock tightly.

The yoga teacher I had years ago, Olga, would be proud. She taught me for over fifteen years. Up until the fact I didn’t age drove me from the small town in Germany. I miss her and her wisdom. She’s always guiding me in my mind, a calm I seek in any storm. I hear her voice with its smooth cadence like an echo: You must root to rise.

Feeling more in control, I step up to the cabin porch. A short rap at the door prompts Drew to answer. He’s dressed in jeans and a snug Henley-style sweater, and both emphasize his lean muscular build. Brown eyes sit in a pleasant but unremarkable face, and his medium brown eyebrows lift in surprise while he looks me over from head to toe.

“Vivian, the lovely innkeeper, what a pleasant surprise.” He ushers me inside quickly, closing the door behind me. “I would not have thought it was you out there. Interesting. What brings you out to see me?”

Shit. I should have done my yoga pose a few cabins back. Having no idea what he sensed before my approach, I’m going to go with my favorite “ignore it and it will go away” tactic.

“I’m looking for an unregistered guest who might be on the premises. You haven’t included anyone in your party without letting the front desk know, have you?”

Drew smiles while spreading his hands wide. “No, but you’re welcome to check.”

His expression appears knowing and coldly assessing. I plan to play dumb and get through this as fast as I can. Perhaps talking to people while hopped up on John’s blood isn’t a great idea.

I wave him off with a flick of my wrist. “Don’t be silly, I would’ve sensed anyone in the cabin the second I came in, you know that. I’m here to ask if you’ve seen anyone new.”

“I haven’t noticed anyone strange around my cabin, if that’s truly what you’re asking. But it’s not like I’ve been checking either. Should I be?” He gestures to the table and chairs toward the rear of the long room, his intelligent eyes locked on my face.

The cabins each have a small bedroom with a king-size bed, a well-appointed bath and a large living area containing a kitchenette. Accepting his offer, I move to the table and take a seat.

“No, we don’t expect our guests to be checking,” I say.

He’s trying to catch my eye, staring intently at my face with a pensive look. Why is he staring at me? Could he have sensed my true age for a moment while I was outside? Or did I appear older with the recent drinking from John? I’ve often wondered the exact age I appear to those who can read power signatures well. If he did sense something, I may have invited more trouble on my little fact-finding mission then we need.

Hiding my true age keeps the guests calm. It allows them to unwind, while protecting all the secrets we hold dear. Most vamps will go on high alert when they encounter another undead older than themselves—which wouldn’t be conducive to a relaxing vacation now, would it?

Drew clears his throat and pulls me out of my meandering thoughts. “I like the look of the main building. What made you choose the southern plantation style with the big columns and such?”

Wow, where the hell did that come from? I’m used to the guests asking questions about the place, but the timing feels weird. Maybe I’m being paranoid.

“Rafe and I have traveled extensively and we’ve always thought the mansions down south had a special feel to them. Dignified and refined, yet welcoming at the same time.”

“The sunny yellow siding with black shutters does cast a nice glow against the snow. I think you chose well. The grounds are extensive. I imagine one could come back again and again over the years and still find more to discover.”

“That was our intention. We wanted the guests to always find something new on their tour of the property.”

“Those greenhouses with the UV lighting are a smart investment as well. You can grow fresh essentials for the employees and the guests who require it. You really have thought this out, haven’t you?”

Well, crap, he has been doing a lot of exploring. Normally, it would be fine, but I don’t appreciate the twenty questions. My hopped-up brain is having a hard time sensing nuances in his speech. I need to bail now or try to get this conversation firmly back on track.

Before I have a chance to think up an intelligent topic, Drew fires out yet another question and observation.

“You are more than you appear to be aren’t you, Vivian? That makes me even more intrigued than I was before.”

It’s time to put a stop to his curiosity. Projecting an air of innocence, and some slight confusion at his question, I slip into his mind and push him to doubt what he sensed earlier. “I realize the sturdy jeans, bulky sweater, and heavy down jacket isn’t a look that works on me. But in a pinch, it’ll do to protect my skin.” I smile a vapid grin. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

Drew’s eyes mirror his thoughts perfectly—he thinks I’m a bit of a ditz. Now would be good time to beat a hasty retreat. My earlier curiosity over his choice to visit us by himself will have to be addressed another time. Rising from my seat, I head toward the exit. “I trust your stay here so far has been a good one?”

He looks a bit confused; maybe I pushed too much. Damn. Subtlety is hard when amped on Were blood.

“Uh, yes. The resort has been great, exactly what I needed. Your employees have been a delight. How do they all carry your scent?”

Good, he noticed. That’s the point. I don’t want the guests thinking they can lay claim to someone who strikes their fancy

“Once a month, I fortify the water supply with a cup of my blood.” Drew’s eyes light up at this admission. Maybe I shared too much, but it wouldn’t take a genius to figure it out if anyone really put their mind to it.

Giving the employees my blood may seem like a big step, but it’s not unheard of when employing large numbers of humans. By sharing my blood, I protect them from other vampires—the scent marks them as “mine,” but it also means I can’t feed from them. When there’s a mutual blood exchange between human and an undead, it links them as vampire master and servant. The vampire can “call” them any time through the blood link they share, and the human must respond. I like to think of it as nature’s way of providing the vampire with a reliable food supply, but still, it’s not a power I wish to have over our employees.

“You are quite the clever girl, Vivian. But doesn’t it limit who you feed from?” Drew has put together what a lot of guests overlook. Clearly, he’s not as fuzzyheaded as I’d thought.

“Yes, it does.” I’d intended to question him and instead I’m bumbling through this whole encounter. I need to get the hell out of here. “I haven’t seen you at the bar much. We’re welcoming some new guests tonight. Care to join us?’’

I decide to push him into coming, my eyes lock onto his while I slip into his mind again. Not wanting to go too deep and risk notice, I stay at the surface of his thoughts. I compel him to desire a change from these four walls so he’ll agree to my request.

I need to learn more about him now that he may have sensed my true age. I could wipe the memory of my visit from him, but don’t want to risk the exposure. In reality, I hate subterfuge; it’s not in me. Learning to carefully use my gift has been a challenge my whole undead existence.

There are days I’d rather make everyone do as I say, but that would put the Tribunal’s enforcers on me for sure. The darkness crouching inside me flexes and grows, pushing to the edge of my senses while reaching out to sink its claws into Drew’s pliant mind. It whispers to me: Take what you want. Make him do it.

With smooth precision, I pull myself out of his head while locking the tempting power away. Easing from his surface thoughts, I state my earlier question again to bring his focus back to the present.

“Drew, would you care to join us tonight in the bar?”

I need to tell Rafe about my loss of control. If I’m not myself, he can bring me back from the edge. To mess up could be disastrous to our safety.

Throughout our history, undead with the ability to mind-control other vampires have been tracked down, hooded in silver, and put to death. The long string of bodies behind me to ensure my safety often haunts my dreams. I don’t care to be hunted again and I will not make the same choices as before.

When Drew answers my question about joining us at the bar, I’m pulled out of my fearful inner thoughts. “Yes, it sounds like fun. I’ll be there.”

The twinkle in his eye makes me think he’s anticipating it. That spark was not my doing, so he must have something else on his mind. I finally say my goodbye and leave.

I feel jittery and slightly scared. The encounter could have turned messy if I had gone deep into his mind as my inner monster encouraged. The next time I drink from Jonathan, I think I’ll stay in bed for the day with Rafe and burn off this high in a healthy way.

Extra power can be good, but not when it’s risky. The murder has shaken me more than I’ve been willing to admit. I can think of no other reason why I’m handling this power flush so poorly. It sure as hell hasn’t done this to me any other time.

My meanderings and ruminations have brought me close to cabin two, where the Natsuhara party resides. I hear a muffled scream of pain, which causes my head to whip up. The key is in my hand before I have a chance to think things through. Racing up the steps to the door, I unlock it and slam the heavy wood back in a quick movement. The sight that greets me steals my very breath. Which of course doesn’t stop me from saying the first thing to pop into my head.

“Oh, shit.”

Chapter Seven

“Can I help you?” inquires the tall, leather-clad Asian man. His rigid penis juts out where the black chaps don’t cover, exposing a tight leather cock ring complete with a metal-studded ball separator. His glans glistens with moisture from recent attention. Jet Natushara’s heavy leather biker boots thump as he takes two steps toward me at the door. My eyes rise from the chaps to take in the rest of his ensemble. A finely tooled vest leaves his chest mostly exposed. The black leather showcases the slim dangling silver chain connecting his pierced nipples.

“Shut the door. You’re letting the heat out,” he adds casually.

I move on autopilot, actions independent from thought. Stepping in, I swing the door closed with one hand and stand perfectly still. I can’t stop staring. The sights assailing me have a mixed effect.

Where Jet was standing, there’s a male human companion on his knees dressed like a slave. Wiping his mouth on the back of his arm, he pouts.

A burly man, with a slight paunch, stands across the room. He’s wearing full body leather, complete with a hood.

Crap! By the scent I can tell it’s Bob, one of our ground crew.

Bob wields a whip, lowering his arm at my intrusion. Christ, that’s one for the books. I never would have pegged this leather-encased enforcer as the mild-mannered man who likes to drive the heavy machinery.

Which leaves the last in this foursome to be Natsuhara’s mate, Matt. He must be the naked man spread-eagle and restrained face-first against the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The furniture has been pushed against one wall to give more room. Matt’s head is turned to the side and he’s wearing a ball gag and cage mask. Reminds me of Hannibal Lector’s transport get-up. He sports bloody slash marks across his muscular upper back. Judging by the lack of struggling, eyebrows raised in question, and the state of his huge erection, it’s safe to assume this is all consensual.

I’m torn between wanting to run screaming from the room to bleach my eyeballs and wishing the floor would open up at my feet to swallow me whole.

Snapping back into focus, I realize they are all staring. At me. Why wouldn’t they be? I’m the one who put a pause to the obvious fun. A clearing of a throat brings my wide-eyed gaze back to the eyes of the man in the room wearing the cock ring.

“Uh—I heard a scream and was worried. I apologize for my error. I’ll be going now.” I fumble behind me for the knob, not turning because I can’t look away from all the heated flesh in the room.

Look away! Look away! It’s like a car crash you pass on the highway. You don’t want to see, but can’t stop yourself.

A soft laugh reaches my ears. Jet looks amused by my awkwardness. “Want to join us? We can always make room for one more, especially one with new… parts to explore.”

He walks to me, placing a hand on my flushed cheek. Before I have a chance to process the fact that it’s not a good idea to let him touch me, his desires rush at me full force. Apparently, Jet would like nothing better than to tie me to the bed and let every one of them bring me over again and again.

Jerking my head back, I break the contact. Unfortunately, not before the images have had a chance to invade my thoughts and sear into my brain for eternity. To have them pleasure me for hours doesn’t sound all bad when actually thinking about it. Four mouths to explore and worship my every curve. Four sets of hands to tease, rub, and entice my hot flesh. Four eager pricks fighting to fill every hole in my body at once.

Is it hot in here? I shiver at the prospect while Jet’s eyes dance with excitement.

“The thought intrigues you, does it not?”

Time for a little polite diplomacy and get my ass out of here. “How could it not when you’re all so beautifully aroused?” I must be careful to not insult this proud, powerful man. “I thank you for the offer, which is a tempting one, believe me. But I’ve made a vow to Rafe. I will not break it.”

“Ah, a lucky man, that one. Well, since you see we are all fine… ” He trails off, expecting me to pick up the blatant invite to leave. Can’t blame him. If I don’t want to join the party then I should leave.

Staring again at all the excited cocks, my mind freezes for a moment.

“Y-y-yeees!” I stutter like a fool.

Where is my composure of a moment ago?

“I’ll be getting back to the main building now.”

Still not turning. Still fumbling for the door.

I can’t pull my eyes from all of the straining, silky flesh… It should be illegal to look that tempting. Oh wait, I think in several states what they are doing may very well be illegal.

Jet reaches behind me to open the door. “There you go. We’ll see you later.”

My cheeks heat from embarrassment. I back up slowly, so I can still stare at them. Jet smiles broadly at the thoughts painted clearly on my red face while closing the door on me.

His voice barks out, “Back to the whip! I want to see him bleed!”

The sounds of boots thump a retreat from the door. I hear the whoosh of leather singing through the air followed by the crack of it landing on heated flesh.

I turn, running before my hearing picks up the wet sucking noises I’m sure will be quick to follow. There’s an undeniable wetness in my long johns, making me glad I put them on. Wet and wiggling against a seam of thick jeans isn’t very comfortable.

Steer the mind away… steer the mind away… deep breath in and out.

It would be smarter to focus on the business angle and how to best use this new information. Jet’s such a private man, I’m not surprised he would rather play this out in his cabin than in the resort’s dungeon rooms. Then again, he may not know we have them. A fact I should note in his file and suggest a tour for their group tomorrow. Let him decide on his own if he’d like to give the rooms a whirl.

I need to follow up with Bob as well to make sure Jet clouds his memories enough so tales of the evening don’t carry throughout our staff. I make sure any employee involved in the BDSM games either can’t recall all the details or keep their mouths shut about them. Respect and privacy go hand in hand with our prices and guests’ reputations are a high security issue.

I return to the main building—my bumbling detective work is doing more harm than good. Opening the back door into our kitchen, I’m enveloped by the heat and smells of the room. I stiffen at the sounds that assail my ears. Is that Rafe and Jon laughing together?

They are seated together at the table. The scents of caramelized onions, peppers, sautéed mushrooms, and perfectly cooked steak waft on the air. They lean together over the center of the table, clinking their beers while Rafe completes the sentence I walked in on.

“… and then she starts to scribble it all down furiously in one of those damn little notebooks she’s always using!”

Jon continues to laugh along with him as a slow light begins to dawn in my brain.

These son-of-a-bitches are laughing at me! Me! I could blow up their heads with a single thought. I could make them writhe on the floor in pain. I could make them pee themselves.

Or—I could use this to my advantage.

It would be nice not to have them at each other’s throats all the time. If what they need is a moment to come together, complaining or laughing at me, then so be it.

I may not be cut out to be a world-class detective any time soon, but that’s okay. I am secure enough that I don’t need to be good at everything all the time.

How to proceed? Their heads whip around at the sound of the door closing. I continue their fragile moment of camaraderie.

“You think that was funny?” I strip off my coat and approach the table. “Wait ‘til you hear what I saw in cabin two… ”

By the time I’m done narrating what I’ve just been through, they both have tears coursing down their faces.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at Bob the same way,” Jon says between guffaws.

“Now, now. Don’t make me regret sharing. We’ve all seen worse in the rooms upstairs. It was so unexpected it made the moment funnier than the discovery.”

“Yeah, but still… a leather hood? Damn, that must have been a sight!” Jon rises from his chair to carry his plate to the counter. “Thanks for the meal, Rafe. I needed it.”

Judging from the time, he didn’t sleep the whole hour like I’d hoped.

He stretches then leans against the sink. “I’m still a bit bushed. Maybe I’ll go to bed early tonight. See you both later.” He heads for the door then turns back. “Viv? How about we check out room six tomorrow morning, early?”

“Fine. I’ll meet you here so we can venture up together. Let’s say around eight?” He nods his agreement and leaves. Through our entire exchange, Rafe remained silent.

“I thought it best to stay quiet to allow the good vibes to last a bit longer. It’s a rare moment when I don’t feel like pummeling the guy.’’

“Yes, I know. Imagine my surprise when I discovered what brought it about.” I give him a glare to remind him.

“Um, about that… see, it started innocent enough, with both of us rehashing what has happened so far… and… uh…”

I decide to save him from himself. “It’s okay, love. Really. I couldn’t care less. There was a moment there I almost crushed you both like bugs, but it was brief.” I smile to lessen the sting. “We’ve certainly had an odd day, haven’t we? Especially considering it’s not even nine o’clock.”

Rafe looks at me closely. “You look better than you did earlier. How are you feeling?”

“Still not myself. I need to bleed off some of this energy. I almost exposed myself tonight, and not in a good way.” I fill him in on my conversation with Drew. “I think I left it okay, but he’s a hard one to read.”

“Oh, that’s not good. We’ll see him later tonight?”

“Yes, we should.”

“You haven’t touched him yet in the week he’s been here? How come?”

“I was not at the front desk when he checked in,” I say a little sharply.

“Relax, I’m not criticizing, just asking.”

“The plane arrived earlier than expected, something about getting good tailwinds. Now, I’m thinking no advanced phone call from the shuttle driver might have been an elaborate scheme to avoid me.”

Rafe stares at me, taking in my agitated state. “I know what will help.” Scooting his chair out, he pats his hard thighs in invitation. “Come on over here and climb aboard. No time like the present.”

I know exactly what he intends—picking the thought from his mind—and he’s right. I leave my chair to straddle his lap. “I need to talk to you after this, and we don’t have a lot of time. This is not going to be a major undertaking, okay, babe?”

He grins back at me. “Ah, only time for a quick bite? Then let’s get to it.”

Normally, I’d never be the one to push for a quickie. I love to draw out every blood exchange, letting the emotions and sensations consume us. But, this murder hangs over my head. I want to talk about the death, work out a plan on what to do… but time is getting away from me.

Rafe senses the tension coiled under my skin. It permeates every fiber and feels like it’s pushing to get out. I feel the need to do—to be doing something—now, NOW!

He runs his hands up and down my arms in an effort to soothe me. “Shush, my liebling, you must turn your mind off sometimes,” he says in a soft voice.

The werewolf blood’s driving me hard and making my skin itchy again. So much for that yoga pose in the snow to achieve some calm.

Rafe kisses me lightly while reaching for a small silver paring knife on the kitchen table. I feel a sharp nick on my neck a split second before his hot mouth latches on to the cut. The knife clatters back to the table.

My attention snaps back at Rafe’s first deep pull from the slight wound. The feeding allows me to expel some of the excess power with the flow of my life force. Rafe moans against my flesh, the vibrations stirring my arousal higher. The excess energy courses into him through our joining, relieving my pressure.  After one mouthful, his tongue laps in delicate strokes at the torn edges of skin.

So much, liebling. I can see why you felt so high strung. Give more to me.

In a moment, Rafe’s fingers reach between us as he pulls deeply on my neck. The pressure of his hand, palm in, on the seam of my jeans feels delicious. He slowly rubs the juncture between my legs. The action gives me something to focus on in the rush of sensation from him deepening his kiss.

I didn’t know I needed a release so soon after my last one, but my body responds instantly. My hips thrust forward against his hand while I reach up to secure his head more firmly to my neck. The vampire ability to heal quickly closes the wound before we’ve both had enough.

When Rafe bites down hard to re-open the cut, his next draw mixes with the delicious pain to send me streaking over the brink, moaning and thrusting like a wild woman.

One more long, deep suck pulls a yell from me.

Gasping when the shudders end, I lean into his embrace. The orgasm came so quickly, there was no time to register the full intensity of the release before it ended.

Ah, quickies can be nice, especially when you don’t expect them.

“You needed that, hon. The energy had to be bled off a little.”

Barking out a ragged laugh, I sag forward onto his big, warm chest. “A little? You think?”

He rubs my back slowly up and down, almost like trying to calm a runaway horse. Pretty accurate considering my actions from before.

Nudging against my lower abdomen is the hardness of Rafe’s unspent pleasure. “You know I don’t like to leave you hanging, but there isn’t time for the thorough attention I’d like to bestow on certain parts of your anatomy.”

He chuckles. “Never you fear, it’ll keep for later. Let’s have the talk you were so concerned about.”

Chapter Eight

I move back to my chair and fill in Rafe on all I’ve learned, and done, to our new arrivals. We never did get to cover it before our interlude in the basement and then Jon stopped by.

“At least we can assume the new guests didn’t kill John Pierre, right?” Rafe asks. “They hadn’t even landed when he died.”

“True. That leaves us Salvador’s big group, the employees, and the guests in the cabins to contend with.”

“You don’t really think an employee murdered that guy, do you?”

I shake my head and stare into the darkness outside the kitchen window. “Not really. But we can’t discount them too quickly, can we?”

“You may feel like you need to leave no stone left unturned, but I trust the people working for us.”

“Easy enough for you to say. You haven’t been hunted by humans off and on for several centuries.”

Rafe lets out a small snort. “Give me a break already. Jon said he smelled a strange vampire on the property. That should rule out all the humans.”

I sigh, frustrated with the situation. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Holy cow. Did you just admit I was right?”

“Try not to choke on your surprise.” I smile and blow him a kiss. “Hey, what are your thoughts on the scenario with Olivia? Would you like to play a role in my jealousy plan or should I enlist Drew?”

“I think it’s a good idea to bring Drew in. You know I don’t like to help out with the jealousy stuff unless there’s no other alternative. It’s not my cup of tea. This could be a good way to feel out what Drew knows—or thinks he knows—about you.”

“Agreed. But Drew seems like he’s off. He needs a kick in the pants to get out of it. Why else would he have come here?”

Rafe shrugs in answer.

“Anyway, I plan to drive Antonio slowly crazy with his desire for Olivia, and Drew will be perfect for the job. Shall we focus on these two tonight and go after Liam and Francesca tomorrow during their tour of the third floor?”

“Sounds good. And then what about the dead guy? Are you hoping the killer will magically appear while we’re seeing to the guests?”

I uncharacteristically slouch in my chair. God, this is too much work. I really need a week off from this place. Rafe picks up files on the far side of the round tabletop. “I found these in our room. Why are they in here?”

He’s holding the Natsuhara and Salvador files in his hand. “I thought I could review them to see if they revealed a clue about John Pierre.”

“It’s getting odder by the moment that no one has come to the front desk looking for him. Makes me think only one or two people may have known he was here. And one of those is the killer.”

“Ah, and therein lies the problem… which one or two people?”

“Have you thought to call Cy yet?”

“No, I haven’t. Good idea. I bet he could trace the name down for us with what we’ve got so far.”

“Lord knows he owes you. Not many vampires would allow such a loose leash on a rich and powerful member of their flock.”

I wrinkle my nose at the mere thought of a “leash” or having my own “flock” as he put it. “You know me. If they’re responsible I set them free. If they aren’t… well… ” Rafe knows the unspoken end to that statement: If they aren’t responsible, I hunt them down and kill them. “He’s doing fine on his own. I have no need to worry.”

Cy Whitfield’s a contact from our time in New York forty-five years ago. I changed him when I found his crumpled body in an alley behind one of his nightclubs in Manhattan. Seems a young fledgling got out without supervision and drained the first person he came upon to within a pint of his life. Cy wouldn’t have been able to recover from such a loss unless the alley lay next to a hospital. Did I have four quarts of human blood and the ability to transfuse him right then? Uh…no. But I did have my blood.

It was a split-second decision. If he had been unhappy with the choice when I turned him, I would have killed him a second and final time out of respect. I drained Cy as much as possible without risking an instant death. Slicing my wrist with a silver dagger, I bled into his mouth before his last heartbeat. He latched on after the first mouthful went down and the rest is history.

After the initial shock and denial phase, followed by the learning curve to control the blood lust, Cy accepted his new afterlife wholeheartedly and was grateful I happened upon him in the alley. Doubtful he would have felt that way if he’d been married with a family, but c’est la vie. I’m glad things worked out. Rafe and I were surprised when three months later, Cy’s control proved strong enough I could set him free and not look back.

I turn the prospect of calling him over in my mind, voicing my thoughts, “You are right though. He’d be a good person to call for intel.”

“He’s never let you down when you called to research a prospective client. Let’s not forget, he did help us when we jumped into the technological age.”

“Yeees… ” I draw the sounds in the word out, torn on what to do. I prefer to have no other vampires close to me. It lessens the risk of who could reveal my secrets to the Tribunal of Ancients—which loosely translates into less people I’d have to hunt down and destroy.

“Take advantage of the fact he feels he owes you for his afterlife and freedom. Most masters would have kept a gem like him under their thumb.”

“You’ve made your point, I’ll call.”

Rafe settles back with a small smile of victory on his face. A check of the time reveals it’s almost nine. It would be a great time to call Cy. He’s probably at the Zone Out club now. Grabbing the cordless handset off the counter, I dial his cell phone. Two rings later he picks up. Before he can get out a greeting, loud music assaults my ear.

“Dria, give me a minute to get in the back room.”

“ ‘Kay.” I hear him pushing his way through the crowd to get to his private office, while the voices of the patrons carry over the line.

“Cy, over here man!”

“Cy!”

He ignores them. Knowing him, he’s probably gesturing to the phone at his ear while signaling he’ll be right back. The sound of a door closing cuts the worst of the noise to a muted thrum.

“Well, hello gorgeous. What brings on this call?”

That’s Cy for you, right to the heart of the matter. He knows I don’t call often and won’t waste my time beating around the bush.

“Hey Cy, it’s been a while. How are you doing?” I’m honestly curious. I’d hate to have to track him down and kill him; he’s good people. “Cali keeping you in line?”

Cali is Cy’s bonded mate. She’s a werewolf—a pretty uncommon match for an undead. Letting her walk around the club unescorted could cause a riot, especially with the trademark sexual werewolf-pheromones leaking out to a crowd. I’m never sure which of the pair attracts the throngs of humans and supernaturals to the club more—him or her.

Cy rumbles his amusement into the phone “Of course she is. I wouldn’t love her as much as I do if she couldn’t. But you didn’t call to ask about how we’re doing.”

“I need some help with a name.”

“New potential guest?”

“I wish.” I fill him in on what’s happened. I trust him to a point, even though I don’t like having to rely on others. Rafe listens to my recount as well. His sharp gaze locks on me as if he’s making sure I include everything, even the crescent-shaped scar on John Pierre’s cheek.

“Got it.” Cy hesitates for a second, “Dria, I don’t like this. Let me send one of my security guys up there. He can fly up on my private plane and be there in twelve hours.” His voice sounds so adamant it throws me for a second. “I know how you feel about other vamps getting too close. You can trust him with your life. I’m talking about sending Cali’s nephew. He was turned in Afghanistan a year ago. He’s an ex-military munitions expert and a real nice guy.”

In my continued silence he babbles on.

“The skills he’s learned from Uncle Sam have made him a valuable security asset. Nothing gets past him.”

Good enough credentials, but I’m not comfortable with the idea. “I’m not sure. This is not just about letting another vampire get too close to me. Some things I’m not going to share, even with you, Cy. If I can’t trust him, for even a minute, you know what that means, yes?’’ I’m asking him if he is sure, because if he’s wrong, I’ll have to kill Cali’s nephew and he knows it.

Cy doesn’t hesitate, a good sign in my book. “I’m sure, Dria. It would be his honor to serve you. His undead life is yours, for as long as you need it.”

I snort at his formal reply. It disturbs me that Cy doesn’t even stop to consider asking Cali or her nephew their opinion. Which could mean one of two things: either he knows him really well and they’ve already discussed the possibility, or he’s eager to get some intel on me and will pay this guy any amount to do the job. Cy has never been one of my pushier offspring, so I’ll take his offer at face value, no matter how hard it is for me to do.

Rafe, able to hear both sides of the conversation easily, chimes in with his opinion privately. Listen to what he has to say, my love. You set him free not only because of his strength, but you knew you could trust him.

Yes, yes. You’re right. I sigh, resigned in my decision. “Okay, Cy, if you’re sure I can trust him, then that’s good enough for me. What’s his name?”

“Asa.” His voice carries an excitement I clearly hear. “My pilot can have him airborne within the next hour and they’ll land at your private airstrip within twelve hours. I’d like you to consider hiring him permanently, if you want to keep him longer than this crisis. He’s looking for a new seethe and would welcome a change.”

“Rafe’s always talking about beefing up our security levels and such. If things work out, it’s something we might consider. Look, I’m on board with it, but don’t you think you’re overreacting a tad?” My current seethe is the size I like it: two. No vamp issues or group discussions.

“No, Dria. I think you’re under-reacting. I know you worry security would hinder the guests’ enjoyment, but believe me, good security can go undetected.”

That’s not what I think and not why I don’t have a vamp security force. Having to kill to protect my secret isn’t something I relish. But if it makes him happy to think I’m worried about the guests, then so be it.

“All right, already. Tell him to come dressed casual. He’ll fit in better, more like an employee than a vamped-up Goth guest. And the employees call me Vivian or Viv, not many refer to me here by my true name.”

Cy laughs at my requests. “Yes, Viv, whatever you want.”

I have a feeling this might be one of those ‘laughing at me not with me’ moments but I let it slide. It’s the first time I’ve accepted any offer he’s made to send someone from his large seethe so I’m sure he’s pleased.

We end things with him telling me he’ll have Cali follow up during the daylight hours if details are discovered on John Pierre while he’s sleeping for the day. Looks like all the bases are covered. Damn, it appears we’ll have a new employee soon.

Rafe’s grunt of agreement signifies his satisfaction with the outcome. “Glad you agreed to Cali’s nephew. I bet he’ll work out great.”

Yippie. The day keeps getting freakin’ better and better. Good thing Rafe’s optimistic. Maybe I’m being jumpy, but my gut tells me no.

“Don’t worry Dria, I’ll keep an eye on Asa too, until you’re sure you can trust him.”

He knows my fears. I’m grateful he recognizes them without dismissing them or me. Rafe wasn’t alive during the hardest times of my existence, but he’s aware of all that happened and has relived a lot of my nightmares through our mate bond. I've never been completely sure if he realizes he's my greatest weakness. To lose yet another lover would compel me to walk into the sun and never look back.

My husband stands to stretch before moving to the sink to clean the pans from dinner.

“I’m going to change for the bar.” I call out as I walk out of the kitchen.

Rafe looks up from the pot he’s scrubbing. “Babe, wear something red.”

Worth considering, I do have a lot of red. Not like I need anything to make me stand out more.

“Oh, and suggest it to Olivia as well,” he adds.

I see where his devious little mind is going. Oh, he’s good, I’ll give him that. I strip while I saunter down the hall, swishing my hips and ass for all I’m worth. Gotta leave ‘em smiling.

I hear his voice enter my head softly, almost wistfully. My liebling, what am I going to do with you? His love and desire wraps around me like a warm breeze.

“You want a list?” I call over my shoulder as I cross into our suite. He laughs, clanging a clean pan on the stove.

Chapter Nine

Once I’ve touched a mind I can zero in on it pretty much anywhere on the property. I want Olivia to feel good about herself, so infusing her with my confidence is the first step. Reaching out with my senses, I find her mind, a clear bright signature, on the second floor in one of the MacKellan’s suites. I start my mental projections to Olivia by sending the loving, desired feeling Rafe left me with a moment ago.

I wander to our closet to stand in front of the full-length mirror. The myth about vampires not having a reflection always makes me laugh; a trait so distinguishing couldn’t go unnoticed by humans for long. Cocking one hip, I stare at my reflection. I push to Olivia’s mind, projecting the image in my mirror to her. Running my hands up my sides, I bringing them forward to cup my bra-covered breasts, then round them over the tops to slide up my neck into my hair. I’m able to blur my face in the illusion while replacing my copper colored hair with blonde.

Olivia will see the pictures in her mind and think she is reliving an old memory of herself in front of the mirror, or a memory she dreamed. It’s like a strong sensation of déjà vu, though most people can’t tell the difference.

If I’m timing my manipulation right, Olivia should be getting ready now. I allow the power of being desired to course through the vision. Every smart woman knows one important fact—you are sexy when you feel sexy. If I get her to believe in herself, half the battle will be done.

Selecting an outfit from the numerous racks, I grab something form-fitting in fire-engine red. I love the way a corset top displays the girls nicely. I pair it with a pencil-thin skirt, which falls just below my knees, and a red bolero jacket accented with sequined trim. I send a memory of myself in the ensemble to Olivia, with the powerful confidence I experience when I look so damn good.

With my influence she’ll want to wear something red too. Carefully, I insert in her mind an idea of calling the friendly, sexy, innkeeper if she needs to borrow anything. Slipping a robe on my semi-naked self, I belt it and sit by the phone. It takes about five minutes for her to call.

“Hello, Olivia.”

Her breathless voice greets me on the other end. “How did you know I was calling?”

Damn, I may have freaked her out. Not good. “This phone shows the room you’re calling from.” I’m a smooth liar.

She states her request for clothes in a timid voice and I reply with warmth and encouragement. “Come down to our suite. I’ve got something dynamite for you to wear.” I give her directions to find me then gently hang up the phone. Projecting reassurance she did the right thing by calling me, I settle back in the chair for her to arrive.

In twenty minutes I’ve got Olivia dressed in a tight v-neck red cashmere sweater with a matching above-the-knee, equally tight cashmere skirt and ballet flats. Where are the corsets and leather you may ask? Know your prey and know it well. If I learned anything from seeing Antonio in the lobby, it’s this: Antonio dresses with flare and class. He has good taste in clothes and I guarantee any man who takes such care in his own appearance is going to judge a woman by hers. What he wants behind closed doors is anyone’s guess, but what he wants in public will be a mirror image of himself.

He’ll want sexy, but not in-your-face come-and-get-it-while-it’s-hot sexy. There’s a difference. He craves subtlety. Antonio needs to notice her and not her clothes, but those clothes should still be fine. He may have initially reacted to the cheap type of Elvira dress I was wearing earlier in the lobby, but that’s not the look he’d choose for a mate. I bet he hasn’t even figured it out yet. Ah, to be old and wise does have advantages.

The body-hugging knit shows the delectable curves on Olivia, and hopefully every man in the room will notice. If I can judge a man, and damn, after half a century I sure as hell can, then she’ll have to trust me. Good thing Rafe likes me in anything I wear, because at heart, I’m a chameleon.

I pass on my unasked-for wisdom to the wide-eyed Olivia during her short visit. Cajoling her to confess her heart’s desire of attracting Antonio, without her discovering I already knew it. I offer to share my man-hunting skills with her tomorrow over tea at eleven, which she jumps to accept. She has a good heart and appears to love Antonio. After this, I’ll see if I can get the young vamp up to snuff as well.

For now, I look Olivia deep in the eyes to give her some parting gifts of advice and suggest with a compulsion that she follow them. Poor thing doesn’t know she has no choice. My sly guidance requests for her to arrive in the bar at half past ten, not to dwell on Antonio at all for tonight, and instead, enjoy the company of the other male guests she’ll meet there. Little does she know what I have planned.

She thanks me profusely, acting as though she’s known me for years. She leaves excited and flushed, planning to return to her room to adjust her makeup and hair accordingly to match the new clothes. The fireworks later are going to be damn fun and I can hardly wait. I think teasing Antonio will be one of the best times I’ve had in a while. It would be good for the gorgeous Adonis to not get the girl for a change. Make his blood boil.

I take a brief shower, washing my body. Rafe hates when I remove his scent, but tonight I should. He finishes in the kitchen, coming into the bath as I leave the enclosure. I dry off slowly while he watches. He doesn’t say a word. His hot gaze follows as I put the towel on the rack. I see what watching does to him. It’s not like he can hide his reaction when he’s big.

“Hey,” I say with an evil grin. “No fun on your own in the shower. I want you at full mast later on tonight.”

His face appears set and serious; he must be having naughty thoughts. I turn to the side, bend over at the waist, and pick up my discarded stockings. His eyes take in my every move and he looks like he’d eat me up if given half a chance.

His voice comes out in a growl, “Not to worry, dear. I’ll be out of the shower in a flash.”

While he’s wet and soapy, I dress and smooth my hair, making it sleek like Olivia’s. I re-apply makeup with a heavier hand, similar to how Olivia’s will appear when she’s done. I broadcast the images to her, and like a good little student, she eagerly follows the new ideas in her mind without questioning their origin. When I hear Rafe finishing, I lay out his clothes for the evening. One great thing about him is that he lets me dress him up.

It’s like having my very own Americana circa 1950s-inspired Ken doll: full-size and anatomically correct. I love to picture the fabric hugging his firm curves and clinging to his hard lines—makes me hot. The good news is Rafe couldn’t give a rat’s ass what he wears.

On a day-to-day basis, or in a pinch, he can dress himself well. At least, now that is. After sixty-five years, he no longer needs Garanimal-type color pictures on the clothes to show what goes with what, but it was painful in the beginning.

Upon seeing the red corset, his grin turns sly, like the cat that ate the canary. “You look vampy-trampy and hot as hell.”

Chapter Ten

Rafe dresses then we leave for the bar. Olivia has a little time before she arrives, so I hope Antonio appears before her. Sometimes all my careful machinations go awry because I didn’t tell the schmuck to be somewhere at a set time. We reach the third floor without coming into contact with anyone. I catch a shadow detach from a mahogany bookcase. A tall male figure steps into the light, moving our way. The mental signature approaching us is none other than the lonely Drew.

“Good evening, Drew. So glad you could join us tonight,” I say.

“Yes, I said I would, didn’t I?” There’s a twist of annoyance in his tone. “Vivian, there’s something I’ve been waiting to approach you about.”

I motion to the sitting area across from our position on the landing. “Shall we adjourn to the reading parlor for privacy?”

Drew follows my lead without answering and soon all three of us stand around a low, hand-carved coffee table with a grouping of chairs behind us. The tension in the loft feels high and none of us have moved to take a seat.

This seems odd. Why the intensity? And why now? “Okay, we’re all ears.”

“This is private, more like…vampire-related business.” He says it innocently enough, but the glance he casts towards Rafe has my gut screaming in angry reaction. “Perhaps without your human would be best.”

My human? How dare he discount my husband so easily. Who the hell does this idiot think he is? Immediate rage fills me. My vision darkens and pinpoints on Drew. In a split second, my eyes bleed black while my hands twist into claws. The skin of my face contorts into a vicious visage, pulling back from my elongated canines. Power pulses out of me in a wave to slam into my opponent.

My movements mirror my dark thoughts when I launch myself at him across the short distance. Instinct takes over, and the drive to protect my mate colors all I see: I will correct this insult within my territory.

There’s a crunching of wood as the table gives way to my momentum and then I’m brought to an abrupt halt. I shake the haze from my brain to realize Rafe has grabbed me by my shoulders and pulled me back before I could make contact.

Damn, Dria, step down! He is not ‘in your territory’ for christsakes. He’s our guest!

Drew’s mouth opens in shock, then he hunches slightly away. I’m guessing a bit more of my monster came out than I would’ve preferred. The damn murder is messing with my head. Perhaps, I really do need a vacation when this fiasco is over—one with no other vampires nearby.

“Vivian, Drew may not know you and I share everything.” Rafe’s voice sounds calm and detached, like one might talk to an enraged pit bull. “We are not the average bonded pair in that regard, dear.”

I relax my hands from their claw-like positions while taking a steadying lungful of air. Logic eventually trickles in past the anger. I pull in my aura of power and glance at Rafe over my shoulder. The cool force of his energy flows from his touch down my spine. It soothes the savage beast within. Stepping out of the remains of the table, I reflect on my husband’s voice in my mind.

Dria, you’re fine, baby, and so am I. Don’t let his rude slip bring you to the edge.

My own inner monologue is much more simplistic: Kill him. He is a threat.

But it’s Rafe’s voice I listen to. His steady timbre, and his alone, I can always count on no matter the situation. I straighten from what was almost a lunge while smoothing my skirt.

“Please forgive my reaction, Drew.” I feel less in control than my voice sounds. “Rafe’s right. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and decide you’re ignorant.”

Drew appears to be trying to back-pedal, literally and figuratively, as he moves away from the jagged table remains and bumps into a leather chair behind him. He’s just insulted his host and her mate, and the same mate barely saved him from getting jumped.

In an effort to diffuse my anger even more, he wisely chooses a passive sitting position and lowers himself to the seat. Smart move. Without him standing to face me, the tension level in the room diffuses to normal.

“I meant no disrespect,” Drew says. “Rafe’s right. My question was a personal one and I wasn’t sure how to proceed. I had hoped to ask in private, but did not mean to insult either of you with the request. ”

“Spit it out, Drew. I’ve got other guests I’d like to see to as well.”

He looks unsure of himself now, eyes downcast, shifting his weight from one hip to the other in the chair. Good. I move to brush past him. My patience is running out and I think he senses it.

“I’d like to formally petition for entrance into your family, the McAndrew’s seethe,” he finally blurts. “Please consider adding my life to those who serve and protect you. I’d be a loyal addition and my previous seethe will give references on my character, if you desire.”

Wow. Wasn’t expecting that in a million years.

Shock registers on my face; I see an image of myself mirrored in his shiny black pupils. The reflection shows I actually have my mouth open like a gasping fish. Best to fix that now.

I close my mouth. Open it again and nothing comes out.

I clear my throat and try again. “Um, okay, but I don’t really have a formal seethe. I prefer not to have one. Haven’t you noticed that during your stay here?”

“Yes, I have. I originally came to your inn to seek solace from an old pain. The peace of this oasis has enchanted me. I’ve been unhappy for a while and wandering for eighteen months. My family in Chicago, the Maggios, gave me permission to find a new seethe but none have appealed to me. Until now.”

The questions in his cabin combined with his roaming of the property make more sense now, but I’m still not sure I know all there is to know about this man. Call me suspicious, call it trust issues, whatever—it has kept me alive for a long time and I’m not going to start doubting those instincts anytime soon.

My curiosity gets the best of me and I’m dying to know what his real problems are. I itch to reach out to touch him and Rafe knows it. I don’t have time to get distracted though. My husband grabs my hand firmly and pulls me from Drew.

Rafe speaks again on Drew’s behalf. “I think it is worth considering, Vivian. Do not answer too hastily.”

Shock again! I certainly didn’t expect that response out of Rafe. My head whips around and I stare into his eyes.

What am I hearing? You want me to take on more vamps here?

It wouldn’t be the first time I was around a bunch of spoiled prima donnas. After all, I am exposed to quite a few in our place of work, my dear.

His smug little rejoinder is an obvious reminder we do have vamps here all the time. It’s our livelihood, for crying out loud. I guess it never fazes me because they are transients, but to have another one here in permanent residence seems a bit much to take on.

To allow one into our seethe means we have to discuss things as a group, it would no longer be just Rafe and me hashing things out. The idea of having someone here who may know what I can do is a frightening prospect. To open myself and let another vampire know I can control their thoughts and actions if I choose—well, let’s just say it hasn’t worked well for me in the past.

Rafe pushes into my thoughts. That’s the past, my love. Take things a step at a time.

Politics in a seethe are always a bitch to follow. I hate the backstabbing and the accompanying infighting. Which is why I haven’t gone off and rushed to fill the resort with other vampires who would live here permanently. I enjoy the lulls we get throughout the season. Right when I think a group has been here too long and I realize I don’t really like them, their stay is over and they go home.

The only thing keeping me calm with the upcoming vamp, Asa, coming to stay was the thought that he’s temporary.

I reach out to my spouse. I can’t deal with this tonight. Why is all of this happening at once? Don’t you question the timing?

Well, it does make his pointed questions to you in the cabin a little understandable.

I return my attention to Drew, slightly more composed now, I hope.

“I will need some time to think on it. This is a very unique resort, have you noticed yet?”

“Do you mean besides the obvious rooms on this floor and the screams I hear from cabin two? I figured the rumors of a Dr. Ruth-type vampire had to have some weight and I came to check you out. So far, what I’ve seen looks like a lot of fun.”

“Well, Drew, I had intended to use you in the bar tonight if you showed up. Let’s consider this part of a test. Interested?”

“Of course, my request is a serious one. I will do anything you ask. Name it.”

Oh, that’s an invite too good to pass up. “I need you to do your best to please a woman named Olivia at the bar. Give her your undivided attention and shower her with affection. If she’s willing, you may even feed from her. She’s a companion and used to donating, but it must be her choice.”

His eyes gleam in anticipation of the challenge, and he stands. “That’s it? Shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Oh, no exchange of blood and no vamp compulsions on her, either.”

He bites out, a little sharper than necessary, “I’m not into rape.”

Interesting. He has scruples. This game in the bar could prove to work out much better than I thought.

“I will be extremely impressed if you are able to pleasure her in front of us all.”

The suggestion brings a smile to Drew’s face. “I’ll do my best, mistress.” He executes a small bow and rises with a mischievous look. “This sounds more and more like fun with each passing moment.”

“The point is to make another vamp in her party jealous, not have her fall in love with you. His name is Antonio and I’ll make sure to point him out to you with my eyes when we’re in there, okay?”

“Yes, sounds fine.”

“Drew, I’m trusting you here and I don’t trust easily. This is a small task and it would behoove you not to screw it up.”

Irritation crosses his face. It’s nice to see he has a backbone. “I’m not some uneducated rube who will treat the situation poorly. I know I must prove myself in this and I will not fail.”

“Once we get Antonio riled up enough, he’ll probably leave. Either alone or with someone else is anyone’s guess. I don’t anticipate he’d challenge you for her; he’s still undecided on what he wants.”

“Fine, I’ll meet you both inside. What will Olivia look like?”

“She’ll be dressed all in red and has long blonde hair.”

“Okay, got it. We’ll chat again later?”

“Yes, but don’t expect me to have an answer for you about the seethe. I’ll need time to think. One last thing, Drew.”

“Yes?”

“You’ve only been here a week. Think long and hard about your request to join our seethe. There are no other vampires in it but me for a reason, and it is not because I let others leave if they are unhappy.” I stare directly into his eyes and try my damnedest to look mean and uninviting. “It’s a commitment for the rest of your afterlife—however long it may be.”

The air hangs heavy with the blatant threat. Will it be enough to scare him off from his request? I can hope, can’t I?

You couldn’t resist going all spooky and hard-ass on him, could you? Dria, the murder today proves we have weak spots in our security. Don’t scare away the only applicant!

You know how I feel about outsiders—they are best left on the OUTSIDE.

Drew smiles a big sunny grin at me. “Who would want to leave this paradise?” And with that parting remark, he turns and heads towards the east wing, disappearing beyond the French doors.

A smile? Well, damn. That didn’t go as I’d hoped.

I turn to Rafe. You think using him in a seduction scene tonight is a smart idea?

It was a solid plan when we discussed it earlier. The request to join the seethe means he’ll give the task his all.

Yeah…but…

We’ll talk with him again after the scene plays out. Let it keep ‘til then.

Maybe Rafe will let me touch Drew during our talk. Something’s up with that vamp. I sense it. I will find out by the end of the night or there will be hell to pay.

Chapter Eleven

Rafe and I stare at the remains of the table in front of us. I liked the piece and am kind of pissed I broke it. I turn to my lover. “What do you really think of Drew?”

“It could be a genuine offer. With all we have going on right now though… who knows?”

Yes, who knows? I take a deep breath to calm down. I have to project tonight to many different people at once and it will help if I can gather myself. This murder has me all over the place—I need to focus my mind. Letting off some power to Rafe earlier was obviously not enough. Yoga would help. Think I’ll do that when Rafe sleeps tonight.

My husband and I proceed down the wide landing toward the lounge. We walk through a set of French doors into an inviting room that resembles a gentleman’s club. The space contains game tables and settees, comfortable clusters of furniture, and a fireplace on the far wall opposite us.

The fireplace, set between two solid mahogany doors, radiates a soft, warm glow. The heat of the room wraps around me, dispelling the cold from the hallway. We walk quickly through the lounge, heading for the door on the left of the hearth. I spot a few of Salvador’s group and nod a brief hello to them in passing. They trigger images of the tearful Sheba but I don’t see her face among the ones clustered together over an antique whist table.

Remind me later, hon, I need to talk to them. Right now isn’t good, but definitely tomorrow morning.

Sure, shall I pencil it in your planner for you, too? Rafe says.

He knows I don’t own one of those. I always misplace notebooks and that’s why I have several. I love my lists and checking off the little line items to show I’ve completed something. Gives me a sense of accomplishment and control. What every vampire craves.

I choose to ignore his jibe. It’ll give him greater satisfaction to know he’s riled me. Rafe opens the heavily carved door; laughing voices rush to greet us. We enter into an Irish pub-inspired room and keep moving through the clusters of tables and booths in our beeline for the u-shaped bar on the far wall.

The space is filled with guests and lots of employees known to be willing donors.

Some of them are attired in the Goth come-and-suck-me style and others dress more normally. I recognize a few more risqué-dressed ones as well. I’m betting the scantily-clad ones will be heading to the attached nightclub next. So far, it looks like a great mix and guests will find something here to whet their appetites.

Upon spotting us, the bartender, Charlie, sends up his usual hearty Cheers-style welcome. “Rafe! Vivian! What can I do you for?”

Charlie always acts surprised we come in. His warm, open nature makes him a natural at the job and I’m glad we’ve got him.

Rafe answers before I have a chance. “Hey, Charlie, pour me a Guinness then take your break. I’m sure you’re way past due.”

Rafe and I like to take turns behind the bar. It’s a great way to talk to everyone and we get to have fun at the same time.

“Sure thing, man, and thanks.” Charlie slowly draws him the beer in a frost-covered pint glass. He motions to the people in the bar with a tilt of his head. “We’ve got a good crowd tonight.” Rafe and I circle behind the bar, glancing around the room at Charlie’s words.

Off to the left, Drew’s nestled in a corner booth by himself, nursing a red-tinged drink in a flute glass. Antonio’s perched on a stool at the bar alone, with an empty cocktail glass. Joanna sits with Liam and Francesca at a table, their bodies angled toward each other, heads inclined in conversation. Salvador and Theresa are at another booth in the back and I spot four employees sitting together at a table to the right as well.

I wonder if the Natsuhara clan is in the club or if they haven’t ventured out of their cabin yet this evening. I bet they’re still busy. My mind drifts to the earlier visions in leather and I give a little shake to bring the present back into focus.

Charlie finishes drawing the draft, places the drink by Rafe and takes his leave. “I’ll be back in thirty, okay?”

“Yeah, see you then,” Rafe assures him and picks up his beer. “Thanks.”

Charlie drifts to the table with employees to sit down. Good time for me to chat up Salvador about the murder and Sheba.

I reach their table and clear my throat. They are so engrossed with each other I’m not sure he knows I’m standing here. “Good evening, Salvador, Theresa. May I have a moment?”

Salvador glances up from his long stare at his mate’s bare neck and returns my pleasant smile. “Sure thing. Anything for you, Vivian.”

“I need to talk to your people tomorrow. We had an incident on the second floor and I’m hoping they might have info for me.”

“Incident?” He raises his eyebrows. “Nothing serious, I hope?”

How much to reveal? Trust has never been my strong point. Ironically, I value honesty above all else. Everyone in this room who’s undead can hear our conversation, if they so desire. Best to err on the side of caution.

“Yes, it is. But now is not the time to bring it up. We can discuss things tomorrow. I noticed Sheba isn’t here. Is she well?”

“Not feeling her best, I think. We’ve had such fun-filled weeks here that some of them are exhausted.” His smile gets wider on some remembered memory.

Knowing his penchant for pretending to be a recalcitrant student who must be punished with a cane, I hope he won’t go into details.

“Glad to hear you’re all having fun. I’ll be by your rooms in the morning and chat with whomever is up and about. Thank you.” I nod a good evening to them and return to the bar.

A quick glance around the room reassures me all the customers in the bar are fine, drink-wise. I look across the wood expanse at my next project: Antonio.

Antonio senses my gaze and looks to meet my eye. “Hey, Vivian, I was just wondering if the blood special on the drink menu is worth the price.” He’s lost some of the cocky edge he had in the lobby. Good. Maybe my earlier tampering in his room shook him a bit.

“The guests think so. How about this—if you buy it and don’t agree, I’ll refund you the cost.”

Considering it’s my blood, what I really want to say is, “yes, of course it’s worth the cost, you fool.” But it isn’t good business to be obnoxious to the guests. The blood delicacy sells for a thousand dollars a shot. The suites at the inn run several thousand a night, so if he wants to know if the blood is any good, he sure as hell can pay and find out. The high price tag discourages the wannabes, which is really the point.

I don’t need the young dumb ones, which are often a part of a large master vamp’s entourage, getting high on my blood and acting like fools. That has happened in the past and it’s not pretty.

“Is it really blood from an old vampire?” Antonio asks. “It must be a hard commodity to come by, especially up here.”

“It wouldn’t cost so much if we could get it easily. You decide.”

Inside, I’m thrilled he may try it. It will make it much easier to send him the illusions later. I glance at my watch; only fifteen minutes ‘til Olivia arrives. If she follows my directions. I’d like it if everyone did what I said. But I can’t control all of them all the time—even if in the depth of my dark heart it’s what I desire to do.

“Give it a try, mate,” Rafe encourages. “You won’t be sorry,” He, too, knows what the effects will be.

“All right. But if I think I was robbed, you’ll refund the money to my account?’’

I smile. “Absolutely.”

Like that will happen. We’ve never had an unsatisfied guest. The initial shock of consuming old blood is enough to make them want to buy out the whole stash. Which, of course, we decline without restraint.

“Limit is one per guest, per stay. No exceptions so don’t bother to ask.” I look straight into his chocolate brown eyes to make sure he gets it; he nods.

He’ll still ask. They always do.

“I’ll be right back. We keep the shots chilled in another room.”

His eyebrows go up. Without a word, he watches as I leave the bar.

I walk to the main landing and look around before going further. No one’s following me from the lounge and no one’s walking toward me from the other wings. I move in the blink of an eye to the hidden observation room on this floor. The concealed door closes without sound behind me. I listen for footfalls before proceeding to the mini-fridge under the desk.

Entering the keypad combination, I open the door to retrieve the oldest container. It’s one of five flat-bottomed vials sitting in a holder on the top shelf. Retracing my previous steps with the same paranoid caution, I head back to the bar. Once behind the smooth polished wood, I take off the top and pop it in the microwave under the counter for twenty-five seconds on medium power to take off the chill.

After the ding, I open the door, raise the vial and grab the glass. The red liquid is mixed with alcohol to disguise my scent. Can’t have them guessing it’s mine.

“Straight alcohol or a cocktail mixer?”

“Vodka.”

I add the liquor to a new glass, pour the blood in, then place the drink on the bar in front of Antonio. He downs it in one smooth motion. His eyes immediately bleed black, the pupil expanding to cover his whole iris, typical for a feeding, enraged, and sometimes aroused vampire. A gasp escapes his astonished face while he grips the bar for support.

“Holy shit, you weren’t kidding. I don’t think I’ve ever had blood that old. Give me another.”

He’s experiencing as close as a vamp can get to being drunk or high since turned. The warmth will spread through his body and his increased awareness will wrap about his skin with a prickly feeling. He may be able to sense desires or perhaps project a bit of his thoughts with a touch. These effects can be permanent if he had a lot more of my blood on a regular basis, but with so little, it will be temporary, lasting only a few days.

I smile at him, having anticipated the request. “I know it’s tempting, but house rules. Can’t break ‘em.”

“Wow, you’ve really got something here, Viv. This stuff is incredible!”

“Yes, it is. Hey, now be careful with your increased strength. It can be hard to adjust to.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Antonio reaches for his empty drink and his black eyes flash to mine. By the looks of his original glass, he was drinking a blood-infused cocktail. Another house special of employee blood mixed with alcohol. “I’ll be back to visit just for the blood. Unreal.”

I laugh. “Good to hear! I knew you wouldn’t be asking for a refund.”

He snorts. “I’d be surprised if anyone did.’’

He must be a little punch drunk. He doesn’t look like the type who snorts when they laugh.

Rafe takes the discarded vial and turns to rinse it in the sink.

“Wait!” Antonio calls out. “Can I rinse the container with alcohol and pour it into my glass? It’s too good to waste a drop.”

He’s not the first who’s had a slight freak-out when the vial is taken away, so Rafe turns back and takes the vodka from under the counter. “Is vodka again okay?” At Antonio’s nod, he pours a bit into the vial and puts the stopper on to shake it up.

Rafe pours the blood mix into his glass on the bar and moves to put the vial in the sink. The expression of sheer delight on Antonio’s face as he looks at the drink is priceless.

“Antonio, I have to warn you…” His eyes whip up to meet mine. “You may feel other’s desires or thoughts for a few days. This vampire is a powerful empath.”

That should help him accept the visions I toss his way with even more ease.

“Good. Glad I’ll get my money’s worth.” His smile appears slightly crooked.

God, I hope he isn’t so young he’s going to make an ass out of himself. It would ruin my plans.

Olivia picks that moment to arrive. Her timing couldn’t be better.

“Olivia, darling,” I call out, to ensure every head swivels toward her. “Don’t you look smashing tonight.”

My comment has the desired effect. The bar patrons turn to admire the beautiful blond as she glides into the room. I glance at Drew, who meets my eye after checking her out. I give a slight nod then indicate Antonio with my eyes. Drew nods in understanding while a slow smile spreads across his handsome features.

Antonio remains quiet as he studies Olivia. This could be one of those moments when the blinders are off and he sees her for the first time as something other than food. I picked up from Olivia earlier tonight that she has been a part of their seethe for a few months, transferring from another in the hopes of finding a vampire to serve. She’s what some in the vamp community call a “sheep,” a regular donor not bound to any one vampire in a family.

A lot of companions share the same dream of falling in love with a vampire and being deemed worthy enough to be made a human servant. Very few go beyond servants to become bonded mates.

Olivia preens from the attention she’s receiving. I’m proud when I see her straighten to stand a little taller. She’s beautiful but needs a little renewed shot of confidence when surrounded by a bunch of gorgeous predators. Her eyes scan the room, avoiding the stool where Antonio sits.

Antonio rises, turning his body toward her, silently offering her a place next to him at the bar. Nice to see he can be gallant when it suits him. He looks like he’s trying to catch her eye, but God forbid, doesn’t want to call her name and show too much interest. Silly boy. He should have tried; I might let him off easier.

Olivia heeds my instructions to avoid Antonio. She walks with grace toward the corner booth where Drew sits. He’s the only other person seated alone in the bar, so joining him is a good choice. His warm, open expression leaves no doubt he’s impressed with her beauty and thrilled she’s heading his way.

The timing is perfect to project to Antonio the first scene I planned. I push my memories of an encounter with my husband to the swarthy, sexy vampire. He sees Olivia bent at the waist, her delightful bottom brushing against his crotch. I watch Antonio as he looks down and then back up, a trifle confused. Before he has a chance to piece together what he has seen, the illusion is gone and Olivia arrives at Drew’s table.

“Is this seat taken? I was hoping to relax and enjoy a drink with someone to talk to.”

Bravo! If I could clap out loud, I would. The unsure woman who first called me on the phone to find out if she should wear red tonight doesn’t appear to be the same vivacious, blond creature I see before me. Incredible what some great clothes, fabulous hair, and sexy makeup can do for you. Not to mention the feel good vibes I sent her all evening. Like I said, a woman who feels sexy is sexy.

“I would be honored if you’d share my table.” Drew rises halfway from his seat while she slides into the corner booth. The young woman makes her way around the curved bench to sit in the middle, closer to Drew.

He motions to the bar with his hand, in the age-old request of come hither a customer directs toward the wait staff. I smile before sending Rafe over to get their drink orders; Drew adapts well in his role, to say the least. He’s staring at Olivia like he hasn’t had a meal in weeks, and I know from our records he fed two days ago.

Out of courtesy, most vampires don’t eavesdrop on each other. Conversations are pitched low and a sense of intimacy prevails. In actuality, any vampire here can listen to any conversation in the room with a bit of focus. Hearing Drew and Olivia’s entire interchange would prove an easy feat for any interested party in the room. I observe Antonio to see what he’ll do.

He looks disappointed she walked in the direction away from him, but since they never made eye contact, I don’t think he could say it was deliberate. Shrugging it off, he sits down to focus on his drink. We have a large mirror over the bar and patrons seated on the stools see everything behind them in the room.

I notice Antonio peers toward the mirror in the direction of the couple’s table while picking up his drink.

“Isn’t that woman from your seethe?” I ask with innocence in my voice.

“Yes, you know her name. You must have met her earlier.” He replies a bit snappish.

“She and I made an appointment for tea in the morning. It’s always nice to get a chance to spend time with our guests.”

Rafe heads back to the bar to fill Drew and Olivia’s drink requests while I push to Antonio the feel he had of Olivia’s bottom nuzzling the front of his zipper again. He fumbles his drink, places it down and reaches to adjust himself under the bar. This is going to be fun. I love teasing poor bastards like him all night.

You are evil, my little minx.

I know, baby. And it’s so much fun!

“What would they like?” I ask Rafe as I reach for a glass.

“Drew wants another blood infused Mimosa and Olivia would like a Sex on the Beach.”

Antonio’s eyes whip up to the bar mirror again and I can tell his mind is racing with her request.

“How about I send her a shot of Flaming Orgasm on the house as well? Just saying that one is always a fun way to break the ice.”

Rafe smiles in agreement, on the same page as I am. He’s watching Antonio out of the corner of his eye. “Sounds good. I’ll start on that while you do the Mimosa.”

Rafe returns to their table in a few minutes with the drinks and then checks the rest of the bar guests. Olivia’s peal of happiness over the flaming shot glass sounds light and musical.

“Oh, how delightful! I never knew there was drink named a Flaming Orgasm!” Drew joins in with her enjoyment, forming a quick bond through the shared moment.

“You have such a lovely laugh, my dear. I can’t believe they let you wander around here unescorted. I could just eat you up.”

Olivia must think this is even funnier than the name of the drink. Her laughter increases in strength, and I begin to wonder if she might be laughing at something else entirely.

“Yes,” Olivia responds in a flat tone. “Well, there’s no accounting for taste is there? Different strokes for different folks and all that…”

Hmm, that sounds a little maudlin. I hope Drew can draw her out of it.

“Whoever he is, he’s a fool. Don’t waste another thought on him. Let’s focus on the now. Red looks stunning on you.”

Olivia’s face lights up at the compliment. “Why, thank you. I don’t normally wear this color. In fact, Vivian suggested it.” With that last observation, she raises her drink, turning her focus to where I am at the bar. “Kudos to her for making me try something new.”

I nod, to show I’m accepting her praise, but busy myself under the counter so a conversation across the bar does not begin.

“Our Viv is a gem, isn’t she? I bet that sweater is as soft as it looks. May I?” Drew reaches a hand toward Olivia as he waits for her response.

Olivia’s attention is brought back to the brown-eyed man in the booth as she senses the beginning of his desire. She nods her head in mute acceptance of his request. His hand does not go to her shoulder but deftly settles under the table on her thigh and the short knit skirt covering it.

“Oh yes, it is a nice feel. Cashmere, if I’m not mistaken, right?”

A perfect moment to push another image to Antonio. This one is of me straddling my husband’s lap with his hands running up and over my hips. Then those hands run around to my backside and start to massage my ass. Antonio fumbles with his now empty glass and it clatters loudly across the surface of the bar.

Rafe reaches out and snatches it before it falls to the floor and shatters. Antonio rises half out of his seat. His erection clearly seen behind the fly of his custom-fitted black slacks. Olivia appears entranced by the feel of Drew’s hand on her thigh and has no attention for anything else.

I, on the other hand, think Olivia is really freakin’ hot. I’d like to peel her clothes off of her and lick her from head to toe.

Excuse me?

I shake my head, wondering where the hell that came from. Drew’s advances take on a whole new dimension as Olivia leans back in her seat at what must be his obvious exploration under the booth table. I wish I could feel her wet, dripping pussy in my hand right now. I’m betting it feels hot and tight and just aching to have my long…

Whoa! Holy crap! Antonio is projecting his desires to the entire room!

I slam close my mental door as tight as I can. Unfortunately, that also means I’m blocking Rafe and I can’t speak to him without opening myself to Antonio’s desires. This is a first for us. We’ve never had a reaction from someone taking my blood who could project so strongly. Either he has latent glamour abilities or some will emerge soon.

I check the room to assess the effects on the other bar patrons and realize things are about to escalate to dangerous levels of arousal. Everyone’s eyes are trained on Olivia. Heads crane around booth corners, people rise in their seats, and casual conversation has stopped. All to get a glimpse of the woman every person now desires.

Nostrils flare and vampire eyes become black with longing. Drew leans in to sample a kiss at her neck. Antonio’s face crumples in jealousy, and a black vibe coils in the air waiting to pounce on the rest of the crowd.

Oh, shit. This is not going well.

I leap over the bar, accompanied by a loud ripping noise, to tackle Antonio, bringing him down in one smooth, fast movement. His body presses face down into the floor and I’ve got my knee planted firmly in his back.

It’s enough to break the emotions and everyone in the room comes back to themselves in a rush.

I turn him over, fist poised in case I need to knock him out. “Antonio, I think the old blood is getting to you—and not in a good way. Let’s get you back to your room.”

In the time it takes for me to finish my sentence, Rafe appears at my side, motioning for me to get up. He raises Antonio to his feet with care and moves him to the door without further preamble. The whole exchange is over in less than a minute, but damn, that was a close call.

It could have been a lot worse. Hell, when I think back to past struggles to control my powers, I know exactly how bad it could have been. Judging by the breeze tickling my ass, I bet the ripping sound I heard was the kick pleat of my tight pencil skirt giving way.

People are almost back to normal and all eyes are front and center of the bar, where Antonio laid a moment ago and where now I stand, alone. Here’s the rub—do I apologize or pretend nothing happened? I’m going with playing dumb. It’s worked in the past; why mess with a good thing?

Chapter Twelve

“Not to worry everyone!” I call out cheerfully. “Antonio will be fine. He had some very old vampire blood in a cocktail, which apparently didn’t agree with him.” I give a gentle push of acceptance out to the room so no one will question my statement.

“Nice thigh-highs and no undies there, Viv,” Charlie says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I always wondered if you wore them or not.”

One can always count on the bartender to get the guests focused on something else. This time in particular it happens to be me, with my ass jiggling on display. Thankfully, I’m angled and only mooning half the crowd.

I zero my piercing gaze back on Charlie, sitting with his fellow employees. “Break time is over. I need to check on our guest.”

Charlie grins ear to ear as he rises from his seat at the round table. “Yeah. You may want to cover up first,” he adds with a wink and laugh.

I stare at him and his chuckle subsides. He saunters to the bar while I take my leave. Holding my head high, I strut out and through the gentleman’s lounge like my wardrobe malfunction never occurred.

I choose to believe those giggles and muffled laughs I hear behind me mean the guests have been properly redirected. Hey, who knows, I might be right.

I make it to the landing without anyone stopping me in the lounge and head to the stairs to descend to the second floor.

Rafe, did you take Antonio back to his room?

Yes, we’ll wait for you here. What do you want to do with him?

Funny you should ask. I don’t know. Any thoughts?

Rafe pauses before answering, perhaps to give the matter some thought. My heels hit the second floor and I’m heading toward the north wing at a good clip. I do like the way the rip in my skirt allows my legs to move better. Ahh, what we do for fashion.

Rafe answers my question as I arrive at the suite. Is there a way for you to control his projections?

I open the door and step inside, closing it behind me. “Now that’s a very good question.”

Antonio sits on the bed, looking my way with a dazed air about him. Rafe lounges in an upholstered chair near the door, watching him carefully.

“What the hell happened back there, Vivian?” Antonio asks. “Why did you tackle me?”

His expression appears dejected and petulant, as though I’ve taken away his favorite toy. His shoulders are rounded and his posture has lost the stiff arrogance he had when he arrived.

“Before I answer your questions, I want you to answer one of mine.”

I stare this incredibly good-looking man square in the eye. I’m not going to compel him to answer me—yet. I want to see how he does on his own. If that doesn’t work, I’ll go in and get the information, which would not be a good thing for him.

“Were you born this attractive or are you enhancing your looks?” I’ve caught him off guard, that is, if the slightly fish-eyed look he’s giving me is any indication.

“Uhh…umm…why is it important?”

My temper flares close to the surface and I don’t care to pussyfoot around. “Answer me, dammit, or I’ll drag it out of you and believe me, you won’t like it!”

Rafe reaches out, placing a hand on my arm. Let him try to answer. I think he’s scared. Back down a bit.

I step closer to my husband, breathing in a deep, calming lungful of Rafe-scented air. Close proximity to my lover helps me obtain a better mental balance and maintain it. He’s right, of course. I’m having a hard time seeing the situation from Antonio’s point of view. Rafe catches sight of the ripped skirt and reaches a hand to gently caress my bottom.

It’s just the trick to pull me from the edge and give Antonio a moment to collect himself. Rafe cups my ass cheek and gently moves his hand up and down in a soothing motion. As Antonio watches me from across the room, the tension ekes out of me slowly, helping my face smooth to calm.

Antonio’s voice sounds whiny when he finally responds to my question about his appearance. “I don’t understand the big deal. Lots of vampires use glamour to look better. It’s not much, only enough to give me this olive skin tone and appear slightly more defined.”

Hah! I should have known when I saw his naked body it couldn’t all have been natural. I hate missing a detail like that—look where it has gotten me now: a vamp high on my blood with the power to use glamour. I thought after the earlier murder, the day couldn’t get any worse!

“Do you understand the complexities of glamour?” I ask Antonio as Rafe continues to caress my ass.

“I know the basics. My maker taught me a little.”

“Using glamour is a form of mind control—like you use on humans when altering memories. It’s a sustained version of your thought, projected to others for their view. The level of your power determines the types of complex images you can sustain.” Antonio nods in understanding. “Personal appearance ranks low on the scale because it’s attached to you and you project it with nothing other than a desire to look better. Creating more detailed images to send out, ones that are not attached, takes years of practice.”

“Really? I was unaware there was more to it than altering my looks.” Antonio looks deep in thought, like he’s trying to piece together how this applies to what happened in the bar. “I thought you said the old vamp blood I consumed was from an empath and I would be able to read people. That was happening back there—I saw Olivia imagining she was with me when that other vampire began pawing her.”

Rafe pinches my right cheek, a clear poke at me to see if I can recover smoothly from the earlier illusions. It will be a fine line, trying to convince Antonio that the mess in the bar is related to his ability to glamour rather than me broadcasting anything to him.

“Uh…umm…” I clear my throat and try to angle my stance away from my husband’s grasping fingers. “Yes, that’s normally the case but I think with your abilities, you may be an exception.”

“How is that?”

I hear honest curiosity in him now. Crap, how much do I want to tell him and how much will I have to wipe from his mind? Time to re-direct and spin some bullshit. Usually, bullshitting is Rafe’s area of expertise. Why isn’t he helping me here?

“Okay, I’ll try to explain. How long have you been using your glamour?”

“Since the week I was made—so that’s about fifty-one years.”

“All right, perhaps the non-stop use means you’ll be ready to take the next step soon.”

“Next step?”

“Yes, maybe your skills will advance to you being able to project your glamour, by sending an image or emotion throughout a room.”

Ah…good one, babe. I wondered where you were going with this. But isn’t it more about his power level and not his practice?

Yeah, and thanks for the help, studly. You could have jumped in any time!

But why? You seem to be lying well enough without my help. Is there any real chance he could be able to go that next level of illusions?

Maybe. But he’d either need a lot more of my blood, for a continued length of time, or a lot of practice—and even then I bet he’d only be able to use it on humans. If he were more powerful, the ability would have manifested by now.

During our mental exchange, Antonio appears slightly more confused and I realize why. He still doesn’t know why I tackled him and Rafe dragged him out.

“Antonio, you were projecting your feelings for Olivia into the room. Since I was standing close to you, I could feel it the most.” Yeah, right. I think that sounds plausible. “I had to get you out of there before someone else caught your feelings.”

“Oh, wow, that wouldn’t have been good, would it?” Is that excitement I hear in his voice, or perhaps fear?

Rafe snickers from his chair. That’s a massive understatement.

“No, probably not. If everyone felt your desire, they would all want Olivia.”

My mind swirls around the possibilities. How am I going to keep him busy for the night and away from anyone he could unwittingly project to?

How about a free meal with one of the employees interested in a long night of fun? Rafe whispers in my mind, reading my thoughts, when I hadn’t asked him directly.

Good idea. Dammit, why didn’t I think of it? “Look, Antonio, Olivia is a great girl, but she’s busy tonight. Let her have some fun and approach her at another time. You’ll be here all week.”

Antonio’s head whips up and his eyes melt black, a dark feeling of jealousy floods the room and Rafe bolts to his feet like he’s ready to head out the door and claim Olivia. I clamp my mind shut as tightly as I can while crossing the room to stand before Antonio. With both hands I cup his cheeks, forcing him to meet my gaze.

Once his eyes lock onto mine, I peer deeply into his mind to shut down his jealousy. Fragile tendrils of my thoughts weave into the red of his emotion. I don’t normally have to touch someone to do it, but doing so speeds up the delicate process and I need to act fast. Through the physical connection, I determine he’s aware, but he’s in a trance and he won’t be able to recall any words spoken around him or my actions when I let his mind go.

Rafe returns to himself, the jealous emotion gone, and says, “Well, love, that might not have been the best thing to say.”

“Yeah, hindsight being twenty-twenty and all, I see that now.”

I’m picking my way through Antonio’s thoughts, trying to carefully balance what he feels with the temporary ability he has to project.

“Rafe, can you call the front desk and see who Tommy has on the list for a no-holds-barred night? I want someone with experience. Make that two someones. Have them come up to room thirteen. Hopefully, the sheer size of the gym room will help to contain any stray projections.”

“Good call on the location. Getting him off the main guest floor will help.”

I suggest in Antonio’s mind that a night out with two willing and attractive women is what he needs. Rafe moves to the phone by the bed and calls the front desk.

“Oh, and see if we have any blonds for him.”

Might as well keep his fantasy of the blond Olivia going as long as I can. This little episode puts a major crimp in the plans I’d laid out. I’m starting to wonder what’s happening in the bar after we left, too. Is Drew still seducing Olivia or have they gone off together?

I’m content I’ve done enough subtle work in Antonio’s mind to release my hold. He takes a deep breath and his body tension flows out on his exhale. He looks like he’s back to his normal, cocky, slightly arrogant self. Good, I don’t think I did any damage with the mind meddling.

It was hard to master the subtlety behind the vampire-to-vampire mind manipulation. If I mess it up or go in too strong and change a lot, he would know something happened. He would sense another vampire’s presence and possibly know it was me. He could come after me, or worse, tell the Tribunal and then I’d be screwed. And not in a good way.

Rafe hangs up the phone then gives me a slight nod that the plan we discussed is in action.

Dria, I think it would be best if I head back to the bar and you take the Italian Stallion to the gym with the ladies.

Why?

Just in case anyone walks by on the way, we wouldn’t want him projecting.

Sounds good, love. Give me ten minutes to change and then I’ll take him.

Aww, too bad… I’m enjoying the peek-a-boo ass show.

I smile at him and sashay out the door, working it with all I’ve got.

Ten minutes later finds me back in Antonio’s suite wearing a skin-tight pair of black leather pants and thigh-high boots, which I’ve topped with my existing red corset and jacket. I didn’t want to waste more time changing than needed. I’m in the doorway, motioning Antonio out ahead of me.

“Come on, sport, I’ve got a room on the fun floor to show you.”

“Fun floor? Why do you call it that?”

“Oh, you’ll see.”

Rafe moves past us to the second staircase going up to the bar.

I send him one last parting thought. Let me know if you find out anything interesting, ‘kay?”

You got it, love. Hurry back.

Antonio and I take the first staircase, winding to the third floor, and head to the west wing.

“I love all these books on the landings, and those reading nooks are nice. What made you decide to collect?”

His curiosity in the midst of this situation brings me into polite hostess mode. “Rafe and I speak seven languages between us and have acquired a lot of books over the years. I’ve always displayed the whole collection for guests to enjoy as well; we get people from all over the world in our dark paradise. No computer can take the place of the feel of a weathered book in your hands.”

My pace is brisk and Antonio quickens to keep up. My master key card slides in the gym door, and I open the room with a dramatic flourish. With a wave of my arm, I usher him in ahead of me.

There’s no attic over this room and the angled roof makes a high, vaulted ceiling. I always feel like I’m walking into a real gym with padded walls, until closer examination of the free-standing items.

“This place is fantastic. Are those gymnast rings I see?” Before I answer, something else catches his eye. “What is that in the corner, some type of elaborate swing?”

Antonio’s the most animated I’ve seen him thus far. His eyes are big and his voice holds youthful exuberance.

“Yes and yes,” I say with pride. “You’ll find a lot of old gym-type equipment and some newer, softer pieces too.”

“What are those black, velvety-covered shapes with the buckles?” His head scans the room, trying to take in everything at once.

“Those are the best, one of my personal favorites. They’re called ‘bedroom adventure gear’ on the website. Wedges and ramps, cubes and cylinders. All covered in washable fabric. Oh, and the buckles are the best part—a gentle way to restrain your partner.”

I point to the left of the door, drawing his eye to the various attachments and blindfolds hanging on pegs. “You’ll find the cuffs and straps there on the wall.”

“But what are the shapes for?”

I hand him the picture books I’d ordered as well, hanging in a wall folder. “The shapes put your lover into position, giving him or her support for different angles and won’t kill their back during the act. Let’s face it—we may be undead but most of our lovers aren’t!”

Antonio chuckles as he looks around, his eyes flitting from item to item in rapid succession, cataloging them for future use. “What’s that big chair-like thing?”

“It’s called the Esse, kind of a chaise lounge built for comfortable sex positions.”

“I’ve never heard of this stuff. Did you get it all here in Alaska?”

“No, we’re hours from any store. You must have noticed on the plane ride. I do a lot of Internet shopping. The shapes came from liberator.com.” I continue with this mini-tour and wrap things up. The ladies should be arriving any moment. “Over here,” I gesture to the right of the door, “is the lighting panel. The stereo system’s next to it; instructions are printed alongside. Across the room and to the right,” I point to draw his eye to the far wall with a door, “is the bathroom and showers. You’ll find towels along with shampoos, soaps and lotions. Over to the left,” I point again, this time to the opposite wall across the room, “you’ll find a massage table, complete with various oils.”

“You really have thought of everything, haven’t you?” he says with an anticipatory gleam in his eye.

“We tried, but trust me, I always think of something to add to each room in the off-season. I think the fun part is the shopping online.”

Antonio quips, “I think the fun part will be trying it all out.”

A knock on the open door draws our attention back around. “Hi, Vivian,” calls one of the young women standing at the threshold. “Tommy asked Michelle and me to come up.”

My smile is big and welcoming to the lush blondes. Both are wearing tight workout gear to fit into the ambience of the room’s surroundings. I introduce them to each other and note Debi, the one who greeted me, has an additional outfit draped over one arm.

“What have you got there?” I ask.

“Just in case our guest wasn’t dressed in comfortable clothes, I brought a pair of shorts and a t-shirt for him to change into.” Debi holds the shorts up for display and the open seam in the crotch gapes to reveal an access point that’s hidden when worn.

Antonio’s eyes glaze over at the sight and an air of lust fills the room. Glancing down at his own more formal attire and back up to the items in her hand, he nods. “What a great idea, thanks. I’ll change.”

He accepts the offered garments and saunters to the bathroom.

I wait until he’s behind the door before speaking to the women. “He’s not quite himself right now. This encounter could be very intense. You both okay with that?”

Both ladies have eager, happy looks on their faces and nod with enthusiasm.

“I need you to keep him here all night. He had a reaction to the vamp blood in the bar and he shouldn’t be around the other guests ’til at least noon tomorrow.”

“Got it,” Michelle says.

“Call room service for food to keep up your strength and drink lots of fluids.”

Michelle smiles at my motherly attentions. “No worries, Viv. We know the drill. It’s not our first time.”

“Panic button bracelets on?”

“Yes,” they both respond in unison.

The bracelets have only been used twice in our twenty years here, but they were definitely needed in those instances, both of which still give me nightmares on occasion. I pat the matching call bracelet I always keep in place, assuring myself in my nervous state that things are okay. I don’t like leaving Antonio, high on my blood, exposed to the ladies like this—but it’s the best option and I’ve got to stick with it.

“All right, I’ll leave you to your evening of fun.” I exit the room without a backward glance and hear the door close and lock behind me. If anything happens to Michelle and Debi, I’m going to kill Antonio. I don’t have time for more of his crap.

Having touched every mind on the resort, I can find anyone at any time with only a little concentration on my part. The ease in which I could end a life is a dark, heady elixir always calling to me. Pulling back from that desire is a constant battle.

Best to keep my mind off it and return to the bar. I’ve done all I can and the rest will be revealed in time.

Now, I wonder what Drew and Olivia are up to?

Chapter Thirteen

I walk down the corridor to the main wrap-around landing, advancing to the east wing, this time going the shorter route through the reading nooks in the loft over the lobby.

Rafe, Antonio is locked in with Michelle and Debi in the gym.

Good, they are smart lasses. They’ll do fine. I feel your worry but relax—they’ll be okay.

I hope you’re right. I’ll never forgive myself if he starts to project something dark to them.

Surprise colors Rafe’s next thoughts. Are you doubting the blocks you put in place? Was his young mind that much of a challenge?

No, that’s not it. I’m off tonight. Like something’s right under my skin and I can’t settle down.

I enter the gentlemen’s lounge to find it empty. Pushing open the carved door to the bar, conversation rushes to greet me.

Could be the dead John Pierre. A murder would rile up anyone.

Yes, I’m sure you’re right. Asa will be arriving tomorrow morning. It’ll be nice to dump the problem on someone else.

Looking to the bar, I meet Charlie’s eye. He jerks his head to the nightclub, anticipating I’ll want to know where Rafe is. He’s right, but isn’t aware I already know.

Rafe’s response to my comment about Asa sounds incredulous. Is this some kind of a miracle? You’re actually going to let someone help you? That’s huge, babe.

Yeah, yeah, stuff it. I’ll wait ‘til I meet him to make my decision final, okay?

Striding across the threshold, I slip into the dark, strobe-lit club, easing the heavy door shut behind me. The music thumps a steady techno beat overlaid with flashes of lyrics from other songs. This particular tune sounds like a mixture of Cotton-Eyed Joe and Me So Horny, accompanied by the throb of a computer-generated rhythm.

Out on the dance floor, bodies gyrate and bump with wild abandon, as hands grope and lips linger on necks. Ten or so people occupy the parquet wood floor, and several groups line the wall standing near tall tables. The smiles I see and the laughs that reach my ears indicate they’re all having fun.

Rafe raises an arm to catch my eye and I angle to his bar-height table in a corner. Joining him, I look around the room trying to spot Olivia and Drew. I find them cozied up on the dance floor bumping and grinding to the beat.

“Olivia still has her clothes on,” I point out. “That’s a good sign.”

“Yeah, it’s half-past midnight and the crowd is starting to get hopping. I wonder how long the clothing situation will last?”

“Should we step in and have him back off now that Antonio is out of the picture for tonight?”

“No, I think we should leave them be for a few more minutes. She looks like she’s enjoying all the attention. She needs it.”

I agree. The poor thing looks as happy as a wallflower in middle school asked to dance for the first time. Antonio is an ass. To have such a gem offered to him and not share blood with her. Either he’s just plain stupid or incredibly selfish, I can’t decide which yet.

Drew senses my attention on the two of them and looks up to catch my eye. I give him a nod, motioning my head toward the door back into the pub. He nods back and angles Olivia toward the exit with a smile and a hand on her lower back.

Leaning in to Rafe, I whisper, “Let’s go, love. I’ve changed my mind. I want tonight over and to enjoy some time alone in our suite.”

Rafe gives me a stern look as he moves around the table to leave. You’re going to touch Drew tonight, aren’t you?

If you know everything already, why do you bother to ask?

Why now? Can’t you let it go for another time?

No. Something is off and I need to know what. Would you rather I snuck out to his cabin in the wee hours of the morning while you were sleeping and told you about the encounter later? Your choice, babe.

He gives me a nasty look. Can’t say I blame him. I am being bitchy.

Rafe’s voice sounds angry in my head. What kind of choice is that? Of course, I want to be there. Drew’s an unknown element with everything else we have going on right now. No matter how tired I am from this damn day, I would never risk your safety.

When we reach the soundproofed door connecting the club and the bar, Rafe pulls it open for me to enter ahead of him.

Can’t you try to see my side? How I don’t want to have the mystery of him hanging over my head any longer? I need to clear him as a suspect and yet I still wonder at the sincerity of his request to join us. Why? He doesn’t know us from Adam, for crying out loud.

Get on with it already! You’re going to do as you please anyway.

I turn to face Rafe as we walk through the bar and give him a beaming smile. As long as we’re both clear on my touching Drew, I’ll refrain from a sharp-assed rejoinder to let him have the last word.

“Thanks, hon, you’re the best.”

“Uh-huh.”

Drew escorted Olivia ahead of us and they are already moving into the gentleman’s lounge. Rafe and I follow, calling a goodbye to Charlie on our way. The new guests and off-duty employees are still in party-‘til-you-drop mode.

Have I told you tonight that those leather pants fit your heart-shaped ass like a glove?

I hear the smile in Rafe’s thoughts and know our disagreement is in the past. One of the best things about Rafe is he doesn’t hold a grudge against me. We bicker, we snark, we occasionally have knockdown drag-out fights, but he’ll never let me down.

By the time we get to the next room, Drew’s saying his goodbyes to Olivia. By her flushed and rosy-cheeked appearance, it’s safe to say she had a great night with him and is leaving with all her blood intact. Good for him. He managed to do the job and leave her blood for Antonio to take another time. I’m impressed in spite of myself.

Olivia turns and sees us approaching.

I nod to her. “Good night, Olivia. I look forward to our tea tomorrow morning.”

“I’m excited about it as well. And good night to you both, too. This is one of the best evenings I’ve had in a long while.”

“Glad to hear it, my dear.”

Olivia walks out the double doors leading to the stairs, leaving Rafe, Drew, and me alone in the lounge.

“Well, Drew, mission accomplished, and I have to say, well done.” I reach my hand to shake his in a congratulatory gesture, and Drew extends his own in response. Rafe tenses beside me, watching us both carefully.

Drew’s cool clasp over my warmer Were-blood-infused hand sends my mind racing into the pool of his hidden wants and desires. On the surface of the swirling mass of thoughts, I see a cool blue thread snaking in and around a larger, darker, writhing nest. The cool blue reflects the desire Drew shared with us both earlier. Touching on it, I see his request to join our seethe appears forefront in his mind and it was an honest one. What hides beneath it?

I stare into his brown eyes while plunging deeper into his private thoughts. I must get to that darkness and unearth it for what it truly is, and propriety won’t get in my way.

Past the surface desire, I delve further into the nest of twists and turns. Pain reaches back through our connection and grabs my heart like a vise. The crushing strength of anger mixes with grief and hate. Bleak, dark solitude and the loss of a spouse trigger a chain reaction in my own mind.

Pictures of a beautiful, brown-haired woman overlay a buried memory of my first husband. Her pale, freckled skin appears ripped and torn, so like my Aidan’s. Body parts are scattered in a bloody mess of death and destruction. The shock of seeing this death in Drew’s memories, wrapped around his desires, is like nothing I’ve ever encountered.

The waste of life and the despair of the moment freeze me in place. I see what he wants above all else. I intimately know the same desire. I have felt it in the past, and the pain I initially experienced in our union is nothing compared to what’s fully inside him.

A sharp smack reverberates through my body and the brown eyes are ripped from my vision, but my hand still holds Drew’s. A small cry reaches my ears and I feel a wetness course down my cheeks. The pain pulls me in and I know I must let go of his hand, but I can’t.

Our entire exchange takes place in only a second or two. It ends abruptly when Rafe pushes Drew back from me to break our connection. The force of Rafe’s thrust drives the slight vampire across the room, crashing into a wall. Drew’s back on his feet in a moment and striding back toward us, with his hands held out in supplication.

“I don’t understand. What happened to her?”

Strong arms slip down to lift me up from my kneeling position on the rug; the smack I felt must have been my knees hitting the floor.

Rafe’s voice booms above me. “What did you do to her?”

Drew stops in his tracks, not coming any closer. “Nothing, I swear. She held my hand.”

Rafe picks me up as if I weigh no more than a child and cuddles me close to his chest. Whimpering sounds reach my ears again. I think they’re coming from me.

Rafe slips into my pain-filled mind. What did you see? What is he hiding?

I speak aloud, my mind a confusing mess of thoughts at the moment. “He desires revenge… He wants to kill the one responsible for murdering his wife.”

Drew draws in a sharp intake of breath. “What’s she saying? Is she talking about me?”

Rafe turns to leave the room, still holding me in his arms. Let me get you away from him. Hold on for a few more minutes.

Drew’s voice follows as Rafe’s powerful strides take us toward the stairs. “What happened to her? Will she be okay?”

The blood, Rafe. All the blood. So much hate…

Rafe ignores him and I close my eyes to the blackness and sink into peaceful oblivion.

The softness of our bed enfolds me as Rafe lowers us both to the mattress. My eyes flutter open and I feel like I’ve gone twenty rounds with Mike Tyson. I’m not so sure I was victorious in the last encounter and the old wounds the experience re-opened have left me raw and shaken.

“Are you ready to talk yet, Dria?”

Give me a minute. Can you hold me for now?

Strong arms wrap tighter around my slender frame and the warmth of his body sinks into my own. Thoughts I hoped long buried are front and center in my mind. My first husband, Aidan, and I were married in our small village in Ireland. We were both sixteen at the time and we had four years together before a horrible monster broke into our home.

I did not know it had been watching me for weeks while I cared for our farm doing chores. The night the blood-crazed monster came in and tore Aidan limb-from-limb in front of me haunted my every hour for years to come.

The shock of his death fought side-by-side with the drive to survive. I was preoccupied with both during the years I was held captive in that sick bastard’s seethe.

“Are you thinking about Mikov again? I see the hate in your mind. It’s glowing red and dark.”

“Yes, I am. Sorry. Drew’s wife was killed exactly like Aidan and I wasn’t expecting that punch to the gut.”

“Understandably so. If you had seen that coming I’m sure you wouldn’t have touched him.”

My head hurts, like one of the migraines from my time as a human. Only this one is brought on by the flood of pain and anguish rekindled in my mind, not from constricting blood vessels in my brain. I snuggle deeper into my mate’s thick-muscled chest, pressing my face in. “Mmm… ”

I don’t really want to talk about what happened, but I’m betting Rafe won’t let this go. Most guys hate to talk about feelings. While I wouldn’t say Rafe loves to, he won’t back down from a task just because it’s an unpleasant one. “Mikov is dead, dear. You saw to that long ago. That bastard and his followers deserved everything you did and then some.”

I let my silence be my answer of agreement. We’ve gone over most of my past numerous times. I’d rather shunt the pain away, deep in my brain. I nuzzle Rafe’s neck. The smell of his blood coursing below the surface of his flesh reminds me of love and power wrapped up in one. My tongue snakes out to lick the side of his throat, right below his chin.

Distraction can be the best form of coping, also called denial, and Rafe’s usually easy to convince. But it’s not working this time, though. His hand travels up and down my back in a soothing manner but my warm, wet attentions are doing nothing to dissuade him from this conversation. “No chance any of them survived to keep recruiting new vampires as they did with you, is there?”

My head whips up from my comfortable spot. “No! Why would you even suggest that? Of course I killed every last one of them. Unfortunately, revenge is never the reward one hopes it to be.”

“It never is.” Rafe’s quiet for a second and I know he’s recalling his own battle with seeking revenge for the death of his wife and baby daughter. Neither of us is unfamiliar with extreme violence in our past.

“But,” he continues, “killing them gained your freedom and that’s more important than the rest. It still begs to question though. Is it a coincidence that Drew’s wife was killed like Aidan?”

The fog clears from my mind and now he has my full attention.

“What are you saying, Rafe? There could be a connection between me and Drew?”

“I’m not sure. I know it sounds odd. We’re talking centuries later, but who else except someone from the supernatural community would have the strength to rip a person apart?”

“Drew’s a vampire and we do make enemies along the course of our long undead lives. He could have pissed someone off and they decided to hurt him good.”

“Did you get a view of his wife in his thoughts?”

“Yes, but it was quick. Why?” I shudder as I try to push the memory away again.

“Did you recognize her?”

“Sorry, but I wasn’t really thinking about her at the time.”

“Yeah, okay, I see that. If anything comes to you later, tell me.”

I’m drifting into a calmer state, trying not to let my mind touch on those horrid images again. Sifting through the blood and limbs to find her face does not seem worthwhile right now on top of how much my head hurts.

Think I’ll try again for distraction. Can you help me undress? I want the warmth of your skin against my own.

Rafe sits up without speaking and complies, removing my clothes. His eyes are soft as they linger on my face. I feel him probing gently into my mind to gauge the amount of pain I’m in.

My boots land on the floor next to the bed with a solid thump, and Rafe encourages me to sit up to work off my jacket. The air hitting my skin helps clear my head and the corset isn’t so tight that I feel confined anymore. The stays must have loosened over the course of the evening.

Rafe’s warm hand touches the strip of flesh exposed over the top of the leather pants and his fingers open the top button before lowering the zipper. “These things are snug,” he says tenderly. “Lay back and lift your hips for me.”

I do as he asks; relaxing into the touch of his hands supporting my body as he slowly removes my leather pants. My black thong peeks out in sharp contrast to my snowy white skin. The pants soon meet the fate of the boots on the floor and I roll onto my side, toward the middle of the bed. You’re going to join me and take off some of those clothes, right?

Rafe stands and removes his things in record time, piling them in a heap by the chair with a casual toss. Before I know it, he’s back in the bed and facing me, reaching to slip the covers over us before pulling me close. My head nestles in the crook of his neck again, filling my nose with the scent of him and nothing else.

He’s all that matters in the big scheme of things. Only him.

How is your head, my love? You feeling better? His inner voice sounds soft and tender, like his heart.

Yes, I answer. It’s not thumping as much anymore.

I know the best thing to get the pain firmly shoved into its tight little box in my mind, and it’s not blood. I reach my arm up to run my hand slowly down his slightly furry chest. I rest my hand on his stomach, above the top of his boxer briefs and wait.

His breathing speeds and his heart beats faster. He senses where I’m going but wants me to take the lead, so he’ll be certain it’s what I want.

Rafe, how can you doubt whether or not I’ll want you?

Because you’ve had a horrible shock and I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate.

When is feeling my lover’s touch wrong?

His response is to pull me away from his neck and kiss me deeply. My hand slips below the band of his briefs and his hot arousal greets my eager fingers. His touch moves from my head and he lifts his hips to wiggle his last clothing down with my assistance. When he lowers to the mattress, I lift my right leg to place it around his hip.

His warm hand rests on my thigh and he presses forward until the hard heat of his crown meets the small scrap of fabric covering my opening. He reaches around and pulls the thong away from between my cheeks to gain entry.

Tonight, on this night of pain and dark memories, I require no foreplay. I’m ready and wet and want only to be filled by him to drive everything else from my mind. As his thickness presses forward to claim, a sense of rightness flows through me. Blissfully, all other thoughts stop to experience the joy of our union as I let myself go in this moment.

I reach out and send one last impression, before the passion overcomes us.

All I ever need is you… forever.

Chapter Fourteen

I could spend endless hours drinking in the sight of this strong, breathtaking man. I enjoy watching him sleep; his sheer, masculine beauty never ceases to amaze me. The hard, sculpted planes of his chest, the soft, sparse hairs, and the vibrant call of his blood beneath taut, golden skin. I still marvel at the fact this delectable man is mine. I don’t need him any more than he needs me. But I want him.

Love is a choice, and I choose to love every day. The day I knew that, and that the choice was always mine, was the day I became a strong independent person.

When the same clarity happened for Rafe is anyone’s guess. At times, I almost think he was lucky enough to be born with an understanding of the universe’s greatest mysteries.

Four a.m. rolls around and I rise from our bed, deciding to cleanse my body of the emotional trauma of last night through yoga. Rafe has been a master yogi for years, thanks to the teachings of his mother and father. His parents lived in India, and his father, Claude, studied under a master for a decade. At the turn of the twentieth century, only men were allowed to practice yoga. Claude taught his wife, Olga, in secret all he learned. One hundred years has changed the face of the ancient practice irrevocably.

I change into a pair of black pants with a matching top, and venture to the hotel’s real gym located on the first floor in the north wing. This one looks entirely different than the sex gym Antonio used last night on the third floor. Passing no guests, I’m grateful for the slight respite in hostess duties. I’m not up to being cheery and smiley yet. I nod to Miranda at the front desk and she waves a pink slip of paper.

“A call came in for you from New York before two a.m. It was Cy.”

“Why didn’t you alert me?”

Miranda’s eyes get big. I’m guessing my tone was a little harsh. “Rafe told me last night, when he was carrying you to your suite, that we should not bother either of you unless it was an extreme emergency.”

In an instant, my guilt flourishes and if I still had the ability to blush with bright pink cheeks, I’m sure she’d see it. “I’m sorry, of course that was the right thing to do. I certainly was in no state to argue.”

Real concern colors her voice as she asks, “Do you mind if I ask what happened? I was worried when I saw you earlier.”

Crap! I hadn’t anticipated this scene when I got my happy little ass out of bed a few minutes ago. My brain scrambles fast and I’m desperate to think of some type of valid excuse. “I… er… I think I had some…” I lock gazes with her and push her a bit to believe my next words, “blood that had gone bad. That special old vampire blood we serve in drinks at the bar? One in the last batch didn’t agree with me.” I let up on imposing my will over hers and finish with, “I felt better after lying down.”

Her tone is light as she responds. “Well, good, I’m glad to hear you’re feeling better.”

She hands me the phone message and I walk down the hall to the gym. It’s a good thing she didn’t disturb us with the call. I’d hate for Cy to worry more and I’m sure he’d have heard the tension in Rafe’s voice.

Damn, he’d probably send additional young vampires and I really don’t want that. They annoy the hell out of me, wanting more old blood than I’m comfortable giving the whippersnappers.

I’m not up to calling him back yet. I’d rather wait until I’m steadier before learning whatever information he found. Either way, it’s morning in New York and Cali would be the one I’d speak with.

Switching on the lights to the vast machine-filled room, I lower the wattage via the dimmer to a more subdued glow. My head no longer pounds like it did, but I prefer the softer light when I want to relax. Mediation has never come easily for me and I need all the help I can get.

I walk across the vast room, passing free-weights and stand-alone equipment. Rafe enjoys this space and I usually find him in here five to six days a week, even if for only thirty minutes at a stretch. I grab one of my favorite sticky mats from a pile by the wall, placing it near the windows overlooking the same hot tub grotto view we enjoy from our suite. The exercise area fits about six yoga practitioners easily, but we never have more than three or four.

The windows are dark, and the glow from the subtle rope lighting around the pergolas appears faint. The bright landscaping lights, aimed toward the windows to simulate daylight, are off at this time of morning in imitation of the early pre-dawn hour. We’ve found the fake day helps the companions to stay on a sleep schedule and provides the giddy vampires staying up around the clock with a reference for when they look at their watches.

Working my way slowly through ten sun salutations, I monitor my form for exact alignment. The movements focus my mind on the day ahead. The facts of yesterday tumble through my head and each pose helps to solidify the information we have.

I push into my last downward dog and my heels connect solidly with the mat as my hips aim for the far wall.

Originally, I thought a vampire would not have committed the murder, but who else here could have a motive? None of the companions or servants have been reported missing and I’d know if any of the employees did it. There’s a benefit to them sharing my blood. The link may be tenuous, but it’s there, and I would know.

I look up between my widespread palms, jump my feet forward to my hands and straighten my legs ‘til I’m in a deep forward bend.

Okay then, I’ve made some progress—the killer is a vampire. I think.

I place my thumbs in my hip crease, and root down with my energy as I straighten from the waist. My arms swing out and my palms twist to face each other as I reach for the ceiling.

Jon scented some unknown vamp on the grounds. A fact that helps solidify my current belief that the killer must be a vampire—one who’s not a guest. What non-native human could come to this resort and be able to survive outside of a building for longer than a few hours? It took Castner’s Cutthroats to save over two thousand ill-prepared soldiers in the Aleutian Islands during World War II. Our modern-day murderer, if human, would need a ton of equipment to live and I’m sure Jon’s half-wolves would have tracked any trespassers down by now.

I lower my hands together in a prayer position before my heart. Deep breath in.

What else stood out as odd?

The fact the vampire did not drain the victim when killing. What kind of undead would do that? All I think of is one who was seriously pissed off, crazy, or both.

I let the air out of my lungs.

Hmm… something else is niggling the back of my brain.

A quiet peace seeps into me as I bow my head forward in a moment of silence. I reflect upon the words Olga sometimes repeated at the end of our sessions together:

I honor that place in you
where the entire universe resides.

I honor that place in you
of love, of light, and peace.

I honor that place –
where if you are in that place in you,
and I am in that place in me,
there is only one of us.

“Namaste.”

My voice echoes in the room, the thought complete with the utterance of that one word. I feel at one with life around me and have a peaceful tingle of energy in my heart, this one not associated with Were blood. I like to think whenever I say Namaste that Olga is in the moment with me.

She was the most peaceful, loving woman I have ever had the honor to know and I’ll always be grateful for the gift she gave me in Rafe. Olga was centered in her life and accepting of all around her. She became aware of what I am during the years she taught me yoga, but I did not know the depth of her acceptance until over a decade later when she sent Rafe to find me.

I light the oil pot sitting on a low table near the wall then sit on the large square cushion before it. Closing my thoughts, I focus on the flame. The room around me fades as I sink into the dancing firelight.

Surprisingly, a face forms in the flames and I see Drew’s wife clearly in my mind. She’s smiling, like he remembered her. I have seen this woman before, I know now, but can’t place where because she looks different. Could she have been a guest here or at one of our previous properties?

No. Wait. She was human, so our last spot in Paris is out. Had to be here, but damned if I can recall. Maybe Rafe will remember. I’ll check with him when he wakes. I close my eyes to block out the flames and push her image from my mind. I’ll never achieve Nirvana if I keep allowing crap to intrude.

Crashing waves, deep breathing, counting sheep—none of it seems to help. Today may be one of those days I will not be able to meditate. I’m not surprised. Reaching inner peace remains a difficult journey for me.

Time passes until I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting. One task becomes clear as I rise to start the day: I need to return the phone call to New York.

I move to the small sitting area by the door and take a seat. There’s a side table with a phone between two chairs. I prefer calling from here over going back to our suite and risk waking up Rafe. From memory, I dial the number I recognized from the slip of paper. It’s Cy’s landline in his office.

After several rings, Cali’s voice comes over the receiver. “Hello, Vivian.”

Ah, the joys of caller ID.

“Yes. Hey, Cali. Got the message Cy left for me. You have any news?”

“And good morning to you, too.” She says with a laugh. “Turns out John Pierre’s from Washington State. He flew to Fairbanks a few days ago, rented an SUV, and got gas in Coldfoot on the credit card number you gave us.” She pauses a bit. “Do you want the details of where he lived over the phone or should I email you what we have?”

Washington is all I needed to hear. I know exactly where he lived and now I need to get the hell off the phone.

“What you’ve given me is enough for now. Emailing the rest will be fine. I’ll go over it with Asa when he gets here.”

“Speaking of that, they should be at your place before nine a.m. your time—depending on tailwinds.”

I check; it’s almost six. I’ll have to hustle to get things done before he arrives.

“Great, thanks. Tell Cy I appreciate all the hard work.”

“No problem, Vivian. You know he’d do anything for you.”

“You’re fine with your nephew coming up here?” I decide to dig while I have her on the phone and Cy is not within hearing distance. “Cy didn’t ask him first, so I’m hoping it’s okay with you as well.”

“Yes, well… Asa expressed an interest in leaving here almost as soon as he got back from the war last year. Cy taught him a lot about control and he’s definitely trustworthy, no need to worry on that front.” She sighs before continuing. “Actually, it was my idea all along. I’ve wanted Cy to call you for months to see if Asa could come up. I think the noise and people in the club are too much for him. He was always reserved as a kid and I think the frivolousness of the place sets him on edge. Combine that with the shock of being out of the military and newly undead, and you can imagine what it’s been like for him. Cy refused to call you because he knew you don’t really have a formal seethe, but I was tempted to do an end-run and call you myself.”

Damn, that wouldn’t have been good. I’d hate to have to turn her down and that’s exactly what I would have done. “Don’t get your hopes up, Cali. He may like it here fine, but I’m not inclined to have more members in my seethe. Let’s see how it goes, okay?”

“All right,” disappointment clear in her tone, “I’ll leave you alone. But, he’s great with all the latest security advancements. You never know…” Her voice lifts at the end, hope shines back in her sunny disposition once more and I don’t have the heart to crush it.

I can always let Cy handle the task when I decide Asa has to go. If I can get Asa out of here with him none the wiser on my secrets, then that’s what I’ll do.

Hanging up the phone, one fact resonates with certainty in my mind: Salvador’s group hales from Washington. I think Sheba and her tears may be the key to the murder. I have a feeling many details will come together when I question that elusive member of Sal’s group. It’s still too early for a polite hostess to knock on a guest’s door and wake her up.

I shut off the lights when I leave the gym and run into Paul on his way to the kitchen. Paul’s the best chef we’ve had in two decades. He used to cook in the lower forty-eight for years, until he answered my employment ad. He hadn’t wanted to come up here to this frozen area of our nation, but the money I threw at him was impossible to resist.

“Morning, Paul. Glad to see you up and at ‘em today,” I say with a cheeky grin.

I saw him last night on the dance floor with other employees and he’s looking worse for the wear today with a haggard air about him.

“Ugh, no teasing. My head can’t take it right now.” He stumbles slightly and catches himself against the hallway wall.

A short laugh erupts from me. After my emotional night, seeing him hung-over helps shake off my last lingering tendrils of heartache. “Poor baby. You should know by now the morning shift always comes sooner than you think.” I take pity on him and try to give him a little nudge in the right direction. “You know what they say about water the next day, right? Drink plenty and you’ll be better by noon.”

“Yeah, that and a beer chaser with some Advil will do me.”

I smile and take my leave of him as we approach the lobby. Of course, I meant the small trace of vampire blood in the water would make him feel better. Whether he takes my advice, or his own, is up to him.

Chapter Fifteen

Miranda’s still on shift at the front desk when I enter the lobby. She’s busy working on the computer, but looks up on my approach.

“Hey Miranda, has it been slow this morning?”

“Yes. Only one blood request and nothing else. Tommy went to Jet Natsuhara’s cabin around five.”

“Good. We’ve got a temporary employee named Asa coming from Cy’s place in Manhattan. Could you put him in one of the cabins? I’m not sure how long he’ll be here or where I’ll want him long term.”

Miranda types rapidly on the keyboard in front of her. “Sure thing, I’ll put him in unit one. What time do you expect him?”

I smile at the thought of our ex-military guy tucked away next door to the Natsuhara cabin. “According to Cali, he could be here as early as nine. Please have someone call me when the airstrip reports his plane coming in.”

“You got it, Vivian. No problem.”

I smile in thanks and walk to the pool in the east wing. It’s still too early to enter our suite; maybe I’ll relax in the steam room. Rafe could use more rest. Werewolf-infused vampire blood or not, he needs a few hours a night to keep healthy.

The pool wing’s double doors open at a push and the humidity from the vestibule wraps around me, transporting my senses to a tropical island paradise. The second set of doors open as the first set close behind me. Pausing a moment, I once again admire the gorgeous sight in front of me.

Large, healthy green palm trees and other tropical plants flourish in big containers with their personal UV bulbs. Cushioned chaise lounge chairs are scattered around the pool’s edge with small tables placed in between. A flapping noise breaks the relaxing spell and the flutter of green wings causes my head to whip up as I twist my body to the side.

“Braaacck! Mikey wants a biiiite.”

“Stop it, you Goddamn bird!” I swear that flying menace is out to get me! Who would have thought a parrot could cause me so much anxiety. I’m a damn powerful vampire and this is embarrassing.

Mikey never fails to swoop down on me whenever I enter the pool area. His only saving grace is that he’s well behaved with the guests. If Rafe hadn’t insisted we have the three birds in here for atmosphere, I’d throw all of them into the snow and be done with it.

I fell quickly out of love with the whole atmosphere concept when Rafe taught Mikey that cute little phrase. Months later, Rafe topped that trick by somehow training the flying bastard to pester me the second I walk in. There are times that man should count himself lucky I don’t smother him in his sleep. The fact it wouldn’t work and he’d laugh his ass off must be what has kept me from trying.

The calypso music and voices bouncing off the water have thankfully made my very uncool freak-out go unnoticed by the guests in the pool. Some day I am going to set those birds free. Today they have a stay of execution as I spot the very person I need to talk to above all others: Sheba.

Strolling past empty chairs, I casually stop at the one next to the lovely, full-bodied woman. Lowering myself into the chaise next to hers, I clear my throat to get her attention. Her expression looks strained as she struggles to focus on me.

“Hello. Sheba, isn’t it?”

Her inviting smile warms her face, helping dispel some of the strain. Her beautiful café-au-lait skin and hazel, almond-shaped eyes speak of an exotic mix in her heritage. I see why she was sought to enter this seethe. Her coloring is breathtaking to behold, and I’m shocked no vampire has laid claim to her yet.

“Yes, you have a good memory, Vivian. How are you?”

“I’m good. Surprised to see you here, actually. I ran into Sal at the bar last night. He said you weren’t feeling well. Is there anything we can get for you?”

“No, but thank you. I’m not myself. Bouts of being upset and crying without quite knowing why. It’s the oddest thing.”

“Hmm…” I think I know why she’s feeling so off. I’d bet a million bucks someone’s been messing with her head. I wonder if she’ll let me check?  “Sheba, how long have you been with Sal’s seethe?”

“Oh, about a year. I’m hoping Sal or one of the others in the family will make me a servant soon.”

She has that starry-eyed look of a dreamer, and for her sake, I hope she gets her wish. If she had been a servant already, she would have been protected from whatever someone did to her. I’ve never understood the callousness of not protecting those you feed from. Then again, with more than a hundred and forty humans as my wards, all of whom I won’t touch, I’m clearly not the norm.

“I think someone may have been inside your head and tampered with your thoughts recently,” I say. A deer-in-headlights look quickly replaces her happily contented one. “Would you mind if I take a look?”

“Whhhat?”

“What you are describing,” I repeat, “sounds like someone could have been tampering with your memories. Can you tell me everything you did yesterday?”

She squints as she tries to remember. “I went bowling with the group for Sunday’s tournament, which, by the way, was a blast. I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’d had so much fun.” I smile at her praise and nod. I don’t want to stem her flow of thoughts. “Let’s see… next we watched a classic horror movie in the media room and afterwards, I went back to my room to nap for the festivities later…” She looks in the distance and scrunches her brow.

“What time do you think you went upstairs?”

“Around three, I think, but I don’t remember much after that except being upset in my room later. I was crying and I couldn’t remember why. Maybe I had a bad dream or something?”

“Do you remember any part of this dream?”

Sheba’s hazel eyes go wide for a second and her face becomes blank. The color leaches out of her skin and it looks as though she’s seeing through me rather than focusing on the here and now. Now there’s no doubt in my mind she had her head messed with. Poor thing, someone got in there and wiped a few hours from her.

“Sheba, I’d like to help you. Do you feel comfortable letting me into your mind?”

Her vision snaps back to me while she processes my question. Whoever this bastard was, he wasn’t kind. I hope I can fix what he did.

Sal’s smooth voice echoes up from the pool. “What’s going on, Vivian? I have a feeling you’re not telling her everything she needs to know.”

Damn. That’s what I get for talking to her in an open room. Anyone here could have heard our entire conversation, and it looks like that’s exactly what happened. I glance at the water and see Salvador’s sleek, wet body walk up the steps from the corner of the pool nearest us. His bathing suit sits low and snug on his slender hips as he gracefully moves to the foot of Sheba’s chair.

Sal’s sharp eyes hone in on me. I know I’m not going to get out of here without some careful explaining. The best defense is often an unexpected offense; here’s to hoping I reveal as little as possible.

I face him, allowing my displeasure to show in my features. “Sal,” my tone comes out harsh, “am I right in assuming Sheba is just your companion? No one in your seethe has laid claim to her yet?”

“Yes, that’s true. So?” His face mirrors his surprise. I caught him off guard with my vehemence or he would have not shown that much expression, I bet.

“I want you to smell her. Come close and draw in deep. Tell me what you sense.”

He looks intrigued with my question and moves to the side of her chair to comply, watching me as he does so. Sheba’s used to obeying vampires without question. She rises from her chair to stand before him to make my request easier.

As her head tilts to the side, Sal leans in and puts his face close to her neck, unceremoniously sniffing her. His head whips up, his back becoming ram-rod straight. Tension fills his body and he directs a dark angry look my way.

His voices hisses out, irritation quite clear. “She smells like you. How is this possible?”

In his anger, he sends his aura against me like an angry buzz. His dark brown eyes bleed black. He transforms from calm, pool-swimming guest to annoyed master vamp in a heartbeat. I’m not some little fledgling to be cowed with a show of power. I resist the dark urge to lash out with my own aura. I top him by about a hundred and fifty years—but despite our long association, and my careful shielding, he doesn’t know it.

I ignore his question. Sal’s smart enough to figure out the how of my scent on Sheba. That is, if he can get his dick back in his pants and stop thinking we’re in a pissing contest.

I have no intention of fighting with a guest, but I have no qualms about taking him down a notch or two in his arrogance either. “Did your maker not teach you to respect the gift this human shares with you? Her very life fuels your own and yet you offer her no protection against others of our kind.”

“You…” his face flushes with his outrage and he sputters in his haste to spew his indignation out at me. “You have no…who do you think you are? I treat her fine. She is here in your resort with me, is she not? I protect her.”

“If that’s the case, how is it someone’s been playing inside her mind and wasn’t very neat about it?”

Theresa, his buxom, brunette mate, wisely chooses that moment to step in. Also dripping wet from the pool, she places her hand on Sal’s arm to calm him before addressing me. “What are you saying, Vivian? Do you think that’s why Sheba feels off? I thought maybe she was getting a cold or something.”

Theresa’s concern for Sheba sounds sincere. Her brow creases with worry and she steps from Sal’s side to place a hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “Look at me, dear. Is what Vivian saying true? Are you missing some points in time from yesterday?”

Sheba looks uncomfortable under our scrutiny. Her arms wrap around her body and a shudder passes through her. “I’m not sure… can either of you tell?” Sheba turns to Salvador, hoping he’ll come to her rescue.

Ah, and now the moment I’ve been waiting for. Damn, Sal is not going to be happy with me in the next few seconds. Hopefully, he’ll shake it off and we can talk it out later, like two civilized bloodsuckers.

I rise from my seat and draw to my full height. I allow my aura to come to the surface and push gently against Salvador’s. His face shows his shock while I keep my own expression perfectly neutral. There’s no need to rub this in any more than necessary.

The tension in the air fairly crackles from the power we’re exuding and the unknown of what the next moment holds. I adapt the formal speech associated with an act of importance, hoping it will dissolve the barrier between us and allow him to think clearly.

Extending my hand to Sheba, I bow slightly to Sal then turn to face the young woman. “I request your presence in a formal audience, and I implore you to honor my desire. You have ingested my blood and I lay claim to that which runs through your veins.”

Sheba’s jaw drops open as a gasp emits from both Sal and his mate. Sal and I lock gazes and I see some of his anger drain, replaced by a look of loss.

His quiet voice holds a note of hope. “You have not fed from her yet then?”

“No, and I will not. I do not feed from our guests. You should know that in the fifty-odd years you’ve been coming to my properties.”

He smiles weakly at me. “I’m finding there are lots of things I was unaware of in those fifty years. You hide very well.”

I pull my aura back and present them with the picture they all know so well: the lush, redheaded vampire who feels only about a hundred years old.

“Hiding my power was never done to deceive you—only to help you relax.”

No more words need to be spoken. I take Sheba’s hand to lead her from the pool. As I’m leaving, I can’t help but deliver one last thought, hoping I can make this four-hundred-year-old vampire master look at his people in a different light.

“If you care about them, mark them as your own. They are not pets but human lives entrusted to you in the very dangerous world you brought them into. You risk losing that which you do not honor accordingly.”

His head flashes up and heat fills his black eyes.

Ah, there I go again, making friends everywhere I go. The way I feel right now, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass if we lose a steady customer. Hell, it’s not like we need the money. His arrogance caused this woman some considerable pain. Now it’s up to me to fix it.

Can I repair the damage or is she better off the way she is?

Chapter Sixteen

It’s a delicate balance, sorting through someone’s ravaged mind. Although all vampires are able to perform mind control and erase memories, not all are practiced in how to use the power with subtlety. What can be damaged can almost always be fixed, but the return of lost knowledge is not always a good thing for the victim.

I’m going to start questioning Sheba gently and I need a quiet place to do so. Leading her through the lobby, I stride toward our private suite of rooms behind the kitchen. We enter the hotel kitchen and find Paul, whom I nod to in greeting as he prepares a Bloody Mary with bagged blood for a vampire guest. He returns my greeting with a more reserved nod of his own. Looks like the poor bugger is still feeling the effects of last night.

“Paul, would you mind preparing breakfast for Rafe and having it ready by 7:30?”

“Sure thing. What would he like?”

“His usual: sausage, a two-egg veggie omelet, and rye toast—heavy on the butter.”

Paul shakes his head. “I don’t know how a man can eat like that four times a week and not have a heart attack.”

I smile elusively. “Good genes, I guess.” Remembering Jonathan’s appointment with us for this morning, I add, “Oh, and could you fix a rare steak with lots of potatoes, and a four-egg meat omelet, as well? Jonathan is coming by for an early morning meeting.”

“You got it.”

Sheba and I continue through the kitchen to a security door nestled in a corner by the walk-in fridge. At a swipe of my key, the door opens into a narrow hallway. While Rafe and I enjoy our privacy, it is not unheard of that we bring people into our apartment to visit. We love having our own space and this suite occupies the remainder of the west wing, with the kitchen and guest dining room taking up the first third.

The hall opens into a comfortable living room and beyond lies our compact kitchen. I gesture to the couch for Sheba to help herself to a seat.

“I’d like to talk with you before we begin,” I say. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks.” She lowers herself to the couch and looks up at me with big eyes. “Is this going to hurt?”

Very good question and I won’t have an answer for her until I see for myself the extent of the damage. “I’m not sure, it may. Do you want me to return your memories to you if I can fix things, or would you feel better not knowing?”

She meets my eyes with the first hint of a backbone in her gaze. “I want to know what happened. Who wouldn’t?”

“You say that now, but let me tell you what we found last night before you decide.”

I fill her in on finding the corpse and Rafe’s discovery of the wallet. Hard to believe it was only thirteen hours ago. Her eyes fill with liquid when I mention the victim’s name.

“Are you sure? John Pierre Vaughn?” The first tear spills down her cheek.

“Yes, did you know him?”

“He’s a member of our seethe. A companion like me. But he wasn’t invited on the trip with us.” She shifts in her seat, nervous from the last revelation.

“Would there be any reason he would come here?”

Most master vampires like to leave all the cares of their seethe behind, humans and lesser vampires alike, and travel with a small retinue. The MacKellans, unlike Salvador’s group, are rare in that they brought three vampires with them on their vacation.

Sheba twists her hands in her lap, distress starting to mar her smooth visage. “John Pierre had shown a lot of interest in me lately and Sal didn’t want him to distract me from my fun here.”

“Why would Sal worry about distracting you? Aren’t you happy with them?”

“No, no, I am. But John Pierre…well, he’d been talking of leaving the family and…”

“Yes?”

She heaves a great sigh and collapses into the back of the couch. “He wanted me to join him and asked me to marry him. I didn’t feel the same way about him and had to break it to him before we left.” The tears start in earnest, spilling down her cheeks in rivulets. “I guess none of that matters now, does it? You’re sure it was him?”

“I’m not sure of anything. We can get you a picture later to confirm.” Yeah, after I defrost the body. I’ll get right on that, honey. What the hell was I thinking making that offer?

Maybe I’ll ask Sal to ID him and he can confirm it for her. I’d hate the last time she sees him to be a picture of him frozen solid. But wait, who am I kidding? She could very well have been there when the murder took place and saw it all. If I can restore her memories, that unfortunate episode will be what she remembers last.

Ugh, this is going to suck, and not in a good way.

“How can you help me get my memory back from yesterday?” Sheba asks.

“Have you had a vampire bite feel exquisite and bring you pleasure?”

She laughs, her body relaxing fully for the first time since we entered the suite. “Why else would I be here? For their sunny disposition and giving natures? It’s all about the bite, baby.”

Well, that certainly tells me a lot about Sheba and her seethe now, doesn’t it? They sound like a bunch of groupie fang-bangers. To each their own. I’ll keep my judgments to myself. Or at least, I’ll try.

“Okay, then, glad we got that covered. My point is, the vampire ‘rolls’ your will under their own and that’s how you feel the intense sensations. Rolling you under their control is another way to say they’ve invaded your mind.”

Her face sobers and she straightens up. “You mean any of you can go in my head at any time?”

Could she really be this dumb? Apparently she is, and Sal must prefer to keep his food that way. “Never look us in the eye, and you’ll be safe. I can’t believe after a year, you didn’t know that.”

“I guess I got caught up in the lifestyle.” She quickly looks away and down at her hands, wringing them in her pool wrap. “You know—the big house, the clothes, no need to work… All that great sex was only the icing on the cake.”

She has a dazed look to her, as if all the events in her life are taking on new significance.

“Finally see you’re playing with more than you can handle?”

Her gaze sharpens and she looks at me with something akin to dislike on her lovely features.

People rarely thank you for opening their eyes to the lies they are comfortable living with. Seems the realization of her party life is starting to hit home, and she might be looking to place blame. Yeah, God forbid she look in the mirror for that one.

“I have a feeling Sal has protected you from a lot of the true nature within the seethe. Shielding you from family politics and power plays. He made sure you remained untouched by the inherent darkness within a group of vampires. Some may consider that admirable, but I think it’s a gross injustice to you. Now can you understand why John Pierre might have wanted to leave?”

She doesn’t answer. “So, you think I might have been there when he was killed, don’t you?”

I hold back the insane urge to roll my eyes. Her beauty made me want to hope for the best, but she is sounding more and more like an opportunist—happy to get a good lay and a free ride. I know I can’t save the world, and I know some people get exactly what they have coming to them, but no matter what I think, Sheba did not deserve to have her mind trashed like a house of cards. Damn Sal and his selfishness.

“Yes,” I answer. “I think it’s a strong possibility you saw something and the killer had to silence what you know. In the bigger picture, you’re lucky he didn’t kill you, too.”

It’s apparent by the shock on her face that this thought had not occurred to her. “Could I be in danger? Could the killer come after me?”

The laugh spills from my throat before I have a chance to contain it. Stupid people do that to me sometimes, make me lose myself and forget my decorum. “Let me get this straight,” I say, gasping for air, “you live with vampires and let them feed from you but now you’re worried about the danger you could be in? Oh, darling, how old are you?”

“Twenty-two,” she answers, not meeting my eyes.

“Old enough to know nothing in life comes free and you should stop selling your ass. Face it, that’s what you’ve been doing for a year now.” There goes my short-lived attempt not to judge. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that if you want to be taken seriously by Salvador and the rest of the seethe, you have to prove your worth beyond that of donating blood?”

“Like how?”

“Get a job or work within the seethe to better it and protect it. Make a difference to them and stand out. If you don’t, you’ll be forever looked at as food and not worthy of any other title in their eyes. They’ve been keeping you like a pampered pet for a year and you let them.”

“I… I hadn’t… ” She hangs her head and fingers the pretty beads on her silk wrap. “You’re right. It was too easy to take and not really pay attention. I feel like a fool.”

“No offense, honey, but you’ve been playing the fool. These are not some characters from a movie and this life isn’t glamorous. Vampires try to blend in like regular people with jobs. They live night to night, fighting to not misstep and be uncovered for what they really are. They form the family to protect each other and to care for the ones they love, but companions like you come and go. Have you talked to anyone else who’s left the seethe?”

That question gives her pause. It never fails to amaze me how many young people get roped into this lifestyle thinking about the books they’ve read or the movies they watch. There are no Goth mansions on the outskirts of the big cities. No bodies drained of blood scattered across New Orleans. There are no cults having massive blood and sex orgies in small towns in the Midwest. Wouldn’t people notice that sort of thing? I’d think it would make the evening news somewhere.

Sheba collects her thoughts then raises her head to answer. “Yes, I have seen and talked to some of the other companions who left. I know they are safe.”

“I never doubted they were safe. Most would have a family or friends who would call the cops if they disappeared, unless the master prefers runaways and street people. But more important, did they remember you?”

“Yes, they did.” Her face scrunches up in an effort to recall the details. “But they weren’t the same. They didn’t remember much about the house or our lives there. I thought they were pretending or maybe embarrassed by some of the things we had done together with Sal and Theresa.”

Good, that tells me Sal does not do a complete mind-wipe. He does the barest he has to do, and I respect him for that. It’s the same thing I do here with the employees when they leave.

“No, Sheba, Sal clouded their memories to protect the seethe. Similar to the compulsion he has placed on you not to reveal what you know when you visit your family and friends from before you met him. His only other choice would be to kill them. Salvador isn’t a stupid man and unexplained deaths are noticed.”

“So you’re telling me when I do leave, I’ll be okay but won’t remember anything?”

“You’ll remember some, but not enough to know there are vampires in the world or that you donated blood to them. It will not change the core of who you are.”

She looks like she can’t decide if she’s relieved by this news or put off. And of course, I don’t have to wait long for her to reveal why. Her beauty and grace are refreshing, but her self-centeredness and base laziness prove tiresome.

“I have a journal,” she says with a triumphant lilt to her tone. “I write down everything I do in the seethe, or should I say whom?” She finishes with a big grin.

Ah, I was right. She’s hoping to write a book or sell her story when she leaves. “You mean to tell me after all we’ve discussed, you honestly think Sal doesn’t know about it already? Or that you’d be allowed to take your journal with you?”

A movement in the kitchen brings my head around. Rafe walks out wearing only a pair of black, skin-tight boxer briefs. I’m not thrilled he’s wearing next to nothing in front of this lazy fangbanger, but at least he didn’t come out naked.

He starts to busy himself with making coffee and I glance at my watch to see it’s after seven. I wish he’d had more sleep, but with the Were blood in him, I doubt he needs more.

My guest has straightened in her seat on the couch. Her eyes linger on Rafe’s solid thighs and round, firm butt. I smile then turn to look at him as well.

The light dusting of golden hair covering his body looks soft and inviting. His muscles fairly ripple below his skin and he looks like he stepped out of an underwear ad on a Times Square billboard. The broad expanse of his back faces us and he’s focused solely on the task of making coffee. I know he heard us in here, so why would he come out half-naked?

I open a mental link to him. Morning, my love. Why are you tempting this poor girl so much?

I thought you could use a little distraction. When I woke, I listened to the conversation and could see your thoughts were starting to fall into the I don’t like her very much category. You need her and you need her pliant.

I hate it when you’re right. But I love to see you semi-naked, so I’ll hold my peace.

Rafe clears his throat, continuing to work at the counter. “Morning, ladies, just getting the coffee started. I’ll be back out in a minute after I’m dressed. Would either of you care for a cup when it’s done?”

I can drink liquids but don’t need much. The idiot who thought vampires don’t use the bathroom should be shot. Seriously, where would all the blood go?

One glance at Sheba tells me she might not have heard a word he said. Yes, he really is that breathtaking to look at with nothing on.

“I’ll have half a cup,” I say. “How about you, Sheba?”

“Um…what?” Her gaze finally breaks from his ass and she looks at me with a slight blush of embarrassment. “Did you say coffee?” I nod. “Sure, that would be great. Thank you.”

“Great,” Rafe answers. “I’ll be back in a few.” He heads to our room without looking back.

Sheba appears more relaxed now that Rafe has made an appearance. Maybe she was more nervous than I thought about coming back to our suite with me.

I hear Rafe moving around in our closet. He returns, wearing a pair of jeans and a snug, blue V-neck sweater that hugs every hard plane of his chest. His loose-limbed gait draws Sheba’s eye when he saunters back through the kitchen. She gives a little gasp when he heads toward us.

I hear her audibly swallow as he seats himself on the chaise lounge end of the L-shaped couch she’s seated on. With only the couch and the chair I’m in, he really had no other place to sit.

Rafe relaxes and smiles at Sheba. “Coffee will be a few more minutes. Am I right in assuming that you’re going to let Vivian help you recall your memories from yesterday afternoon?”

Phrasing it in such a way effectively compliments her actions and makes her feel like she has some choice in the matter. The simple fact that I can make her do what I want doesn’t always go over well with a guest. Rafe makes her feel like she’s doing the right thing and I’m grateful he thought to say it.

“Yes,” Sheba says. “It seems like the best way to find out what happened to John Pierre. I hope I can help.”

She seems to have gained more strength. I rise and move closer to her, lowering myself onto the free cushion between her and Rafe and look deeply into her eyes. “As I said before, I’m not sure about what I’ll be able to reveal. We’ll have to find out together, okay?”

She nods her head and returns my stare. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

Without letting her have a moment to wonder when, I force my will forward and grasp her mind in my mental sway. Rafe’s hand rests on my shoulder. The contact strengthens our bond, enabling him to see what I pick from her memories.

Reading memories isn’t the same as when I sense desires, that coiling mass of emotions right below a person’s consciousness. Memories are more like moving snap shots scrolling past in a linear flow. Some of hers have black holes like some macabre Swiss cheese. I don’t have to go back far since it was only yesterday, but what damage I see appears awful.

The desire to purge was so strong, the attacking vampire was heavy-handed when he came in to silence her. Now I know why she was crying yesterday. The loss would be disquieting to say the least.

These holes will make it impossible for her to access the memory, almost like a frayed tightrope. It’s not safe to use and there’s no way to the other side. Skimming through the images, I land on one where John Pierre is alive. Once I touch upon the memory, whatever details remain seep into my mind, allowing me to relive the experience from her perspective.

She and John Pierre are chatting in her room. He states he came to Alaska to talk her into leaving the seethe. I’m still not certain how John Pierre came to be at the resort, but that could be because the information has not been revealed to Sheba. Next, the pair strolls down the hall together. John Pierre stops then walks back to her room, calling to her that he wants to get something from his bag.

In a flash, her body is yanked backward before a sound escapes her throat. She’s dragged into what appears from the décor to be suite six, where we found John Pierre’s body. The door closes while Sheba screams, flailing her arms as she goes. Only a few seconds pass before we see John Pierre running back into the room. From Sheba’s disjointed vantage point, it appears he attacks whoever is holding her right as she feels a sharp nick at her neck.

John Pierre’s tackle gives her the break she needs to get away and she bolts for the door. She hears John Pierre close behind her then hears a sickening thud and a heavy thump muffled by the carpet. Sheba glances back as she races down the empty hall to see if she is still being pursued. A white-haired vampire with an angry expression and extended fangs locks his gaze on hers and all goes blank after that.

His face looks familiar, but for the life of me, I can’t place it. I focus instead on trying to restore Sheba’s lost memories, carefully rebuilding the lost scenes, so that when I let go of my control, she will remember everything. In the next memory scenes, I come across actions it may be best if she didn’t remember.

Flashes of images really. Her memory has many more holes here. A terror-filled moment with Sheba trying to scream in pain and mentally thrashing while locked inside her own mind. Her physical actions are locked down tight—she can’t control her body, but she is moving. I feel and see part of her naked form, unable to respond to her will. It moves in jerky movements and is forced through a series of sexual positions. All while her mind screams endlessly.

Blood is taken from her over and over without leaving marks or bruises. There was no need for her rapist to physically restrain or force her since she could not resist his mind manipulation. He raped her mind as well as her body, feeding off her fear as he did these heinous acts.

The black rage consuming me is familiar. I’ve seen this type of treatment before. It leaves no trace of doubt in my mind who our killer could be. I ended the same violence when I encountered it eight years ago. I will end it again now. All I have to do is track down the sick bastard to do it.

This more recent part of Sheba’s memory, of the rape and terror, I will not restore. I don’t want to see the spark of life in her go out and have the horror that I see here replace it. His abuse lasted over an hour. She does not need to relive it. Ever. I carefully wipe out all remaining traces, interweaving what I want her to know. Rafe squeezes my shoulder to let me know he agrees with my actions.

I insert a fake memory of the killer catching her and altering her mind to forget the murder, but make sure she knows what happened to John Pierre. I have to give her that. I go deeper into the snapshots to remove the most sordid parts. Examining them more this time for clearer traces of his face and details of his actions. I know who this man is, and if he gave her any of his blood, I must sever his link.

Thankfully, I can’t find a mental connection between the two. There’s no way for him to call her even if he wishes. He must not have forced her to drink from him. If I’m right and it’s who I think it is, maybe he has become so deranged he doesn’t keep his playthings anymore.

I ease out of Sheba’s mind, suggesting she rest for a while, in a last gentle push. I lower her sleeping body to recline on the couch then turn to face Rafe.

“Did you see?” My voice sounds thin and hollow.

Rafe nods.

“Could it really have been him?” I ask. “He looks so different.”

“Eight years is a long time.”

“I thought he was dead. They promised me.”

“The Tribunal of Ancients has their own rules for justice. You of all people should know that. I’m not sure what happened to him when they took him off our hands.”

I still can’t believe that fetid excuse for a vampire made it back here, but Rafe has to be right. It had to be a Tribunal ruling that saved him. “And I’m the fool who trusted them.”

Rafe fixes his eyes on mine, pulling me out of the horrible images plaguing my mind. “Now I know why Drew’s wife looked so familiar when you shared his memory with me. That dead woman is the key to this whole mess. I know it.”

Chapter Seventeen

I knew the woman looked familiar when I saw her in Drew’s mind, but I couldn’t quite place her face. The first time I saw her she was in sad shape. I blocked the whole experience because I couldn’t tolerate the images in my head anymore. It’s a difficult, and some may say a slightly unhealthy, way to live–but hey, it’s served me well over the years.

The woman from eight years ago, Angie, was the mate of a sadistic vampire. He’d kept her mind and will completely locked deep inside her head, and did whatever he wanted with her. When I first greeted the couple in the lobby of our inn, I had no idea what was going on. At the time, she pulled away from my handshake and I didn’t push trying to read her. I figured I would greet her later and see more then.

On their first night at The V V Inn, her then-husband, Ivan, a vampire about a hundred years old, requested a donor be sent to their suite. Debi, the employee who went, was the first ever to use the panic-button bracelets. Ivan attempted to force Debi into a mind-controlling stare. Debi had the wherewithal to trust her instincts and hit the button right when he locked gazes with her. When I answered the alarm, she was stripping out of her clothing.

That in itself wouldn’t have been a reason to worry, but the blank stare combined with the call for help prompted me to reach out and touch her to see if anything was wrong. Once I uncovered what Ivan was doing, I pinned him in place with my will. My next touch of Angie revealed her horrible plight. Ivan raped and tortured her for a full year with no one in their seethe the wiser. His control over her was so complete, he spoke through her and guided her actions in all matters.

But she was aware. And he knew it. He fed off her fear, disgust, and shame. Over the course of the year, he escalated what he made her do.

Their mate bond ensured she could never leave him. What was meant to be a gift of trust and love had been warped beyond any semblance of normalcy. Their minds were so interwoven through the mate bond ritual, that if the bond were to be broken, only the vampire would survive. When Ivan finally tired of her, he could find another victim to torment for years but ultimately Angie would perish.

So appalled by what I saw, I did what I often do—acted on instinct and damn the consequences.

I severed their mate bond, like a surgeon wielding a scalpel. Something, according to our ancients, cannot be done.

The ensuing mess and involvement of the Tribunal was horrendous. I even altered Ivan’s mind to make him think Angie had died during my rescue of Debi. It was touch and go there for a while on what his punishment from the ancients would be. I was assured the verdict for his horrendous abuse would be death. That will teach me to trust a bunch of old, pompous, undead assholes again.

I spent the next few days erasing and healing Angie’s mind. When Angie eventually left us, she was a new woman. I alone remembered her previous pain. It turned out exactly as I’d hoped.

“What are the chances this is not Ivan?” Rafe asks.

“I was wondering the same thing. I erased the location of the inn from his mind. Remember?”

“It was the smart thing to do—the only thing to do. It was a precaution in case they didn’t kill him.” He pauses and considers a moment. “Could you have been discovered in his mind—you know, tampering with his thoughts?”

“No, absolutely not,” I say with utter conviction.

“Hmm…”

Rafe apparently has his doubts, but that’s okay. I know the extent of my skill, and I’m not going to waste my time trying to convince him right now. Jackass. “I did not erase all his memories from that night, only the location of the inn. It was the easiest way to go unnoticed in my tampering.”

“Okay, then. Where does that leave us?” He ticks off on his fingers. “The Tribunal didn’t kill him,” one finger goes up. “He has somehow made it here,” second one follows. “And his former wife’s second husband is a guest with us.” The last annoying finger goes up, and I have to hold back the desire to reach out and break it off.

I hate it when the obvious is pointed out to me in a neat, little numbered format. I really don’t see how it helps me solve the problem.

“Earth to Dria, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Damn him. Of course, with my snide rambling thoughts I’m not thinking, period.

“I bet Ivan tracked Angie down after he served the sentence the tribunal gave him,” he says. “Or he escaped, and then went for Drew after he killed Angie.”

“Yes, yes, logically that makes sense. But you’re forgetting an important step. How did he know where to find Angie?” I raise my eyebrow in a challenge. I know what he’s thinking and I’m going to force him to say it, the rat bastard. “He had to know about Angie to track her to Drew.”

Rafe adds a little warily, seeing the heat in my gaze and the anger below the surface, “Which only would have worked if he got through your mind wipe of the events…”

“No! That. Did. Not. Happen.” I’m emphatic on this point, and I won’t budge. I know it didn’t go down that way, but he’s going to think I’m paranoid when I tell him what I truly think. My heated voice causes the sleeping Sheba to stir, so we rise and move into the kitchen to give her some peace.

Once there, Rafe takes a seat at the table. “What other alternative is there?” he asks, in a calm, reasonable tone one might use to address a maniac in a hostage situation.

Prick. I’ll prove myself right, in time, if not right now. But this is one time I wish I were wrong. “I think someone on the tribunal set me up.”

His expression turns pensive, like he’s debating the idea. He shakes his head and meets my angry stare. “No, Dria, I don’t see it happening. There are too many variables in that scenario. You make a huge assumption to think the ancients could be that corrupt.”

“Some of them have been in the past,” I say.

That gets Rafe’s attention. I don’t talk much about my twenty years as an enforcer for the Tribunal. “How long ago did you serve them?”

I cross my arms over my chest and look out the window into the snowy darkness. “Serve is not the right word, really. I took direction from them to hunt down particularly bad cases.” The sparkle from the rope lights dances in the windowpane, and a sigh escapes me at the simple beauty. “It was about four-hundred and fifty years ago, and my full powers had manifested about sixty years prior to that.”

“How many of them had you killed by the time you left?”

My head whips to him. I’ve never discussed this before, and his question has caught me by surprise. “How did you know?”

“You always get sad and distant when you talk of your past. I knew you must have left bodies behind.”

My eyes fill with moisture, but not a tear trickles. “I killed two of the worst ancients. After I drained them, I made them crawl into the full sun when their guards weren’t around. Both deaths looked like suicides, and I spaced them about a decade apart.”

“You’re very lucky.” He comes over, placing his arms around me in a hug. “They never connected it to the ‘Red Death’ rumor from the devastation in your first seethe?”

“No, I made sure my first name, Ceara, died with that seethe and made myself over in the fifty years after. We’ve gone over this before, Rafe. Why bring it all up again?” I pull away from his warmth and lean against the counter.

“You’ve never talked much about your time as an enforcer and I think it has colored your opinion of the Tribunal of Ancients.”

I snort through my nose at that one. “The Tribunal is necessary, I get that. But they are not all sunshine and daisies. Believe me.”

“I do, but in a thousand years, they have done a lot of good too. Kept the worse bastards from continuing on and have worked to hide your kind from detection.”

Glancing at the clock on the wall, I note the time, and realize I’m about to be saved from discussing any more of this unpleasant topic. I push away from my position next to the sink, grabbing the phone as I go. Punching in Jonathan’s number, I wait for him to pick up while responding to Rafe. “Yeah, well, looks like they didn’t do too well with this bastard. They let him go.”

Jon answers after the third ring, recognizing my voice right away. “I ordered breakfast for you before we head up to suite six,” I tell him. “But it’s kind of redundant now.”

“What is? Why?” Jon asks.

“ ’Cause we figured out who did it and why. Come on over. We’ve got a lot to fill you in on.”

I hang up, turning back to Rafe. I see he’s still unconvinced with my conspiracy theory. I shouldn’t dig, but I do anyway. “You’re remembering the polite faces of the Tribunal members during the dealings with Ivan. One of them must have had a hidden agenda… obviously.”

“We’ll talk it over with Jon when he gets here, okay? Maybe he’ll see something we’ve missed.”

“It’s a moot point anyway, isn’t it? We’re going to sniff the room in a minute and then the rest doesn’t really matter, does it?” A smug smile hangs on my face. “The scent will match Ivan and you’ll be groveling in apology.”

There’s a knock on the entrance door to our suite. “Is that the breakfast you mentioned to Jon?” I nod and Rafe heads to get the tray.

By the time he sets up the table with the contents from the tray and pours coffee from the carafe, Jon arrives at the back door. He looks fresh-faced and spectacular this morning. I bet he hooked up with one of his fellow employees last night when he cut out of here early. Good for him. It appears to have softened the tension he had last night after he stumbled on Rafe and me coming up from the basement.

Hanging up his coat, Jon turns to us, giving me a once over. “I heard what happened in the bar last night.” He smirks and adds, “News travels fast in this place.”

Er, which part is he referring to? Good God, it seems like last night went on forever. I raise my eyebrows to indicate he’ll need to let me know what the hell he’s talking about.

“Good thing you’ve got lots of skirts, eh?” Jon raises his eyebrows with a wiggle. “Charlie certainly loved retelling that part over and over.”

Oh, my ass on display. Great.

I shrug my shoulders. “Glad to be a constant source of amusement for the ex-lumberjack.” My face remains neutral. In the big scheme of what has happened, that detail seems inconsequential. “Rafe, would you mind filling him in on all that has happened? I want to clean up and get ready for the day.”

Rafe nods and digs in to his food while it’s still steaming. I leave the men and contemplate what I'm going to wear. I'll be meeting Asa today and will have to give him a tour of the place. Plus, I’ve got a tea scheduled with Olivia, and a nooner tour with Liam and his mate on the fun floor.

Dressing in layers sounds like the best approach. I strip off everything and take the fastest shower I can. I pull on a black lace Merry Widow with matching thong panties, pairing both with sheer black stockings to complete the first layer. Next, I choose a snug, soft gray, turtleneck cashmere sweater with a below-the-knee charcoal, pinstriped suit skirt. The nice part about the skirt is it will hide most of the thigh-high, patent leather black boots I’ll be wearing.

Zipping up the second boot, I take a last look in the full-length mirror before heading into the kitchen. It’s a fine line between intelligent innkeeper and a moment’s transformation into a sexual dynamo, but I think I did a good job this morning. I fluff up my hair and give it a good shake, ready for whatever rolls my way in the next few hours.

After grabbing my cell phone and the notebook containing my thoughts on the crime, I check my watch as I stroll into the hall. I’m happy to see it is almost eight and I’m right on time. Being late drives me nuts. The sounds from the small kitchen are of plates clanking and chairs scraping.

“How was breakfast, boys?” I ask, feeling cheerier than when I went in to change.

“Great.” Rafe pats his full stomach. “Paul is one of the best additions we’ve made to this place. When is his contract up?”

“His latest two-year contract expires the end of next season. You worried he’ll leave us?”

Jonathan snorts at that. “Where else can a chef earn two hundred K to cook for a max of thirty people a day? For that matter, who the hell pays the basic ground crew and maids a hundred? No worries on that front, Viv. They’ll stay as long as you want.”

I look over and raise an eyebrow. “Are you complaining? You earn more than both of them put together. If you want a salary adjustment, just say the word.”

Jon holds up both hands in a stop gesture. “Nah, don’t get hasty there, lady. No complaining, simply pointing out the employees have plenty of incentive to stay. Loyalty through excellent pay and great working conditions can go a long way in today’s economy, and you two provide both.” He winks. “And then there’s the perks the guests add. Never a dull moment here, that’s for damn sure.”

Rafe stands, pushing in his chair. He glances over his shoulder to the slumbering Sheba on the couch. “How long is she going to be out? I don’t want her in our suite when we’re not here.”

“Can you give the front desk a call and have someone take her back to her room?” I answer. “She’ll be out for at least six more hours.”

Jon surprises me and says, “I'll take her up. She’s staying on the second floor where we’re going, right?”

He walks across the room and gently slides his hands under the voluptuous curves of the cocoa-skinned beauty. “You did the right thing, Viv. Rafe filled me in. There was no other way you could have gone.”

I grunt in response. “Yeah, but I’m still shocked it’s Ivan. I really thought he was dead. What are your thoughts on how he found us?”

Jon stands, cradling the woman to his chest. He looks at Rafe, making brief eye contact before replying. “I think it will be interesting to see what we smell in the room. Let’s get a move on and I’ll share my thoughts when we’re done.”

Hmm… cagey son of a bitch. What the hell were those bastards talking about while I was gone?

Relax, Dria, we weren’t talking against you. Just exploring all angles. Both of us have doubts with your take on things, but that doesn’t mean you’re wrong.

I’m not wrong. Time will tell.

The three of us travel up the stairs and deposit Sheba in her suite. We proceed to the next wing where I use my master key card to unlock the door to suite six. The blood smell from last night is non-existent now that the rug and padding have been removed.

“Sheeet!” Jon says. “That hole is big. No choice, huh?”

“Nope,” Rafe answers. “It wasn’t pretty, that’s for sure.”

I ignore them and cross to the window.

“Poor bugger,” Jon continues. “What are we going to do with him? Bury him in the woods this spring or send him home with Sal’s group?”

Crap, do we have to discuss this now? Why is Jon always so damn kind and sweet? I feel like an uncaring sod because none of that occurred to me.

Rafe’s loving voice trickles in past my self-flagellation. Liebling, come now. The blood smell had you loopier than a bird hitting a window full speed. I’ll take care of the details. Don’t I always? Let it go and stay focused on why we’re here. Aloud he adds, “We’ll talk to Sal and see what he says. He’d be the one responsible for members of his seethe.”

I squat, as best as I can in high-heeled boots without pitching ass-over-tea-kettle, and clear my mind. I’m not a damn Were and I’m not scenting prey, so this could be tricky. Closing my eyes, I block the men’s chatter behind me.

Sheba’s recollections come into sharp focus and I see the scene unfold from her perspective once again. I bend forward and take a deep breath in. Shades of color bloom behind my eyes; a mix of scents, discernible to only the most sensitive nose, appear like clouds of rainbows.

I match what I’m seeing and smelling with what I recall from my memories of Ivan over eight years ago. It isn’t the same. Perhaps I’m not picking up the same unknown vamp that Jon scented. Only one way to find out.

Rising in one smooth motion, I call out to him. “Jon, come here. Tell me if this is the same scent you picked up yesterday.”

He saunters over, giving me a semi-insolent look. “I don’t need to. I can tell from here. Yes, it’s the same.”

My mind scrambles. Could Ivan’s smell have changed during his confinement? What does being imprisoned for years underground and bound by silver do to one’s internal scent? I saw the bastard in Sheba’s head, white hair or not. Angie was Drew’s wife. Dammit, Rafe saw it too.

I can tell by the looks they’re exchanging the shock must be apparent on my face and they’ve figured out the scent doesn’t match my memories of Ivan. I’m right and his scent must have changed.

Jon cracks a smile sending me over the edge. My power pushes forward and encircles both men in its grasp. The werewolf sways on his feet and Rafe squares himself, ready for what he knows will come.

My voice comes forth in a violent hiss. “Fuck you both and what you’re thinking! I know I’m right. Scent or no scent, that bastard is Ivan.”

Rafe clears his throat. “Relax, liebling, we don’t doubt you. But the evidence is different than what you got from Sheba’s thoughts.”

“Don’t try to placate me, you son of a bitch! It’s Ivan! I know it!”

“Could someone have messed with Sheba’s head and fooled you?”

I speak before thinking, the instinct coming to the front before logical examination can raise its ugly head. “No. No one was in her head but Ivan and me. I’m sure of it.”

They still don’t look convinced.

Jon unwisely adds, “Maybe a call to the Tribunal of Ancients is in order, you know, just to check.”

Prick! Good thing I’m not sleeping with him, or I’d be tempted to bite his cock off the next time it was in my mouth. Once glance at Rafe and I see he thinks Jon’s idea may hold some merit.

Et tu, Brute? I send through our mental connection.

Now, now, Dria, no need to sharpen the teeth and get angry. A phone call is not unwise.

The phone clipped to my waist starts to play Bad to the Bone and I fumble to grab it.

“Yes?”

“The plane from New York landed. Asa will be here in fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks.”

I hang up and clip it back to my waist. I pull my aura back in and turn a fierce, toothy smile on my tormentors. “You two were saved by the proverbial bell.”

They both look uncomfortable, and they should. I’m not some fledgling vampire, recently turned. I know what happened, and they are going to have to find the facts to match what I know.

“Let’s meet Asa,” I continue. “He may be able to shed some light on the subject as well.”

Chapter Eighteen

Together we traipse downstairs, the animosity a palatable thing hanging in the air between us. We’ve only got a little time before Asa arrives and I need to either smooth things over or alter the dynamics of the group.

“Jon, I appreciate your help in suite six,” I say. “Do you really need to meet Asa or can it wait ‘til later?”

“Vivian!” he says. “This is important! Why would you so callously push aside a powerful servant when meeting a possible adversary? You need me by your side to showcase your strength.”

Okaaaay, where the hell did that come from? Christ, he’s acting like a spurned lover in front of a new man. I can’t handle all this prima donna bullshit right now. Tact has never been a trait I’m good at, but I do try my best.

“Jon, I think you raise a very good point.” Yeah, validation should work, right? “But I do not think a show of strength is what we need in this instance. This young man has been sent to help us. I need to treat him with respect. If he truly could be a threat, don’t you think it would be wise of me to withhold some of my aces for when they are needed? Never underestimate the element of surprise.”

The fight goes out of him and his shoulders relax. “Good point.” We reach the lobby floor and he grunts. “Okay, I hate to admit it, but I guess my leaving would be smart in this case.” Decision made, he walks past the front desk and takes the north hall leading toward a back exit, tossing over his shoulder as he goes, “Call me if you need me.”

Rafe stares after his retreating form. Yeah, that’ll be the day, furball.

Cut him some slack, love, I do need him. I just don’t need him like he wants.

You want me to stay or go?

I’m fine with whatever you decide, but we should check on the guests and the hotel this morning. I’m going to be tied up with Asa. Would you mind handling some of the minutia stuff today?

Sure thing, babe. Rafe’s calm, unruffled voice fills my mind, soothing me. I’ll inspect the third-floor rooms for the tour and make sure we don’t let both dungeon rooms get reserved before noon. That was where you wanted Liam and Francesca to wind up, right?

Yes, and thanks. We’ll catch up in an hour, ‘kay?

Rafe angles to the front desk, and I move to the sitting area. Lowering myself onto a plush couch, I lean to grab a house phone and call Paul in the kitchen. Going on a hunch, I order refreshment for Asa and settle in to wait for him.

Within five minutes, Paul carries in a tray, bearing a stainless steel carafe and two white porcelain mugs, one already filled halfway with black coffee. He sets everything on the low table in front of me and smiles. “Anything else?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks.”

Paul heads back to his domain and I can tell by his jaunty step, he’s feeling better than he did when I passed him outside the gym earlier. I grab the half-filled mug and let the delectable coffee aroma fill my nose before taking a long, slow sip.

“Mmm, good stuff.”

The front door opens and in walks a tall, handsome young man. I set my drink down and rise to greet him properly. He slowly scans the room, side-to-side, and top to bottom. I bet he’s not missing a single detail in his perusal of the lobby. The click-clack of my boot heels striking the wood draws his steely-eyed gaze my way.

His shaved head reminds me of the military, as does his ramrod posture and neatly pressed clothes. He’s wearing black fatigues, a tight black t-shirt with a beat-up, army-issue jacket. Holy crap, I think I see the butt of a gun peaking out of a shoulder holster. The combat boots on his feet scream, I’m a macho guy, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s got stashed in all those damn pockets on his pants. I wouldn’t doubt he’d have a hand grenade in one of ‘em.

“Hello, Asa, welcome to The V V Inn. How was your flight?”

Cool, dark blue eyes appraise me and he nods in greeting. “Long, but I’m glad to be here. Cy told me of your trouble. I hope I can help.”

“Come, take a seat,” I motion behind me. “I can fill you in on what we’ve learned since I spoke to Cy. Bloodcoffee?”

His face lights up and a dimple peeks out his right cheek. “Thanks.”

I pour from the carafe into the extra mug, and the unmistakable scent of fresh blood spills out with the coffee. “You’ll need more nutrition to stay up ‘round the clock. I thought a little burst when you got here would be good.”

“Ahh, I see why you’ve done so well in this business over the years. You anticipate before the need is even known—the sign of an excellent hostess.”

Well, he’s surprising as well. He’s obviously traveled and done homework on me.

“Thank you. I knew a touch of blood would never be turned down. Now let me catch you up on all that has happened since we called Cy…”

Asa finishes his third cup, placing the mug on the low table in front of us. “I think you’ve been around long enough to know the complexities behind tampering in someone’s head. I’m more inclined to believe you should trust your gut on this one.”

I’m liking him more and more by the minute. The fact he didn’t interrupt me in my retelling was key. I can’t stand it when men don’t let me finish a sentence.

“How would you explain the different scent in the room?” I ask.

“I would think being bound in silver and starved for years would change just about everything in a vampire. Not many could survive and remain sane.”

“You’re assuming they were sane when they were imprisoned. I don’t think that’s always the case.”

“I’d like to listen in later when you call the Tribunal, if I may?” His voice sounds tentative.

I appreciate he’s not presumptive and didn’t come in here all bold as brass. Either Cy told him the best way to handle me or Asa’s got a really good head on his shoulders. Bluster and loud arrogance will make me boot his ass back to New York faster than blood will have a chance to congeal in the coffee pot.

“Yes, Asa, we’ll include you on all aspects of the investigation as we move forward.” I stand up and wait for him to follow. “I thought a tour of the main building would be in order and we can talk more along the way.”

“Sounds good, thanks.” He rises to follow and the gun winks out at me again.

“That gun you have is a surprise. Do you find you need it much after you turned?”

His face goes flat with no hint of an expression leaking in. “I have found my aim and ability with it is unmatched after my change, and that a silver bullet to the skull can slow down anyone.”

“Good point, but a bullet won’t kill a vampire.”

“It can detain one long enough for me to run him down and behead him.”

I sharpen my gaze on him at that statement. He’d have made a good enforcer for the Tribunal with such cold detachment, but I wonder…“How many vampires have you beheaded since you’ve been undead?”

His face relaxes. He dips his head down and looks over at me sideways as we walk across the lobby to the east wing. “None yet, but I’ve had to shoot a few at the club and use silver cuffs to detain them for Cy. He doesn’t think killing them is good for business.”

I laugh at the understatement and motion ahead of us with my hand. “Up ahead, through those doors, is a vestibule to the pool. Care to go in or would you like to look around later on your own after I give you a basic rundown?”

I have no desire to subject myself to Mikey in front of him, but I’ll be damned if I say it out loud. I’m sorry, as a joke my husband has trained the parrot to attack me on sight. Ugh, freakin’ kill me now.

“No, I’ll go by later. I know it’s a big place and I don’t need a room-by-room tour. Besides, I like to explore on my own.” His mouth turns up in a genuine smile.

I bet he likes the idea of the solitude he could get in a place like this, as opposed to the Manhattan club scene. Yeah, I don’t blame him for wanting out of that. It wouldn’t be my speed either.

We change direction and walk back across the vaulted lobby, past the front desk. Asa comments as he looks at the chandelier, “I noticed from the air, this main building is laid out like a T, but with all equal segments coming from this central junction. Correct?”

“Yes, the main lobby is the hub and all the wings branch from here like arms. We’re heading into the north-facing wing, or bottom portion of the T now.” We walk down the six-foot-wide, red carpet runner, with dark wood flooring peeking out on either side. The cream wainscoting on the lower half of the wall blends seamlessly into the detailed molding that divides it from the upper wall, which boasts a soft, pale yellow.

“This first door to the left leads to the gym.” I nod my chin toward it. “The one on the right is a dojo or sparring room.” We continue down the hall that ends in an exit sign about sixty feet farther ahead. “Here,” I gesture to the left, “is the media room, where we screen movies daily. The last room to the right is the game room. Pool tables, Ping-Pong, air hockey, foosball, that kind of thing.” I pause and turn my head to face him. “So, Asa, how did you get out of the military after you turned?”

He hesitates in his stride, but doesn’t miss a beat. “I didn’t, ma’am. I went AWOL and then faked my death.”

Oh, is that all? My hand reaches for the locking bar on the metal fire door. I push it open and lead him into the hot tub grotto. “That had to have been hard.” The biting cold whips my long hair and I stifle a shudder as I step onto the paved path.

I wonder about Asa’s age and family background. He hasn’t been undead for long and his parents and siblings may still be alive. His Aunt Cali may be the only one who knows he didn’t die overseas. What would I have done in his situation? What did I do, come to think of it? It’s been so long, only flashes leak here and there when I try to remember. At times, I think I’ve suppressed almost as much as I remember about my life. I wish more for this young vampire.

Waving again with my arm, I encompass the whole area in a swift gesture, “Bunch of hot tubs out here. Oh, and there’s the shed with the dead John Pierre locked inside.”

Asa lets out a bark of laughter behind me. “Man, Cy wasn’t kidding with how abrupt you can be.”

I stop and spin around to face this young whip of a vampire. “There are a lot of things Cy doesn’t know about me, and lots of things he assumes.” Deciding in a split second to take no more chances with this pup, I do what I often do—act first and think later. Instinct is just that. Instinct.

Reaching out, I brush against his cheek. The cold has not touched either of us deeply yet and he still feels passably warm. His thoughts and desires are like golden serpents tumbling over one another with no head and no tail. I touch on the largest coil, feeling his want push against my power.

He loved the military and feels lost without it. His strong desire to protect and serve for the greater good of his country had not diminished during his five tours overseas in Iraq and Afghanistan.

An unbelievable feat in itself.

Asa wants, more than anything, to be doing what he was doing—protecting others. I remove my hand from his face and continue on the path leading to a side entrance in the guest dining room.

“What the hell was that? Why did you touch me just now?” Asa demands.

I smile as I use my keycard and pull open the door to the dining room. “What was what? A lady can’t touch a handsome man when he’s standing in front of her?” I toss a playful glance over my shoulder, trying to diffuse his mistrust and redirect while stepping into the warm air.

Without a shadow of doubt, Asa would make an excellent security addition to the resort. Rafe will be thrilled. Now, I just have to accept it.

The young vampire follows me into the hotel and addresses the issue, yet again. “You’re trying to tell me that touch meant nothing?”

Damn, he’s a wily bastard. I need to be extra careful around the smart ones. “No, I’m just not going to answer you.” I grin wickedly. “It’s my prerogative. As of today, I am paying your salary.”

A loud throat clearing brings us around. “Morning, mate.” Tommy gets up from a nearby table, offering his hand to Asa. “I’m Tommy. Work the front desk.”

The stiff demeanor of the former military man doesn’t bend. He extends his own hand in polite response. “Asa.”

Once they shake hands, I note Tommy’s eyes open a bit in surprise. He knows what it means if Asa’s hand is cooler, even though we came in from the outside. The fact we aren’t wearing coats is a big tip-off too.

Tommy looks in my direction, raising an eyebrow. “Guess Asa won’t be staying out in the employee apartments with the rest of us?”

“No, he won’t, good guess. Asa will be close to the main building staying in one of the cabins.”

Asa scratches his head and snorts. “Cabins? No, I’ll stay in the main building or all bets are off and I leave.”

Jeesh! He sure is a pushy thing. I hear Paul choke on his drink in the kitchen. Damn, he’s laughing at this little drama.

Remaining calm on the surface, I keep my face blank. “We can discuss things with Rafe. Nothing’s set in stone. Let’s continue on the tour.” Without a backward glance, I head into the kitchen, expecting Asa to follow. Which, of course, he does. If I could kick the smiling Paul on my way past him, I would. That would make me look childish though, so I refrain.

“Our apartment is through here.” Unlocking the door, I lean into the wood with my shoulder. “And there’s another area I’d like to show you as well.”

The door closes behind him and I’m glad I don’t have to look at the astonished expressions of Tommy and Paul any longer. In the years they’ve both worked here, we’ve never had a vampire employee. I’m betting the gossip will spread like wildfire through the ranks in no time.

“Love, is that you?” Rafe says from our office.

He knows very well it’s me. Rafe is calling out so our guest doesn’t know the extent of our bond. I’m not concerned about it anymore, having made up my mind. But apparently someone is.

“Yes, Rafe, it is. I’ve got Asa with me. Giving him a quick tour.”

We hear Rafe get up from his chair as Asa and I move through the living area and enter the kitchen.

Rafe strides from the hall and the three of us meet by the rough, hand-hewn table in the center of the room. They make their introductions to each other, then Rafe asks, “Taking him down to the basement next?”

“Yes, care to join us?” I say, already knowing his response.

“No, I’m good. Still catching up on some paperwork.” Are you planning on showing him everything down there? Rafe inquires. Or just the basics?

In for a penny, in for a pound.

“This way, Asa.” I lead him into the hall and basement.

We descend the stairs, flipping light switches, and enter the room Rafe and I had hot monkey sex last night. Ah, good times.

“How did you manage building a basement with the permafrost?”

“Good question! You are the sharp one, eh?” I walk across the room to the workbench. “Fire, and lots of it, all summer long. It was the only way to get through and make the foundation deep enough.”

“Must be nice when money is no object.”

“I wouldn’t agree.” Reaching up behind me to the pegboard, my fingers brush the antique hammer from Rafe’s father.

Dria, you sure this is a good idea?

No, I’m not. I’ll have to kill him if I’m wrong.

I grasp the handle and swing it away from the pegboard. The wall in the corner, next to where I held on to the rafters, slides open to the left.

Shock covers Asa’s face. “Holy shit, did that wall just open?”

I launch my body across the space between us and before he can think skippity-doo-dah, my hands are around his throat and I’m lifting him off his feet. His eyes bug, both of his hands come up trying to pry my grip from beneath his jaw.

“You can’t go forward from this point, lad. Not without some conditions. We’re at the spot where you swear allegiance to me or I rip off your head and bury you in the north corner. Which is it to be?”

Chapter Nineteen

“What the fuck is wrong with you, lady?” Asa chokes out. “Let me down!”

I drop him to the floor, but it’s not all that far because he’s taller than me to begin with.

“Asa, this is the moment you’ve read about in history books.”

He’s rubbing his neck and glaring at me. Like I care. The finger marks heal before my eyes. I knew they wouldn’t last long.

“What have I done? What brought this on?” His righteous indignation comes through with every crisp word.

“Nothing, darling. Did you really think I’d let you into every aspect of my security simply on Cy’s say so?” I pace around him, forcing him to turn and face me or risk having me at his back.

“I thought Cy was your friend?” His voice sounds squeaky. “I’m not sure what the hell is going on. What books are you talking about?”

Do young people today not read about vassals swearing fealty to a lord? Idiots. I finish the first circle and start again. I forgot how much fun it could be to mess with someone. Energy pulses under my skin and the tiny hairs lift on my nape. “He is my friend. I hold friends at arm’s length, at best. I haven’t lived this long by being stupid.”

“I’m not here to insult your intelligence,” he says. “I’m here to help solve a murder!”

Good, he sounds ruffled. Which is exactly what I want. “Are you so ignorant that you have not learned the ways of our world when going from one powerful vampire master to another?”

“What?!” He stops, his eyes roaming around the room before he responds, with a slightly calmer voice. “No, guess I haven’t.”

“You are here, within my walls and you want to know my secrets.”

“I come with the best of intentions,” he says. “What do I need to do to prove it?”

“Did Cy release you from your bond before you got on the plane?”

“Yes! It was a precaution he said…in case…” The light dawns in his eyes and I see he gets it.

Rafe interrupts in my mind. Dria! Is this what you truly want?

We passed the point of no return when he got off the plane. Sorry, darling, he’s just too damn smart and observant. Are you okay with it?

You know this was what I wanted. You know the answer.

“You need to answer formally to my next question, Asa. And think carefully before you respond.”

I take a deep breath, stop my circular pacing, and pull myself to my full height of five-seven. My power pushes from my inner cage and knocks the unsuspecting young vampire on his heels. It enwraps his body and then straightens him, against his will.

His voice screeches in a high-pitched whine of fear. “Fucking A! What the hell is this? Is it you?”

It’s kind of funny to see this muscle-bound, shaved head, badass-military guy getting flustered. Did Asa know what Cy got him into when he got on that plane? Poor thing, I doubt it. Best to make the most of it now.

Rafe, come down to witness, please.

A clattering of steps sound from the floor above. Rafe leaps when he’s halfway down the steps and skitters to a halt a few feet from us.

“Didn’t miss the good part yet, did I?” He has a gleam in his eye.

Damn him, he’s enjoying this too. More vampires mean a safer seethe, and Rafe will sleep better at night knowing these vamps have our back.

“No,” I reply. “The good part is coming up.” I flex my power and Asa’s body twitches forward.

“Will you give your life to serve and protect your new Vampire Master, Vivian Alexandria Ceara McAndrews, and place the needs of the seethe above your own?” I wait a moment to let that dramatic bit seep in.

I stand square, with my hands at my sides. Exerting more power, I force the young vampire to his knees. Is this display really necessary? I think so and I’m not willing to take any chances. Revealing my true age shows him the scope of my power, but not the deadly one of vampire mind control that I always hide. I think it’s a safe compromise for now.

Stepping forward, I extend my left arm and the nails of my right hand come to rest on my wrist. I lock gazes with Asa and raise an eyebrow. “Do you know what comes next, my dear?”

Asa swallows, shifts his eyes to my wrist. “Just like this? You’re willing to take me in already?” He starts to stammer. “I…I’m confused. I thought it would take longer.”

“I’m sorry, but you really left me no option when you wanted to stay at the main building. I knew that in order for you to help solve the murder you would need to know everything. Staying here, as opposed to one of the cabins, meant you would need to know all our secrets built into this hotel. If you know them all, I can’t allow you to leave.”

“What if I say no?” he inquires.

Little bugger is testing me now. If he says no, I really only have two options—kill him or wipe his mind and send him back to Cy. But he doesn’t know that last one is a possibility.

“If you say no, I ask you to leave. After all, you haven’t seen anything yet. Just a door in a basement.”

I know what he wants, deep inside. My touch in the grotto revealed all. He’s wondering about my motives. Too damn bad. I don’t need to explain myself to the likes of him.

“How old are you?” His voice is calmer now, more controlled.

“Answer my question first, and no more dilly-dallying.”

He bows his head, and his body loses the tension he had when I first unleashed my aura. He appears more accepting and certain about his choice. I rein my power in and free him from my hold. He remains on his knees of his own free will, looking up at me a bit with his head still angled downward.

“I am honored to give my life for yours. I gladly accept the offer to enter the McAndrews seethe. I understand that one may only leave by death or by leave from the master. I am bound to you by blood and dishonored with penalty of death if I fail in my duty to protect.”

I rip my nails across my wrist, thrusting the arm forward as I do so. I state the expected archaic response: “Drink the rewards of your place within the seethe. Take some of my power to increase your own.”

My blood wells up in the gash I’ve made, holding at the torn edges, but refusing to spill and drip to the ground. The air fills with the strong scent of my powerful blood. Asa’s head comes up, quick as a wink, and his eyes go black with need.

I move closer so my wrist will be at his mouth, while signaling with my eyes that it’s okay to drink. He reaches out and grasps my forearm to hold me in place, lowering his mouth to the jagged wound.

Rafe’s voice cuts across the tension of the moment. “I hereby bear witness to the newest addition of the seethe and will report it to the Tribunal record keeper.”

Asa’s lips lock onto my wrist, drawing in with a healthy pull of force. He coaxes out as much as he can before the cut heals. I feel his teeth nibble slightly at the flesh, trying to get more.

Guessing he’s had about an ounce or so, I pull my half-healed wrist away from his mouth. He looks longingly at the skin as it knits together, and lets out a sigh as it closes. “That was unbelievable. I have no idea how old you are, but I do know you’re the oldest I’ve met.”

I rub at the skin in an offhanded manner. It freaks me out a little to have someone other than Rafe bite me. Good God, it’s been so long, I forgot this part. Damned if I’m going to have to do this every month. Sheesh, a part of me thinks it would be easier to kill him when this is all said and done.

I look at Rafe, smiling from ear to ear. He knows exactly what I’m thinking, but he’s so darn happy he got his way he isn’t saying a word.

Rafe strides forward and smacks a palm on the back of Asa’s shoulder. “Welcome to the family. Ready for that tour?”

His shit-eating grin makes me want to smack him, but I manage to hold back.

The full force of my blood works its way into Asa’s system and he looks like a giddy schoolboy. “This is so fucking cool, man, I haven’t felt anything like this since I smoked hash in Amsterdam on leave.” He jumps up from the basement floor in one swift movement. “Wow, I feel… feel… so ALIVE.” He rushes forward and wraps me up in a big ol’ bear hug, lifting my feet off the floor. “Damn, you’re the best!”

His body is hard, all of it, every long inch. Yikes. The energy rolls off him in waves, the feel of his cheek on mine, it is all rather disconcerting. He brushes up against my ear, “It’s you’re turn now, right?”

Asa tilts his head and exposes his neck to me. I will not exchange blood with him. Guess I should have clarified that part first. He needs to redirect this rush of power, but not at me.

“Down, boy.” My tone is firm, but he doesn’t move. “Seriously, put me down. Now.”

Asa lowers me to the concrete and takes a step back, confusion clear on his features. “I don’t understand. Don’t you want to seal the bond?”

“I do not require you to give me your blood.” My voice comes out cool.

“Why not?”

“I refuse to take your will and make you my servant. I do not need to compel you to serve and protect. You will do so purely for the strength you gain in having my blood.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Ah, he’s so young. The fool, he’s lucky he made it out of the Middle East alive and not serving the vampire who turned him for all eternity.

“Do you know what a servant is, Asa?”

“You mean when a human and vampire exchange blood? Yes, of course.”

“The bond compels the human to want to protect and serve the vampire.” He’s looking at me with his eyebrows raised. I don’t think he gets it. “The human has no inner desire to kill the vampire because of this bond.”

“Yeah, so?”

“When a young vampire exchanges blood with a master vampire, he or she becomes their servant. It’s a life insurance policy to ensure as you gain in power, you don’t try to usurp the throne, so to speak.”

“Is that what you meant by ‘take my will’?” I nod. “Does it have any other effect?”

Rafe snorts, “Don’t you think that ‘protect and serve’ covers enough?”

I have a flash of insight. “Cy didn’t drink from you did he?”

“No, but I wouldn’t have hurt him.”

Rafe shakes his head and heads for the stairs. “You’re his wife’s nephew. He knew that, you dumbass. I’ll let you finish down here and I’ll get back to doing the bills.”

I move to the workbench, leaning back against it again. Examining Asa from head to toe, I’m glad to see his erection is gone. Although it’s a normal response to ingesting old vampire blood, it’s best not to dwell on it too much. I’ll pretend I never knew it was there to begin with. “How are you feeling with the blood?”

“Like I could fly! It’s fucking extraordinary, you should bottle that shit.”

Thinking of the half dozen vials already chilling in the mini-fridge on the third floor, I smile. “Yeah, good idea.”

The intelligence I saw in this young vampire’s face earlier in the lobby creeps back in and his look becomes shrewd. “I’ve asked three times now, are you going to tell me how old you are?”

“I’m over five hundred fifty years old, but my exact age doesn’t matter that much.” I don’t bother to mention that my power signature feels much, much older. It’s a result of all the vampires I drained as an enforcer and the darker time before that as well. I’m not really sure how old I actually “feel” to one who can read power well. Perhaps well over a thousand years, though I’ve never asked anyone.

“Criminy, you look damn good for your age.”

“Well, I’m married, and that is that. Nothing will ever come of our bond, so look elsewhere, capisce?”

He steps back, like he’s surprised. “Little full of yourself, eh? I was just saying you look good. I wasn’t inviting a roll in the hay.”

I can’t help it—I toss my head back at my own pompous assumption and laugh. “So sorry about that. Want to see the rest of the basement now? You can drill me for info as we go, ‘kay?”

Walking in the direction of the open doorway in the wall, I don’t bother to wait for confirmation. I hear his heavy, booted feet march behind me. I hit the lights as I enter the opening and wait for the reaction I know is soon to follow.

“Holy shit! This basement runs under the entire first floor?” His voice sounds incredulous and I sneak a look back at him. Yup, his face mirrors it.

“Yes, it does. The north wing too. You just can’t see that angle from here.”

The space opens before us, interspersed with support columns every twenty feet or so. Asa walks past me, further into the basement under the hotel. “Why haven’t you divided it up into rooms?”

“My blood has made you stronger for now, and maybe a little less sensitive, but it is below grade down here. That would be a bitch to keep heated. And besides, we have storage rooms. There is no need to keep things down here. This area is unknown to all except Rafe, Jonathan, myself…and now you.”

I wait for a response but Asa wanders as though oblivious. He spots the first ladder descending from the ceiling and looks from it to the one past it, about twenty-five feet down, and then to the next. “Where do these ladders go?”

“They are escape routes. Every room has an access door in a closet, linked to the one above it on the next floor. All come straight down to here.” I’m quite pleased with the design, but he seems unimpressed. Maybe it is all too much to take in at once.

“There are tunnels leading from this foundation to other locations on the property.” I walk over to one of the access doors spaced between the first and second ladder. “Six in all. This one leads to cabin one. I’ve got a map of the resort for you upstairs. I recommend you walk around later and explore the outside before you venture through the tunnels. Safer that way, so you know where you are when you come up.”

Asa takes it all in, resting his hand on the first ladder and looking around at the vast space. It goes on and on for several hundred feet.

“How? How did the workers do all of this?”

“Dynamite, fires, drilling machinery, and back-breaking work. You name it, they probably used it.”

“The time it must have taken…” His voice holds a note of awe and he has a shell-shocked look to him.

Ah, now I see where we’re going with this. He’s still so young and only undead for a little over a year. It must be hard to grasp when you haven’t been around something of this magnitude.

“Yes, it took over a decade just to get the foundation done,” I tell him. “Building this place took longer than any of my previous resorts, but it’s a lot larger too. This one was meant to last.”

Asa nods his head as he walks into the middle of the wide foundation and stands near a thick support beam. “This is where I’d like to build a command center.”

“Excuse me, a what?”

He starts to walk off and pace the area available, turning in sharp angles every now and then, and gesturing with his arms. “Here, down in the basement. I told you I wanted to be in this main building and when we beef up the security, this is where it will all be linked.”

“Umm… I don’t recall offering this space.”

He flashes me a toothy smile. “Would you rather have it in one of the guest rooms? Or we take out the dojo? Doesn’t look like there are a lot of options.”

Damn, he’s right. I still don’t appreciate the high-handedness he’s showing. I never designed a security system into the plans, yes, that’s true. They weren’t popular in the eighties when I got the ball rolling on this place. We added on the observation rooms in the nineties and until now, with the murder, extra security hasn’t seemed necessary.

“We’ll talk about it,” he says.

Oh good, another person with whom I have to “clear” things. It took so long to get things right with Rafe, I don’t relish the thought of having to discuss logistics with yet another person. And then there’s Drew’s petition, too. Oh boy.

I check my watch. “It’s close to ten-fifteen and I’ve got to meet with someone at eleven. Let me give you a quick walk-through of the second floor and then you can take the map and explore on your own.”

I’m not looking forward to tea with Olivia. I wish I had kept my mouth shut on an invite. Teaching her how to attract a vampire and become his servant? What the hell was I thinking?

Chapter Twenty

“Olivia, only you can determine which man is right for you.” My patience runs thin. It has been a hectic morning and now dealing with her indecision frustrates me.

“Drew was just so incredible last night that I’m starting to rethink my position.” She looks up, wistfulness and hope sparkling in her eyes.

I don’t have the time for this anymore. The tour with Asa was rushed. Rafe had to take over to help me out so I could meet Olivia in time for tea. What I envisioned would be a mini-lesson in how to seduce a man has turned into a microscopic pick-apart of last night and I feel like screaming. At heart I’m not a good girly-girl.

I steal a look at my wrist, confirming the time is creeping closer to noon sooner than I’d like. “Well, darling, while I would love to chat about this longer, I’m sorry to say that I can’t.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. “I have to meet guests for a private tour of the third-floor rooms.”

“Oh, those rooms sound like fun. Can I come?” She sounds like she expects me to say yes. Poor thing, I hope I can let her down easy without ruining the girlfriend camaraderie I’ve spent so long cultivating.

“This one’s a private request, dear, so I’m sorry, but no. Not this time. But tours are given throughout the day, so you can check with the front desk and they can set you up.”

We make our farewells, kissing on the cheeks, like old friends. She’s good at heart and does deserve happiness. I hope I can help her find it before she leaves. Heading to the staircase, I spot Rafe coming out of the dining room.

You’re a sight for sore eyes. That tea seemed to go on forever.

That one’s all you. Rafe’s amusement comes through loud and clear. You’re the one who suggested it last night.

Yes, yes, I know. Does that mean I can’t regret it and bitch every now and then?

We’re face to face at the bottom of the steps and I stand on tiptoes to kiss him gently on the lips. I’d rather be naked in bed with him and he knows it. That’s not to say we aren’t going to enjoy the next hour, but still, I have my preferences.

Rafe breaks the kiss and takes my hand as we climb to the third floor.

How did things go with Asa? I ask.

Not bad. He’s real intense about security and has a lot of great ideas.

Peachy. Sounds like you’re on board with the command center idea I had to hear about for forty-five minutes? We clear the first landing and continue up to the next one. The warmth from him seeps into my hand and courses up my arm. I run my other hand along the smooth railing, smelling the wood polish freshly applied to the banister.

We need to get Asa a room, pronto, or he’s going to camp out in our living room until we catch Ivan, Rafe says.

My head whips around at that. You finally accept that I’m right and it’s Ivan?

I don’t doubt what you saw in Sheba’s mind. I question the fact it really is him if the scents didn’t match up. Some other vamp could have put those images conveniently into Sheba’s head. He sees my face losing the happy calm look I had after our kiss and rushes to continue. But Asa believes you and that’s the premise he’s working from. If we have a madman loose on the premises, he wants to find him and keep us safe.

We reach the last landing and look around for the guests we’re supposed to meet. I try to pull free from his grasp to open room sixteen, one of the dungeon rooms.

“Wait.” Rafe holds on to my hand and gives me a gentle tug back. “Have you tried to reach out and touch Ivan’s mind yet?”

I wondered when he’d get around to thinking of that. “Yes, and no luck.” His face clears and he looks relieved. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t him. It means his mental signature has been altered after the torture of his imprisonment.” I’ve seen first-hand how that can happen. I’ve been there when the Tribunal releases a vampire from imprisonment. Sometimes, death is the kindest option.

By the expression on Rafe’s face, I see my explanation is an idea he’s not yet ready to accept. Our guests will be here any moment, and I’m grossly overdressed for the tour. Grasping the hem, I remove my turtleneck sweater. The cashmere slides up and my Merry Widow-covered nipples harden when the air hits them. I toss the sweater at Rafe and reach behind me to unzip my suit skirt. As it shimmies down my hips, I step out of the fabric and spread my boot-covered thighs into a wider stance. “Ah, much better.”

Impeccable timing being my forte, Liam and Francesca round the corner of the hall.

We’ll talk more later, hon, okay?

Rafe moves closer to me and reaches out his free hand to run it down my hip, curving around to my backside. Oh, that’s fine by me. This is going to be fun. He gives me a playful smack on the ass. You can count on it.

“Liam, Francesca,” I call in cheerful voice, “so good to see you again. How was your first night?”

“The hotel’s fantastic. Its reputation is well-earned,” Liam answers.

He looks well rested and content. Good. Exactly the right frame of mind to try something new.

“Are we starting here in the north wing or in the east one?” he asks.

I grin. He has no idea he’s not going to see any other rooms. “We’ll start in here,” I reply. “I’m sure there is bound to be something you’ll like.”

Liam’s eyes take in my outfit in a slow perusal from head to foot. “This doesn’t look like standard inn-keeper attire. Although I have to admit, it looks good on you.”

“Glad you like it. I have something similar in store for Francesca.”

“You mean there are clothes in there I can borrow?” Francesca asks with a high pitch to her voice.

“Oh yes, something for everyone.” I give her a playful wink in return.

Francesca’s eyes dilate in excitement. Her breathing pants in and out fast, in short bursts. She looks like she’s already turned on. Either Liam was a busy man before arriving here, or she’s anticipating the tour so much she has worked herself up on her own.

Without further ado, Rafe sweeps his key card down the lock and opens the door. I lead the three inside. “Step into my parlor…”

Rafe finishes for me, “Said the spider to the fly.”

My boot heels rap sharply on the slate tile floor, echoing and bouncing off the matching tiled walls. There’s no fabric in here to cushion and absorb sound so every nuance is amplified. Twinkling lights dangling from the black ceiling lend an air of mystique. The dancing shadows from the pre-lit candles make the whole space come alive with movement.

“Fabulous!” cries Francesca. She runs a hand over a wooden rack with silver-lined cuff restraints as she walks by.

Liam’s cool demeanor is gone—a spark of equal excitement lights deep in his blue eyes. His rugged face turns up in a small smile while he watches his mate become animated in her anticipation. Francesca lingers over each item, appearing to get caught up in a spell that she alone is weaving.

I nod to Rafe and he walks to a corner where a large dressing screen stands. He steps behind it and I know he’s stashing my clothes there as well as removing some of his own. In the time it takes Francesca to discover the silver shackles hanging on the empty back wall, Rafe emerges from behind the screen.

My lover stands still, shirtless and wearing a black leather hood. The sculpted muscles of his chest bunch beneath his taut skin like an animal about to pounce. Rafe’s snug jeans ride low on his body. The kissable angles of his hips create a line that points straight to his fly. The mask hiding his facial features from view triggers heat pooling low in my middle. I want him now and damn the fact we aren’t alone.

Francesca’s fascination with the silver restraints on the wall have made her miss Rafe’s entrance.

I walk to her and pick up one of the cloth-lined shackles. “Would you do me the honor?”

Her gaze whips up to meet my eyes. “Really? You’d let me bind you here?” Her excitement rolls off in palpable waves. Her face flushes and her lips part. I bet her panties are damp at the thought of tying up a vampire.

“But, of course. I know a guest would never try to harm me,” In actuality, I know no such thing.

That’s the real reason Rafe is here; he’d never allow me to do this without being close by to protect me. The fact that I could easily control their thoughts doesn’t matter to him. In essence, it’s a small thing to ease his mind so I don’t argue.

I step to the wall and raise my arms for the cuffs dangling from the stone on both sides above my head. Shaking my long hair down my back, I spread my legs and push my ass out on display. Liam comes closer to watch as Francesca binds my left wrist in place.

“You aren’t in pain from the silver?” His voice holds honest curiosity.

“No, the cuffs are lined, see?” I angle my bound arm to give him a good look inside the metal circle.

Liam grunts. “Interesting.”

He reaches out and runs the back of one hand along the silver chain attaching the cuff to the wall. The soft hiss of searing vampire flesh and the pungent aroma of singed hair wafts into the air. He removes his hand quickly and the smell dissipates while the small burn heals. Francesca moves to the other side and repeats the process on my right wrist, securing it as well.

Flexing my arms, I tug on the cuffs, pulling the thick chains from the wall. The silver negates my vampire strength. The chains don’t budge and my point is made. I have nothing to fear with my spouse here, but any vampire would be helpless in this position. Takes a lot of trust for one of us to voluntarily submit. I think the rewards are worth it; hopefully Liam will agree in a few moments.

Looking over my shoulder, I see all the players in the room. Francesca takes a step back to admire her handiwork. Rafe chooses that moment to step forward, causing her to jump back at the sight of him.

“Whew! You surprised me. Where did you get the hood?” she asks.

Rafe has pulled himself into the scene and speaking right now would shatter the fragile spell. He jerks his head to indicate the direction of the screen but walks straight past her like she doesn’t exist. The couple retreats a few feet, but they’re still close enough to see the action clearly.

Rafe stands behind me, stepping between my spread legs. The rough seam of his jeans brushes against my ass as he leans in to my neck. The rustle of the leather mask is faint as he pushes it up to bare his mouth. My hair is pushed aside by a gentle hand. Hot breath warms the skin of my neck. A wet tongue traces a large vein and I moan at the sensations tumbling through me. Wetness soaks the small cotton square of my panties and the scent of my arousal rises in the air.

Pushing my bottom out more, I try to grind against the hardness I feel in his pants. Rafe steps away, wanting none of that. He wanders to the items hanging beyond the shackles and chooses a leather crop.

“Oh my, Vivian, I had no idea the extent of the tour we’d be getting today. Bravo.” Liam’s voice sounds neutral but slightly taunting.

Men have an obvious “tell.” I see the rise in his pants, which contradicts the arrogant tone in his voice.

“Shh…I want to watch,” his wife says.

Francesca doesn’t miss Liam’s erection either. She snakes a hand down and massages the impressive bulge through his pants. Her movements are gentle and teasing. Enticing the strong master vampire to do as she requests with her actions while watching quietly.

Rafe’s calloused hands guide my body into the position he desires. Turning my face to the wall, I can no longer see everyone. I rest my forehead against the cool slate and wait. A hand runs between my open legs to test my dampness. A guiding touch on my hips tilts my round cheeks more.

The flat tip of the leather crop runs up the left side of my body, over my shoulders, and down the other side, stopping at my right knee. There’s a shuffling behind me. The crop sings through the air a split second before the crack of it hitting my backside resounds throughout the room.

I whimper and push back toward the crop, asking for more.

The sing and smack of the crop fires off in a rapid three-shot staccato. A loud moan escapes my lips and the skin on my ass feels on fire. A gentle touch in a circular motion rubs the sting away. My treacherous hips undulate in time with the caress.

A finger passes under the material in the crack of my bottom and slides to the wetness between my legs. Rafe pushes a thick digit into me and swirls. Wet sucking noises accompany the attention as I clench my inner walls around the invading presence. The invader withdraws, moving past my opening to circle my erect clit.

Smack!

A warm, solid hand makes contact with one cheek while the teasing pressure on my center drives me higher. Both hands leave my body and I pull against the chains, reaching back, eager to be touched.

“Please, just a little more?” I look back over my shoulder and see Rafe removing his hood. Dammit. Playtime is over. Now that I’m good and aroused, he’s going to start “lecture mode.”

“Francesca, would you like to try?” Rafe holds the crop handle out to her and beckons her closer. “You know you can’t hurt her. Give it a shot.” Francesca reaches out a well-manicured hand, takes the crop from him while moving forward. Her body language is eager with anticipation and Liam watches her with heat in his eyes. Oh yeah, he’s intrigued, in spite of himself.

She approaches me to my left, angling her body to the side as she looks back at Rafe. “Like this?”

Her arm goes back and swings quickly forward. A loud thwack! echoes throughout the room.

Biting my lip, I struggle to hold in my sounds of enjoyment. I’m trying to tune out the feelings now that Rafe’s no longer doing the spanking. This part, when a stranger wields the crop, is always hardest for me.

“Yes, yes. Very good,” Rafe encourages. “You’ll be a pro in no time.”

Francesca’s lips part, her tongue snaking out to wet them. Two bright pink spots appear on her cheeks.

“I want to do another.”

With only her words as warning, I brace myself for the next strike. The crop zings through the air and lands across both globes at once.

Smack!

My back arches and I crumple forward to lean on the cold stone tile. My nipples strain against the fabric of my undergarment. I push and rub the peaks in a swaying motion across the rock. Clamping my legs together, I thrust my hips forward, appearing to almost dance with the wall. My body searches, seeking a release from the frenzied build-up from the crop.

Dear God, Rafe, that was a good one. Save me or I’ll be screaming a peak soon.

Rafe strides forward and takes the slight tool from her hand.

“Very good. You have to always keep sight of the pleasure of the one bound. I think Vivian has had enough for today.”

He places the crop back on the wall and moves to the shackles holding me in place. Unlocking one, he raises my arm to inspect it. Making sure I have no burns from the silver, he then kisses the pressure point in my wrist, tracing his tongue over the skin before pulling back.

Francesca has not had nearly enough. She turns towards her mate, stalking to where he leans against a nearby stockade.

“What do you say, Liam? Can we give it a try?” She starts to unbutton her blouse, running her fingers down into the cleavage she reveals. Using her other hand, she takes Liam’s fingers and presses them over her skirt, into the juncture between her legs.

Liam’s nostrils flare, taking in the scents of two aroused women in the air. “I’d do anything you like, you know that. I had no idea this would excite you so much.”

Rafe turns me to face him, wrapping his arms around me in a hug. Are you okay to walk? I don’t want to embarrass you by carrying you if you don’t need it.

I’m okay—give me a second.

I nuzzle my nose next to his neck, drinking in the aroma from the light sweat that formed on him during our play.

You smell so damn good right now. It’s taking all I have not to throw you down and mount you in front of them.

Rafe’s hand runs up and down my back. I know, baby, I know. Let’s get you dressed and leave these two alone.

We walk together toward the dressing area. Silently, we pull on our things. The rustling of clothes being removed from beyond the screen reaches my ears as my skirt zipper ascends. As Rafe and I steal out from behind the folded enclosure, I chance a look over at the wall.

Liam holds one arm out to his underwear-clad wife. Francesca steps up next to his nude body and reaches for the shackle.

I whisper into Rafe’s mind, Looks like they are going to be fine. Let’s get the hell out of here.

We make our way to the door undetected and slip into the hall.

Once in the bright light of the passageway, I give myself an all-over body shake. My thong is soaking wet and I’m on the edge of full-blown arousal. Judging by the state of Rafe’s erection, I’m guessing he’s not far behind.

I reach down and cup him through his jeans. “Shall we slip off into an empty room somewhere and find our own release?”

“Sounds like a great idea.” Rafe raises his hand up to my breast and gives my taut nipple a hard tweak through the cashmere. “Let’s go.”

We make a beeline for the next door in the hall. He fumbles in his pocket for a key card, while I impatiently shift my weight from side to side.

The lights in the hall go out. The darkness is cut short by the sparse illumination of the emergency lights kicking in. Our cell phones, clipped at our waists, vibrate.

Rafe and I look at each other.

The displeasure on his face mirrors my own.

“Christ,” he rasps. “This can’t be good.”

I sigh, reaching for the vibrating phone. “Yeah, I’m betting you’re right.”

Chapter Twenty-one

“Viv, the power is out,” says an abrupt voice.

“Uh-huh, tell me something I don’t know. And who is this?”

“Oh, sorry. It’s Asa. I’m at the front desk and wondered what was going on.”

“I have no idea.” Why didn’t the front desk tell him to call the building with the generators? “Does anyone down there have a clue?”

“No, and no one is answering from Gen-One either.”

Gen-One? What the hell? Now we have military-esque names I have to learn? Damn, I am not a happy camper when sex is interrupted. I sigh heavily and pinch the bridge of my nose.

Ignoring his own phone, Rafe gently lifts mine from my fingers. “Asa, go down and check —then report back to us. Take Bob from the ground crew or Jonathan with you. The front desk can give you their numbers and a map to the building.”

I hear Asa’s response from the other end of the line. “Gotcha, will do.”

Rafe shuts off the mobile and hands it back to me, but before I have a chance to clip it back in place, it goes off again. The impulse to scream in frustration is tempered with the urge to shove the vibrating bit of plastic between my legs where it will do the most good.

Rafe again plucks the device from my grasp. You’re riled up good, aren’t you? Let me handle this one.

He answers with one hand and rests his free one on my hip. His touch is light and comforting. “Hello?” Rafe moves his palm down and around, cupping my bottom and hauling me closer to him.

The voice over the line is a stark reminder we have a business to run. “Oh—Rafe? I tried reaching you on your number first then called Vivian’s. Joanna, from the MacKellan group, called to request a donor. Iona’s next on the list and I see a notation here that it’s her first time. As protocol dictates, I’m calling to notify one of you.”

I whimper as I step back from Rafe. I’ve got to hold off a bit longer. I can do it.

“Consider the message relayed. Viv’s right here. Has anyone briefed Iona?”

“Yes, she’s good and her panic bracelet’s in place. She’s expected at suite eight in ten minutes.”

“Let Iona know that we’ll both be nearby. If she feels uncomfortable at any time, she should hit the button. Understood?”

“Yes, I’ll let her know.”

He ends the call, hands the cell back to me. Heat fills his gaze as he brushes the back of his hand across my cheek. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Considering I’m still pouty about not getting laid, I can’t fathom what he’s thinking. I open my mind to his, welcoming the rush of his desire as it pushes into my thoughts. I pause a moment to sort through all the delightful naked images he’s got coursing through his brain, until I see what he means.

I snap back into focus, locking my own heated gaze on his. “Damn, you’re good. I hadn’t thought of that.”

He picks me up, tosses me over his shoulder and runs with breakneck speed down the hallway. Laughter bubbles up and over, tumbling from my mouth as we race toward the stairs. Leaping down the steps four at a time, his feet barely make contact. The view I have of the rug streaking by is nothing compared to the sight of his jeans-covered ass working double time.

We’re across the landing in seconds, my feet touching down the instant he stops.

“This is so good, that on some level, you know it must be wrong.” I’m giggling like a schoolgirl and I don’t care.

Rafe puts his finger to his lips. “Shhh…” You made so much noise laughing I fear the whole lobby is looking up right now.

He eases from our spot in the reading parlor and looks over the edge of the railing. All clear. Try the door.

I slide open the concealed panel leading to the observation room and slip inside. Rafe’s right behind me, closing the door as soon as he clears the opening.

“You always monitor the first time an employee donates blood to a guest. Why should this instance be any different?”

I smile, rubbing my body up against his. “Yes, that’s true. But normally I do it alone.”

“You blame me for wanting to watch two girls at once?” His voice sounds incredulous.

“No, I don’t blame you. Think you’ll be this open when I want you behind me when I watch two guys?”

“As long as I get to bend you over and explore all the same spots they do, then no, I don’t mind.” After all, liebling, I won’t be looking at them.

Good point. Let’s go peep.

Three short steps bring me to the desk with the monitor. I click the mouse to animate the screen from hibernation. Rafe moves behind me, pressing his arousal into my crop-sensitized backside. Scrolling through the room views, I stop when I get to suite eight.

Joanna walks across the room clad in only a short, pink robe. Her pert nipples show clearly through the thin silk. Shoulder-length blond hair is tied in a ponytail, showcasing her elegant neck. She sits on the bed, with the welcome basket at her side.

Reaching in, she removes a bright pink conical device. She places the toy on the bed next to her, opening the picture book instructions it came with. Joanna moves one hand to the two small buttons, jerking back when the cone starts to vibrate.

“This thing has sound, right?” Rafe whispers in my ear. “I’d hate to miss a thing.” Pulling my hair to the side, he leans in to nibble under my ear. Short, strong teeth nip playfully at the skin. “You’ve got to get this turtleneck off so I can get to you better.”

Before I lose my train of thought by removing my clothing, I reach forward and adjust the sound on the Bose speakers.

Joanna’s voice comes in loud and clear, in sync with the real-time video feed. “This little gadget might come in handy today.” Climbing onto the bed, she straddles the vibrating cone. “Ohhh… yeah… that’s nice.”

I hastily remove my sweater, beyond caring if I make my hair static-y. Power pulsates beneath my skin, tingling and moving as if the energy were alive. Jonathan’s strong werewolf blood still infuses me, even with the bleed-off I gave to Rafe last night.

Rafe’s clothes lie in a messy pile by the door. Eager hands fumble at the back of my skirt. The metal-on-metal rasp of the zipper prompts me to wiggle my hips in an effort to be free of the article faster.

A tentative knock on the door brings my head around.

Rafe chuckles a low, throaty sound. “Darling, that’s from the live feed. Not here.”

“Damn!” I smile at my own foolishness. “I don’t normally have the sound on. That threw me for a second.”

Stepping out of my skirt, I hook it onto my booted foot and toss it in the direction of Rafe’s heap of clothes.

“Hi, I’m Iona. The front desk sent me up at your request.” Her voice over the speakers pulls our focus back on to the monitor.

“I’m Joanna, please come in.”

Iona steps into view. She’s wearing a loose flowing skirt and a matching low-cut, peasant-style top. The gentle sway of her breasts beneath the top indicates she’s not wearing a bra. Looks like she has come prepared if Joanna shows an interest in more than blood.

Rafe chimes in like he’s watching a stag film with buddies. “Oh, yeah. That’s what I’m talking about.”

“Can you keep those comments to yourself, please? I’m trying to look out for the welfare of an employee.” I snort as I finish. Even I can’t claim altruistic motives at the moment.

Rafe runs his hands down my hips and presses me forward. I place my hands on the desk and push back to nuzzle his cock with my butt.

Iona speaks to Joanna in the other room. “I’ve never donated before. Can you tell me what you’d like? I don’t want to disappoint you.”

Joanna smiles in response. She stalks forward and leans in to Iona’s neck. “You smell like Vivian, but she hasn’t fed from you. Curious.” She takes Iona’s hand and gently pulls her further into the room. “Why don’t you take a seat? I prefer the femoral artery.”

The sound of fabric ripping pulls me back to my husband. My thong flies in the direction of the clothing. A wet tongue pushes into me from behind. Firm hands grasp the inner tops of my thighs, spreading them for better access. Slick, velvet pressure tickles my clit.

I toss my head back and grind out, “Ohhh… that feels good.”

“Femoral artery? Is that the top of my thigh?” Iona’s excitement increases as her voice rises.

Joanna cups her cheek, leaning forward to place a light kiss on Iona’s mouth. “Is that okay, kitten? I won’t if you’d rather not. There’s always the neck and wrist.”

In answer, Iona reaches down to her hem and raises the long skirt up to mid-thigh. “No, that’s fine.” Her voice sounds breathy. “Whatever you’d like.”

Rafe grunts and pulls away from my opening.

Mewing softly, I look back at him. You hoping to watch them while you do me? You’re a bad boy.

Joanna walks to the bed, returning with the pink sex toy. “This thing is cool. Have you ever tried it?”

Iona smiles, more confidence in her now. “Oh, yes. The Cone’s phenomenal.” She laughs, visibly relaxing into the chair. “Vivian gave all the employees one for Christmas last year.” She sits up in the chair and gestures Joanna over, retrieving the device from the other woman’s grasp. “Let me put it to my personal favorite setting. It pulses in waves and gets pretty intense.”

I’m only human. Rafe says, angling himself behind me, wrapping his fist around himself. And they are pretty damn hot. The crown of his erection probes my wetness, teasing me with a bare inch.

Iona lowers the vibrating device to the floor, placing it between her feet. She settles back in the chair to watch Joanna. The perky blond vampire steps up and squats over the cone. She lowers herself, gently pushing Iona’s thighs further apart while descending.

Rafe moves from my dripping center. A thick finger slides down my ass crack, plunging into my pussy and drawing back out. It leaves a wet trail up to my tight sphincter, circling the muscle before pushing in.

“Mmm… yeah, more, baby. Push that thumb in deep.”

Rafe complies, making my back arch in response.

“Good choice, this one is delicious.” Joanna punctuates the comment with leaning in and kissing the maid’s thigh. “But not nearly as delicious as you’re going to be.”

You bad girl, you like watching Joanna on that toy.

My eyes focus back and forth from the ladies on the monitor, to the vague reflection of Rafe and me in the screen’s shiny surface. Both are so compelling, I’m glad I don’t have to choose one and look away.

I squirm backward, searching for the big hard dick I know is there. Don’t make me beg! Put your cock in me, dammit!

Smack!

Rafe’s hand collides with my sensitive ass. The movement presses his thumb in deeper and I moan out my pleasure. A second, softer smack follows the first.

Don’t get bossy with me, or I may make you wait until the ladies are through.

A glance at the screen reveals the vampire’s hand is hidden under Iona’s skirt, at the juncture of her thighs. Joanna is kissing just below, at Iona’s inner thigh, while riding that cone for all it’s worth. Shit. She hasn’t started to feed yet. They could be a while.

Rat bastard. He would make me wait. With one hand I click the system to dark. “I’ve seen enough to ensure Iona is safe. No need to infringe on their privacy more than needed.”

“Aww, no fair. I was enjoying that.”

Are you trying to tell me you aren’t enjoying this? I pull forward a bit, and look over my shoulder.

He runs his other hand up and down my back. No, liebling, you know better than that. It was sexy to watch and play at the same time. He punctuates his desire by pulling me back in place, while driving his thumb in again. Rafe places his cock at my opening, teasing me with the pressure. I love driving you crazy with want, my love. You’re so damn hot and responsive.

Want me to play dirty? I push out with my desire, allowing it to fill the small room like a cloud. I feel a shudder pass through his whole body, reverberating down his arm and into his wicked thumb as well. Sensing what’s about to come next, I tighten my inner walls in expectation.

Rafe removes his thumb and roughly grabs my hips with both hands. My ass is forgotten in the race to drive his erection into me as fast as he can. Silk on steel pushes into my tight sheath. The sensation of being finally filled, after a half hour of torment, quickly escalates me to the edge. Pushing back, my hips move in a slow circle. Rafe drives in and out, deep and steady strokes.

“Oh God…just like that.” The waves build inside and my internal muscles start to ripple along his length. “Faster…please…”

“No.” He keeps his rhythm the same, no faster, no slower. “I’m gonna bring you twice.”

Hearing that, I let go. Tossing my head back, I moan my release to the room.

My power pulses up and out with my orgasm, ratcheting Rafe’s already increasing need. The liquid rush between my legs allows him to plunge with ease.

Hot, sweaty skin touches my back. His hand snakes around to my front and tickles my sensitive, erect clit. Another hand cups and squeezes my left breast. The kneading sensation combines with the thrusting and circling to push me higher once again. Our movements on the surface of the desk trigger the wireless mouse to activate and the monitor jumps to life with the two ladies.

“Uhnn…ohhh…” Sounds of female voices reaching orgasm fill the air.

“Mmmmnn…”

Hips piston back and forth, slapping against my ass. Rafe’s thick cock slides in and out in time with his attention at my clit. I arch back into the feel of my husband’s body, no thought for the images on the screen. His hand leaves my breast and a strong fist wraps into my long tresses to tilt my head back with force.

“Yes, yes! More, God, please more!” Iona’s plea bounces off the walls in the little observation room and Rafe’s thrusts come faster in answer.

The feelings and sounds quickly overcome me, forcing my second orgasm like a steam train. Clenching my pussy around him, I try to increase his sensations as well, hoping to pull him into the abyss with me. My hair tingles along my scalp, the pressure of being held in place counterbalancing the taut muscles in my neck.

Rafe whispers into my ear, “Come for me, my goddess. You’re mine.”

One last tug does it, tipping me over the edge with his gentle restraint. Sounds and garbles pour forth from my throat. I’m unaware of anything but the electrical sensations lighting every nerve ending in my body at the same time. The shudders wrack me as my head is let go, and strong arms come around my middle to circle me in a tight hold. Warm shooting pulses deep inside my core accompany Rafe’s loud moans of release.

A minute or two goes by before either one of us cares to move. Rafe’s stubbly cheek rakes back and forth on the middle of my back in a loving caress of skin on skin. My husband must have reached over and clicked the system quiet again because the new lovers are no longer on the small screen.

He follows my train of thought and answers, “You are right, they deserve their privacy, too.” Running his hands up my sides, he rises from his position along my back and pushes forward one last time inside me. “That and the fact if I watched much more I’d be ready for round two—and we’ve got work to do.”

I sigh as he withdraws from my body.

“You’re right. The backup power supply isn’t meant to last longer than a day or so. If we can’t find the problem with the main generator, we’re going to have to reroute the power cables to the back up one.” I groan at the thought of working in the cold to accomplish that. “I’m going to detour to our apartment to change. I don’t want to ruin these boots in the snow. Not to mention pants would work better than the skirt I was wearing.”

I turn to face my lover and press my lips to his. My arms twine about his neck while his encircle my waist. Our mouths open, allowing the kiss to deepen. Pulling back, I look deep into his eyes. “That was astounding. I’m glad you thought of it.”

He sighs and leans his forehead down to touch mine. “Every now and then, I get some good ideas.” A slow smile curves the corners of his mouth upward. “And I’m always grateful you’re ready and willing to give them a go.”

I snort at the “grateful” part. “Like I could resist you naked for long? Please.”

We get dressed and meander to our private suite. I change quickly into my leather pants from last night and a sturdy pair of boots, leaving the soft turtleneck on to keep me warm. I clip my mobile into place and check my watch. Our little interlude in the observation room lasted about thirty minutes. With any luck, we should be hearing from the boys soon.

Heading into the kitchen, I find Rafe already pouring himself coffee. His phone vibrates, prompting me to raise a questioning eyebrow in his direction.

He checks the screen. “I think it’s Asa, though I don’t recognize the number.”

I find it interesting that Asa would be calling Rafe and not me this time. It would be nice if he naturally reported to Rafe. I don’t relish having the young vamp call me with every concern, so I’ll wisely keep my mouth shut.

Rafe answers, giving a terse greeting. I hear Asa’s voice come over the line. “We have a problem here.”

“Hmm?” Rafe looks up to meet my eyes, checking to make sure I’m listening.

“The generator has been damaged. According to Jon, it will take days to fix.”

“Crap.”

“He also reports the same vampire from room six was here at Gen-One. He thinks the power was sabotaged.”

“We’ll be there in ten minutes,” Rafe says, speaking way more quickly than usual. “Tell Jon to call the maintenance guys and Jerry out. We’ve got a big job ahead of us.”

Rafe clips the phone to his waist and looks at me. “If that bastard is going after the power, what’s next?”

I think back to what I know of Ivan before answering. “He’s setting the stage. He wants us scared.”

Chapter Twenty-two

After working outside for several hours, moving aboveground cables, I’m feeling stiff and cranky. Jerry, our sixty-something engineer, has successfully directed us on how to reroute the primary power supply. Everything will come through the backup system until the repairs can be made.

“Looks like someone came in and pulled out cables with their bare hands,” Jerry says. “Guess the power don’t hurt your kind?” He raises one eyebrow with his question.

Jerry’s a sharp old bastard. He’s been here since we opened and not much gets past him. Good thing he’s not at the main building often or I’d have to tamper with his keen intellect more than necessary when he retires.

“No, you’re right, it doesn’t. We act like conduits and pour the energy back into the ground.”

Jerry nods to himself, like another piece of the puzzle snaps into place for him.

“Four days, Jerry, that’s what you said, right?” I ask.

He looks around at the mess, nodding his head. He runs a hand through his short hair, mussing it up as he thinks. “Yup. I’ll need some strong backs and nimble fingers working ‘round the clock.” He looks back at me with a twinkle in his hazel eyes. “It’ll get done, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

I smile at the sentiment. Nice to know someone can get a complex job done without my help. “Great. You need anything, let Rafe or me know.”

Leaving Jerry to his job, I venture to Jonathan’s secluded cabin. It’s closest, so Asa, Jon and Rafe, have gone there to warm up. I pull the hood up on my subzero parka, stomp the circulation back into my feet, and head off into the darkness on the paved walkway. A gut-wrenching howl rips through the air. The fine hairs on my body stand at the eerie sound. Tones of remorse and sadness filter through on the long note as it dies down.

Ahead in the darkness, the door to Jon’s cabin whips opens, slamming into the inside wall. Pounding footsteps on the wooden porch echo into the darkness. The rectangle of light from the cabin briefly illuminates a man running away. Reaching out with my senses, I connect with the frantic emotions of the runner.

It’s Jonathan. The energy pouring off him feels chaotic. That howl meant something only he knows. Two more figures, taller than the first, emerge from the cabin in pursuit. I change my course, angling through the woods at a run. Trees stream past me in the black. Outdoor spotlights, attached to Jon’s large heated kennel, wink behind tree trunks and bounce up off the hard-packed snow.

Sprinting past the buildings, I hear movement ahead and dive deeper into the woods to reach it. The lights no longer touch the snow in front of me. A faint glow from the moon illuminates the pines as I dash and dodge between them. Bursting through the trees, I slam to a halt a few feet from Jon’s hunched form on the ground. He’s cradling something to his chest. A ring of six wolf crossbreeds pace around his kneeling body as he rocks back and forth. A high keening sound rends the air as Jonathan tosses his head back, yelling out his despair.

Rafe and Asa break through the woods, into the small ten-foot clearing. They skitter to a stop and take in the scene as well. Jon kneels in frozen gore, holding the remains of one of his wolves. The compacted ground reveals no obvious signs of a struggle, but plenty of night-hued blood. Jon’s dog must not have been out here too long, or the carcass would have been frozen to the snow.

“Jon, I…” my voice trails off. I’m not sure what to say.

There’s nothing I can say to ease his pain. These half-wolves are his pack. Jon looks up at me, his eyes wet with unshed tears.

“It had to be him,” Jon chokes out. “That bastard,” he says while lowering the dead half-wolf to the ground, “must have caught her when she was coming back from patrol.”

“I’m so sorry.” The words aren’t enough.

I approach, closer than the wild eyes of the wolf dogs want me to, and drop to my knees next to Jonathan. My arms go around him and I pull him close in a hard embrace.

I whisper in his ear, “Nothing I can say or do will ease your pain. But I can promise you this—we will kill this son of a bitch.” Jon’s arms come around me and he returns my hug.

“Damn right, we will,” he whispers back.

Rafe moves forward. “Jon, let me take her body to the shed by the kennel. I’ll wrap her in a tarp and you can decide what you want to do later.”

Jon eases back from my hold. He takes a jagged breath and lets it out slowly, head bowed. “Thanks.” He reaches out, placing a hand on the blood-free fur between her ears, giving her one last pat. “She was a good bitch. I’ll bury her this spring when the ground lets me.”

Rafe kneels and takes the stiff form in his arms. Rising, he trails through the woods in the direction I came.

“Asa, go with him,” I direct. “I don’t want him alone with this killer out.”

I heard that, Rafe calls in my mind.

I snap back, Good. Still doesn’t change anything. “Asa, do you have your gun?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Take it out and have it ready. The bullets won’t kill Ivan, but the silver should slow him down long enough—if your aim is good.”

“No worries on that end. I qualified for sniper status in the Army and only got better when I turned.” Asa unholsters his Smith and Wesson 500, following Rafe into the woods.

“Jon,” I coax, “come on. Let’s get you up.” I put my hands under his arms and pull him up with me, giving him little choice in the matter. “You’ve got no coat on.”

“I’d say give me a kiss and that would warm me up, but you’re a damn cold bloodsucker so I don’t see how it would help.”

I smile at his attempt to bait me. I know he’s hurting and this is his way of coping, so I let it slide. “On that note, here…” I remove my coat and hand it to him. “Not like I can’t take a little cold better than you, furball.”

“Yeah,” he agrees while slipping on the arms of my coat, “being an icy bitch does have some advantages.”

“Watch it, bud,” I say with a small smile. I’d rather see him joking with me than wallowing in the pain I know he’s feeling.

I glance at the silent dogs as we leave the clearing. “What about them? Do we need to get them back in their kennels?”

“I’ll lock the building remotely from the cabin. I don’t want them out again ‘til this guy’s caught.” Jon turns to the six dogs, giving them a hand signal and a firm, “Go home.” The half-wolves race off into the night, sending a chorus of short barks back and forth to each other as they run.

We trudge through the woods, heading for the light of the cabin. It’s a long, slow walk back. The quiet leaves us in our own thoughts, but the dark and what lurks within it draws us closer to one another. I reach out and hold Jon’s hand.

“Man alive! Your hands are like ice,” he says.

“Quit your bitchin’.” I squeeze his hand a little harder. “My gloves are in my coat pockets.”

“You want them?” he asks half-heartedly.

“No.”

After ten minutes, we finally reach the cabin. We enter through the front door to the rich aroma of fresh coffee brewing. Jon drops my hand to remove my coat, while Rafe pretends not to notice.

Asa clears his throat. “Uh-umn.” He waits until Jon looks up. “I know I’m new and don’t know much about you, Jon, but I want to say I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks, man.” A shadow of the regular Jonathan rears its head. “She was a fine bitch. And she listened well.” He smirks at the last and shoots me a sideways look.

I find ignoring these types of comments works best, so I take a seat at the kitchen table. “Pour me a half cup of that too, please.”

Rafe turns from the counter, two steaming mugs in his hand. “Already figured you’d want a cup.”

Asa and Jon help themselves to coffee as well, coming to settle at the table with us.

“Ever notice we sure do drink a lot of coffee?” Rafe asks.

I smile. “Well, it is freakin’ cold in Alaska. You have something against drinking coffee?”

He shakes his head, a sad smile on his face. Anything to put off talking about this latest disaster a few seconds more.

“Where does this leave us?” Jon voices what we’re all thinking. “We’ve got roughly fifteen square miles with dozens of buildings. He’s been here at least since yesterday and we know he’s fed from one guest so far.”

“I still think its Ivan,” I say. Rafe and Jon exchange a look. “Screw yourselves. Last time I checked, I was the oldest vampire here.” Remembering Jon’s fresh pain, I try to soften my voice on my next words. “I know you both have your doubts. But your trust in me right now is key. Please.”

“All right, people,” Asa tries to steer us back on track, “let’s plan our attack.”

“Attack? Don’t you mean ‘defense’?” Rafe questions. “How can the four of us possibly ‘attack’ him on property this size?”

“I’d have said the half-wolves would have made great herders and could drive him to us, but I’m not willing to risk losing anymore,” Jon says. “Besides, they aren’t werewolves. They can’t hold themselves against a crazy vampire, even in a pack.”

“But your old alpha, Romeo, can.” Saying his name brings the unforgettable man into sharp focus in my mind. He’s of Italian descent, as charismatic as Casanova and deadly as all hell. The compact frame on the one hundred and fifty year old werewolf still looks like a fit and fabulous forty-year-old male in his prime. It’s a good thing his pheromones don’t work as well on vampires or the master in his city would be in big trouble.

Jon’s surprise shows clearly on his face. “You want me to call in my old pack and see if they can fly out to help?”

“I’m not sure yet. What do all of you think?” I look around the table at the others.

Rafe glances off into the distance before replying. “I think it’s a good idea. I have a feeling things will get worse before they get better.”

“More bodies will help us track this guy faster,” Asa adds.

Jon stands and paces the room. “There are a lot of variables in play here. We still need you to call the Tribunal to confirm,” he looks my way as he says this, “it could be Ivan.” He stops pacing, looking at the whole group at the table. “Or, we could set a trap.”

He’s mirroring what I bet a lot of us have already thought of, but what or who to use as bait?

“I’m not risking Dria’s safety. She will not be bait,” Rafe’s firm voice declares in the ensuing silence.

I snort out my nose. Like I have anything to fear from this whack job. Rafe knows that, so I wonder what his show of worry is all about. “I prefer to remain on the sidelines, and protect what’s mine. Not to worry, dear. How about using Drew? I’m pretty sure he’s the one that led Ivan here.”

Asa perks up at that. “By chance or on purpose?”

“I’m not sure,” I reply. “It does seem a bit coincidental, but my gut says by chance.”

“I’m going to check on Drew’s whereabouts before he arrived to be sure.” The spark of excitement in Asa's voice is unmistakable. It’s clear this is a man who enjoys action above all else. “I’ll put in a call to Cy and we can work on it together.”

“I’ll call Romeo and see how soon he can get here with his wolves.” Jon looks pensive.

“You okay with including him?” I ask.

“Yes.” Jon looks me dead in the eye. “I just don’t want him too close to you.”

Rafe shifts in his chair. That furry fucker. I’m not going to tolerate another randy wolf drooling after you.

My peal of laughter diffuses the tension that sprang up at Jon’s statement. “Not to worry, I think I've got all the alpha males I can handle right now.”

Asa clears his throat. “Do you have a weapons cache here?”

I raise an eyebrow as I look over at him. “I’m the weapon. We’ve never needed anything more.”

“Uh-huh, yeah. Well, fifteen miles is pretty damn big and you can’t be everywhere at once. We need more.”

He’s right, but it is what it is, and I’ve got nothing to give him.

“We’ve got the sparring room. It has the weapons locker for the full combat matches.” Rafe smiles in my direction. We almost never draw blood when we fight, but we have a damn fine time trying to hack our clothes off each other to the grand finale on the floor.

“No projectiles?” Asa clarifies.

“Nope,” Rafe answers. “Guns aren’t usually something we’d use in combat sparring.”

“What about the guests?” Jon reminds us all. “You going to tell them what’s going on?”

Three sets of eyes swing to me. “No. Not unless I have no other choice.”

Jon sighs. “All right, it’s your call. I don’t agree, but it’s good enough for now. Here,” Jon reaches for his cordless phone and hands it to me, “might as well make that call to the Tribunal.”

Crap! I reach to accept it, scrambling for a suitable comeback to get myself out of having to make the call. I find none. In the retelling of a story, the heroine always sounds like she knows what she’s doing at all times. In reality, when things are happening, did she really know? Or did she fly by the seat of her pants a lot like I do? Sometimes I wish my life were like that. Then I could sit back, write it all out and wrap it up with a happy ending.

Realizing I have no other option, I dial the Tribunal. A glance at my watch confirms it’s after seven. I know it’s way past nightfall in Argentina. Unfortunately, I shouldn’t have any trouble reaching someone. Damn, sometimes my luck wears out.

After several minutes and three transfers, an inner circle Tribunal member comes on the line. “Yes? Am I correct in my information?” Warm, flowing Spanish-accented tones reach through the phone and wrap around my senses. “Is this the famous Alexandria the Great?”

I’d recognize the sultry voice of Rolando anywhere. He’s a little older than me and worked as a gopher for some of the great ones when I was an enforcer. “Yes, Rolando. It’s me.”

Asa’s eyes go round at the title, but I’m guessing he’s still too young to have heard the tales. Rolando gave him something new to look up and research. Great.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your call?” Rolando asks.

“I’m calling to check on a verdict the tribunal made on a criminal from eight years ago.”

“Hmmm… interesting. A name would help narrow it down.” I can hear his sexy chuckle come over the line. He’s really good with his voice. Too good. I’d almost forgotten.

“Ivan. The one who tortured his mate for over a year, took her free will from her, and raped her repeatedly?”

“Ahh, yes, that one.” His voice holds a hint of disgust. “He was sentenced to a decade in silver, but was released early for good behavior.”

My blood boils. Even though I expected to hear it, it doesn’t make it any easier. “Why wasn’t he killed? And why wasn’t I notified of his release?”

Rolando’s voice turns firm. “It was a decision of the ancients not to kill him. He did not violate the edicts of exposure to our kind with his actions, nor did he kill a fellow vampire unprovoked. No matter how gruesome his actions, the old ones felt he could be corrected and were not willing to destroy him.”

“Correct him? How? It’s not like they offer counseling down in that hole.”

“He did have visits from members associated with the tribunal.” Vampires I call flunkies of the ancients, who hope one day to make it to a seat in the inner circle. “Some of them had the ear of quite a few senior members.”

Insert here: The flunkies were screwing them.

Damn.

“Anyone I know?”

His laughter reaches across the miles. “You always were the clever one, two steps ahead of the other killers. We haven’t had an enforcer like you since you left. No one ever got away from you. You still hold the record for the highest number of kills, you know.”

I couldn’t care less and his rambling is revealing way more to Jon and Asa’s super hearing then I want. “Names, please?”

“Well, Dimitri’s still here. You know how he feels about you.” Dimitri was very, very close, and I do mean in a biblical sense, to one of the old ancients I convinced to walk into the sun. As far as I knew, he still couldn’t connect Victor’s death to me. Dimitri knew I hated that son of a bitch with all of my heart. I certainly wasn’t sad when Victor committed an assisted suicide, but Dimitri sure was. He saw the pedophilic ancient vampire as his ticket to a seat on the circle and I delayed his plans by a century. “And then, there’s Jonah. Whatever did you do to that man?”

I accidentally stole his heart and crushed it, but I’m not going to tell Rolando. It was centuries ago and I had hoped Jonah would let bygones be bygones sooner or later.

“Neither would have overseen Ivan’s release. Do you know who did?” Someone pointed Ivan in Angie’s direction and I’m betting Dimitri is too smart to get his hands dirty.

Rolando is quiet for a few seconds. “It was an enforcer. A newer one, she has been in service for about five years. Her name is Emiko. I don’t know her well.”

“Would she have been privy to Ivan’s records prior to his release?”

“If she requested to see them, yes. I don’t think she would have been denied. But you know as well as I do that not all enforcers care about the details. Some simply follow orders. That was nearly two years ago.” He finally comes around and asks what I thought he would have asked sooner. “Tell me why you need to know this now. What has happened?”

I look up and meet Rafe’s eyes. He nods. He wants me to trust Rolando and tell him what is going on. God, this rubs me the wrong way. I grit my teeth once, then release my jaw.

“We’ve got a problem up here.” I fill him in on the killing, Drew’s wife Angie being murdered, what I saw in Sheba’s head, the sabotage at the power plant, and finish with Jon’s half-wolf getting torn up. I leave off the bit about the wrong scent.

Honestly, if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and sounds like a duck, well, more than likely, it’s a damn duck.

Jon and Rafe are making motions at me, trying to get me to add the part about the scent. But I’ve made up my mind and I’m not going to humor them anymore. I wave them off, focusing on Rolando on the other end of the line.

“It does sound like it could be Ivan. I’ll have to tell the ancients of these events, you know that.”

“Yes, I know.” Resignation colors my voice. I really don’t like coming up on their radar any more than I absolutely have to. “Are those old bastards Malik and Coraline still there?” Two more vamps who hate me. Damn, I really didn’t socialize well four hundred and fifty years ago. I had a big chip on my shoulder and hated most of my own kind. Which made the enforcer part real easy to do.

Rolando chuckles again at my obvious displeasure. “Yes. You really did piss off a lot of people when you were here, didn’t you?”

Jon cracks a smile at that one, doing a silent little clapping motion. He mouths Bravo at me with exaggerated mirth. Jerk.

I break into the humorous moment with the nitty-gritty. “Do I need a sanctioned kill from the tribunal, or will the ruling of ‘breach on my territory and harm to those I protect’ suffice?”

If we’re going to kill this bastard, I want to make sure I don’t have old enemies coming after me for the hell of it.

A sigh reaches me from across the line. “No, you’re good. I’ll make sure I announce your intentions with my report on the incidents.”

Sensing the end of the conversation, Rafe motions with his hand at Asa. Damn, almost forgot. “Oh, one last thing, Rolando. Tell the record keepers I have a new member in my seethe. His name is Asa Monson. We’ll send the details of his lineage in an email with Rafe’s electronic signature as witness.”

“What?” Rolando sounds incredulous. “Alexandria the Great takes a member into her seethe? First time in over two hundred years?” Genuine happiness trickles into his words. “This calls for a celebration, I’ll send you…”

I hang up the phone. I’ve said all I need to say and I’m tired of listening to the windbag. I glance at the men. Asa looks concerned. Good. He should be. Jon appears to be thinking about all he heard. That bastard is probably cataloging all the possible new enemies he heard I had. Rafe smiles at me.

Good job, love. I know that wasn’t easy for you.

He’s right. It wasn’t.

My body goes cold. Like an Arctic breeze through the door, but it hits only me. I bolt to my feet.

“Something’s wrong.”

I reach out with my senses. Closing my eyes, I extend beyond the cabin. I push my power out, down through my bloodline. I can connect with every living and non-living being on the property that has consumed my blood within the last month.

Tiny filaments of energy reach out from my core. They sweep out into the darkness, meeting a strong spark at every end. Except one. One is flickering and failing fast. It’s dying. And someone is taking that life. A life that is mine.

Chapter Twenty-three

“It’s Paul. Someone has drained him of blood.”

I bolt from the table and rip the cabin door off its hinges in my haste to make it into the night. The men’s voices sound behind me in the distance but I can’t chance stopping or slowing for a moment to allow them to catch up. I must get to Paul quickly before he’s gone.

Dria! It could be a trap! Rafe shouts in my mind.

I race down the paved paths, barely feeling my feet touch the ground. No, Ivan has left him. I sense Paul’s alone. He’s lost a lot of blood.

Where is he? We’ll meet you.

Sprinting as fast as I can, I round the last bend that leads to the hotel. Bushes and twinkling lights stream past me like a continuous beam of headlights speeding along a highway. He was heading home, to the family cabins. He’s on a snowmobile trail about a half-mile northwest of the main building.

We’ll meet you there as soon as we can. What are you going to do?

I’ll let you know the options when I get there.

No sooner do I finish that thought I hear Paul’s labored breathing up ahead in the darkness.

“Paul! It’s me, Vivian! I’m coming!”

I come upon his snowmobile first. The red machine leans on its side and the engine has stopped. Paul lies face down, very still, on the hard, ice-packed trail.

I turn him over and place his head in my lap. His skin is deathly pale, his heartbeat faint in my ears. The end is near for Paul.

Crap! We’ve run out of options. I would suggest Jon bite him, but he’s too far gone to survive the virus. Do I dare?

You’re asking me? It’s your choice. But I’d like to argue that he does have a wife and two children.

Oh God, if anything, that makes my decision harder. On the one hand, I can change him and if things don’t work out or he’s not happy with the choice, I could kill him again. On the other, he’s got kids and it should really be between him and his family to make the choice to turn.

Well, it’s always easier to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission.

Decision made, I tear into my wrist with my teeth while I listen deep inside him. His heart grows more and more faint, and I wait for the crucial moment. A vampire can only result if you catch the human at the right point in time before death. The virus is ingested and then works its way through the tissue before the life is completely lost. I’ve never been one of those doubters, wondering whether or not vampires have a soul. If we never truly die, then how would we lose it?

Our actions before and after we turn are what will eventually damn us—not proof positive that we have souls or not. Paul must lose nearly all of his blood and have it replaced with a vampire’s blood before death in order to turn into one of us. Rafe’s mate bond is different. He donated and consumed a liter a day for ten days as part of the ritual to become my mate, but he was never near death at any time.

I’m going to need a full donation from several sources. Paul’s going to require a lot of my blood.

Shit. And you just fed from Jon last night.

I open Paul’s mouth with my right hand and lower my left wrist to his lips. I squeeze my forearm a bit to get the blood to course between his lips. Once his mouth is full, I massage his throat to swallow it.

Well, that leaves you. I can’t take nearly enough from you to sustain me for long. Damn, who would have thought this would happen? I can’t believe I don’t have a plan covering this scenario. What the hell!

I search for alternatives in my mind, fully aware that Rafe is doing the same.

How about Olivia? Rafe asks. She hasn’t been here that long. You may be able to safely drink from her and not bind her to you. We could give her bottled water during the rest of her stay.

As my blood starts to seep through his organs, Paul slowly regains his strength. His mouth latches onto my wrist and he sucks like I’ve got crack in my veins and he’s an addict.

Good idea. Call the hotel and have them find her. Tell Asa to detour to the hotel to escort her here, weapon at the ready.

Think you’ll need more?

Oh, I know I’ll need more. It’s just a matter of time.

Paul’s hands come up to grip my forearm in place. His teeth nibble on the torn skin, instinctively opening the wound to drink more. The cold of the night sinks into me. I wish we were anywhere but out here, exposed in the woods. As if reading my mind and sensing my discomfort, Jon and Rafe appear through the trees in that exact instant.

“Whew,” I sigh. “Am I ever happy to see you two. Paul here is a hungry little bugger.”

Without saying a word, Rafe comes up behind me to cradle my back. He picks me, and part of Paul, off the ground to scoot underneath us. Rafe’s warm arms circle me, drawing me back into the heat of his now open coat.

“How much longer, liebling?” Rafe whispers in my ear.

“Another ten minutes or so, I think. He’s sucking it down pretty fast but he lost a lot of blood.”

“We need to tell his wife,” Jon announces. “You want to tell her or should I?”

I don’t answer him. It’s pretty damn obvious I’m not going anywhere for a while, so I speak my mind instead.

“Bunny has been here ten years, just like Paul. They met on the property and married. Both were donors before that, so it’s not like they don’t know what’s going on.” I pause, lost in my thoughts, and consider the woman I’ve known for years. “I think she’ll be okay with it. Ultimately, I think the decision is hers. If she can’t live with him and doesn’t think he would want to be a vampire then I’m going to need to kill him before their kids see him.” The thought weighs me down so much, I feel like I could cry. “Please, God, let her be okay with it or this night is going to be so bad for us.”

“Us?” Jon snorts. “I think Paul has it the worst. His wife decides his fate? Shit, I hope they haven’t been fighting or anything lately.”

Jerk. Like I need anything else to make me feel bad about this situation.

“Should I have chosen differently, Jon?” I wave my free hand down to the chef sucking at my wrist. “Should I have let him die when it was my enemy that attacked him?”

“No. No!” He’s pacing back and forth on the trail. “You did the decent thing. If he hated vampires, he wouldn’t have stayed this long, no matter what you were paying him. Hell, he wouldn’t have made it through the interview process if he was pre-disposed to hating the idea.” Jon kicks out with a foot, aiming for nothing. “Fuck!” He walks into the night toward the cabins in the distance. “I’ll calm down on the walk.”

His next action belies his words. Jon punches up at the sky, letting out a horrible yell. He screams a string of expletives, ending on a sigh. When he speaks next, he’s further down the trail and his voice sounds much calmer. “I’ll break the news to Bunny. She shouldn’t hear this in a phone call.” Anger and confusion radiate off the werewolf in waves.

Yes, the walk will do Jon good. This incident right on the heels of his dog has got to be taking its toll on him. I hope for Paul’s sake, the married couple had stayed up late into the night talking about all the gruesome what-if scenarios like most of us have. I know Rafe wants me to change him one day if there is no other alternative, but with my strength added to his own, we hope that it never becomes a choice I have to make.

Liebling, you’re getting maudlin. If it ever came to that, we’d be the first to make it work. Trust me on that.

Millennia of vampires have turned their mates when faced with death, but none have made it work past a few years. Best not to borrow trouble when you don’t need to, so I force myself to stop thinking about it.

“I need your wrist. I’m getting really cold.”

Rafe removes his glove, pushes up his coat sleeve baring his skin to me.

“This one won’t be fun out here on the ice.” His silky voice caresses my ear. “But it will certainly help keep me warm.” He licks the outer edge of my earlobe in emphasis. “Bite me, baby, bite me,” he whispers, while settling me more firmly in his lap.

He’s trying to distract me from this horrible tableau laid out at our feet. Despite the cold seeping through my damp leather pants, I feel warm and tingly at the thought of his invitation. I do my best to ignore the sucking sounds coming from Paul while I lower my mouth to Rafe’s warm skin. My canines elongate in need. I lick the pulse beating strongly below the surface, trailing my wet tongue up his arm a few inches.

God, you taste good.

Rafe’s chuckle vibrates against my back, reverberating up to where our heads touch. A shudder passes through me when I think of what I’d rather be doing when I feed from my lover.

Rafe’s warmth comes through in my mind. I love that you want me, Dria. As much as I want you.

Yeah, our timing sucks right now, eh?

Minutes pass until I’m sure I’ve taken all that I safely can.

I pull back and lap delicately at the holes I’ve made, sealing his skin instantly. Rafe’s body wraps as tightly around me as he can get. I love to feel the strength of his arms as he holds me close. Light kisses touch the side of my neck as I lower his arm.

I look down at the still suckling Paul. Eww… this is taking a long time. Movement down the trail draws my attention. I push out with my senses and feel Asa’s bright energy signature. He’s consumed more of my blood than most people on the resort, so he’s easy to spot.

“Vivian!” Asa’s voice calls through the darkness.

“Here!” I call, “up ahead, on the trail!”

Deciding Paul’s feeding is complete, I gently nudge his head away from my wrist. I send a push of power his direction to ensure he complies without making a scene like grabbing my arm back for more. The newly changed need subtle direction from their makers in the beginning, until they gain control of the blood lust.

Paul’s head lifts. He meets my eyes with a confused look. “Vivian? What happened?” His big brown eyes appear lost in his round lovable face. “I feel off.”

The outline of Asa and Olivia rounding the last bend of the trail comes into view. We’re about to be alone no longer. I need to work fast.

“You were attacked by a rogue vampire. He drained your blood to kill you.” Some of my weariness seeps into my tone. “I arrived in time to give you my blood to turn you.”

“Turn me?” He raises a hand to his bloody lips. His fingertips smear a bit of red into the skin of his chin. In the dark moonlight, his hand comes away looking black.

“Oh no… oh no… oh God, no!” Panic replaces the confusion. “My children! Are they okay?”

“Shit. I’m sorry, Paul.” I grab both his cheeks, forcing his gaze to lock on to mine. “Your kids are okay. So is Bunny. You need to sleep.”

I push none too gently into his mind. It’s scattered and chaotic. Whirls of thoughts tumbling over one another, each vying for prominence within his brain. Energy vibrates from his core, pulsing with his new afterlife. I lay a calming touch over it all, to still the frantic swirls, imposing my more powerful will over his own.

Sleep.

Paul’s eyes drift close.

“He’ll be out for at least twenty-four hours. Then the hunger will bring him back.”

Rafe hands me a glove to wipe Paul’s chin and lips free of blood. I place Paul’s limp form on the ground, easing myself out from under him. Rafe scoots back as well, helping both of us to stand. Asa and Olivia walk past the snowmobile, coming to stand near us.

Asa’a sharp eyes take in the scene in a glance. “He’s turned. Is the power I feel coming off him because of your blood or will he be a powerful fledgling?”

“It’s too soon to tell what he will be.” I brush snow off my legs, giving a little shudder at the state my favorite leather pants are in. Damn. “The energy you feel is all me.”

“Why is he sleeping?”

Asa is too sharp. Thankfully, he’s also young. I can spin some bull and he won’t know.

“I’m his maker. I willed him to sleep while we figure out what to do with him.”

Olivia chooses that moment to speak up. “What do you mean ‘figure out what to do with him’?”

“It’s not your concern,” I say with a firm tone. “I take care of my own.” She casts her eyes down and away in fear or acceptance, I’m not sure.

I step forward away from Paul’s body, effectively ending that topic with my advancement on her. The hunger roils in my belly like an angry snake. Her lifeblood pulsing beneath the surface of her skin smells enticing. Normally, when turning someone, the vampire would have gorged on the human’s blood prior to the exchange. Ivan took Paul’s blood, leaving me down several quarts when I let Paul feed from me. Olivia looks—and smells—really good right now.

Olivia’s eyes widen and her body tenses in fright. I can smell the delicious aroma of fear cascading off her body in waves. I stalk across the distance between us like a lioness after her prey. My canines lengthen again. Anticipation swells within me to subdue the hollow pit in my stomach. I haven’t felt like this in years. Not since I turned Cy.

I want her and I will have her.

She’s the only viable choice, having arrived only yesterday. Olivia’s awkwardness in the moment comes stumbling out in her next words. “Normally, I’m in bed with the vampire.” She looks around at Asa and Rafe, realizing her choice of phrase must have come out odd based on the looks on their faces. “I mean…I’d know them pretty well and we’d be on intimate terms…” She appears flushed, trying to look everywhere but at me. “Can’t you use my wrist?”

She’s right, I could, but it would take longer. Not willing to waste any more time on chit-chat, I ignore her. I reach out to brush her long hair back off her neck, flipping it over her shoulder. We’re almost the same height. I lean in, gently tilting her head to the side with my hand. The hunger overwhelms all else.

My lips settle firmly on her skin. Something trickles through the ache within me. Her smell. It feels off. The red haze in my mind clears enough for me to register an important fact—she’s been marked by another vampire.

The scent of Antonio drifts up to tease my senses. The self-centered jerk must have given her his blood when he emerged from the gym this afternoon.

It’s considered a grave offense in the supernatural community to feed from someone’s servant without permission. The insulted vampire could issue a challenge if they felt the deed was meant to poach. Will he flex his right or will he bend, understanding my need?

I know what awaits me if I do this. I know I need to regain my strength before Ivan attacks again. Knowing all of it doesn’t change a thing. My teeth nip the taut flesh. Olivia’s blood rushes forth to coat my tongue. I greedily drink down the glorious red life force.

Damn the consequences.

Chapter Twenty-four

I’m not going to pleasure Olivia with my bite. It was obvious she’s uncomfortable with the exchange, based on her comments. There’s no need to freak her out more by having her enjoy it too. Instead, I help her feel a sense of comfort. Giving her the feeling she has done a charitable act.

In a way, she has. I could have taken what I needed, but that isn’t me. Or at least, it isn’t me anymore. I refuse to ever go back to the mindless pit I put myself in prior to being an enforcer for the tribunal. That darkness is a cloak I comfortably wore. One I must always be on guard against wearing again for convenience sake.

I’ve consumed all I safely can from Olivia. I pull back, licking the small wound to seal it.

“When did you drink from Antonio?” My voice slips out like a purr.

Olivia’s body is no longer tense with fright. During my feeding, she relaxed against me. She stands back a bit, the awareness creeping back into her gaze.

“I… umm… after lunch. He asked me if I’d be his. It’s what I’ve always wanted, so I gladly accepted.” She looks a little confused now. “Was I allowed to let you bite me?”

Hmmph. Fool thinks she had a choice. “I’ll handle it, Olivia, not to worry.”

And handle it, I will.

“Asa?” He snaps to attention. “Take Paul and lock him in the basement. We need to wait to hear what Bunny says to decide his fate.”

Asa nods as he walks to Paul sleeping on the ground behind me.

I project my next directions to Rafe. Hon, can you catch Olivia and carry her? Without waiting for an answer, I lock gazes with the beautiful blond.

“You need to rest after donating all that blood.” I push my will over hers. She promptly falls asleep where she stands, tipping back into Rafe’s waiting arms.

Rafe picks her up. “Was that necessary?”

“Yes, it was. I need to talk to you and Asa on our return. I had some time to think during the last twenty minutes.”

Asa comes up next to me with Paul slung over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. The three of us walk in the direction of the main building. “One thing is very clear to me,” I say. “It’s going to be impossible for the four of us to catch Ivan on the property.”

“I don’t think it’s impossible,” Asa’s tone sounds speculative. “It will take us a long time. And possibly, more weapons with lots of planning.”

“Yes. And at what cost in lives?” I glance down at my watch. It’s almost nine. “In thirty hours, he’s managed to rape and mind-wipe Sheba, kill John Pierre, sabotage the power for the whole resort, slaughter one of Jon’s dogs, and drain Paul to near death.” I allow the disgust and frustration I’m feeling to leak into my tone. “Right now, I couldn’t care less about Tribunal retribution.” Another thought from earlier occurs to me. “We don’t have time to wait for Romeo with backup wolves either.”

“Where does that leave us?” Asa asks.

Rafe answers the young vamp; this time he’s on the same page as me. “We’ll have to tell the guests and enlist their help.”

“How?” Asa asks. “These people are on vacation.”

I laugh out loud. The irony of the plan is not lost on me. “We’ll organize a hunt. What else would you do with a bunch of predators who never get to have fun at home?”

The cacophony of excited voices in the theater overwhelms me. The sound presses at every side. Rafe, Asa and I have explained all that has happened and who we need to hunt. The one redeeming point since we walked in was Antonio not giving me any shit about Olivia. I think I would have gone bonkers on him if he had. Instead, he graciously attributed me with helping him to see the light and bind the young woman to him before another vampire could.

I’ve had a hard time taking part in the conversations swirling around me due to the fact I’m ready to leap on someone and feed. While I’m happy to see the other vampires are eager to go on a hunt, I’m dismayed to find none of them have ever been enforcers at any point in their undead lives.

The ensuing proclamations from each eager guest confirm the following: Liam was a warrior prior to being turned. Jet is a martial arts expert. Salvador was a general at one point in his life. Drew has his rage powering him to avenge Angie’s death. Antonio wants to prove himself to Liam and Olivia. And Joanna, well, she sounds like she can handle herself. I hope.

The hunger recently satiated with Olivia rears its ugly head again, screaming to me that I have not had enough to eat. The servants and companions crowded into the media room start to look incredibly appealing. I must consume more or be a risk to everyone in the coming hours. My arms wrap around my middle, while I try to shove the hunger back down into a cage.

A touch on my shoulder brings me whirling around. My nostrils flare, my eyes bleed black, and I feel my canines push down to feed.

“Vivian, are you okay?” Liam inquires gently.

“No,” I answer bluntly. “I had to turn Paul, our chef, when Ivan drained him to die.”

His face shows surprise at my admission. “How much did you have to give him?”

“Maybe half of my blood.”

“Good God, woman, with no ingestion of his blood prior? I’ve never heard of that being successfully done.”

I shake at the thought of Olivia’s warm blood flowing down my throat. “Yes, with no blood. It can be done.”

“How much have you recouped since then?”

I think back to the last time I did something so risky. When I turned Cy years ago, I was able to slip into his bar and prey on a dozen or so happy drunks walking to the bathroom. No such luck tonight. I answer Liam in a whisper, “About two and half pints.”

“You’ll be a danger to us out there if you’re weak. You need to feed.”

“I know!” I shout. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it!”

Liam jerks back at the vehemence in my voice. “I don’t understand. You have plenty of employees here. What’s all the fuss?” Light dawns in his eyes. “You don’t feed from them? Ever? But I have smelled you on them…” Understanding comes quick.

Rafe! I need your help. My inner cage of power stretches thin. Get the humans out of here as fast as you can.

Rafe looks at me from across the room. He nods his understanding, motioning to Asa for help. They spread out into the room to fulfill my request.

The first humans start to leave the room. I turn to Liam to continue where we left off. “I refuse to take the will of those who work here.”

He smiles congenially at me, his expression one of superiority. “The bond wears off in time if you never feed from them again.”

My aura starts to leak out. I’m beyond caring about what they know of my power. My secret will remain safe as long as I don’t flip out in the next few minutes. By Liam’s expression, I know he’s starting to feel the energy against his skin.

“But it could take years and they would forever crave a similar exchange.” My stomach growls loudly. I scan the room to see the last human leave.

Rafe, shut the doors and stand guard with Asa.

Yes, my love. Do what you need to. It will all work out.

I smile as I see the option I decided on, mirrored in his mind. He understands and supports me. Another reason he’s perfect for me. He’s never afraid of the monster I have inside. I wish I could say the same.

I release the power I keep so tightly bound. It surges forward to touch every vampire in the room. The tension ratchets when they sense my strength followed closely by my hunger. I meet the eyes of every person, one by one. Fear creeps into their expressions. I don’t blame them.

The ache within me becomes all-consuming. Rather than contain it these past three hours, I’ve barely held on to it with a very tight mental leash.

I speak to the room at large. “It will take less blood from a vampire to contain my hunger than it will from a human. You can donate willingly, or I’ll take it from you. Your choice.”

Liam, much to my surprise, comes forward and bares his wrist for me. His action lowers the tension in the room, bringing a sense of calm after my harsh statement.

“I would gladly give you my blood, Vivian. It’s always good to have an old one owe me a favor.” He smiles at the last, giving me a wink.

Considering how power-hungry we are as a species, it’s no wonder some of us cloak our aura when among our own kind. As long as I don’t have to mind control any of them to get them to donate, then it’s a good day.

“I appreciate your generosity, Liam.” I nod my head slightly to him. “Considering the gift I gave you yesterday on the fun floor, I concede—I will owe you a small favor.”

He lets out a laugh, relaxing the others further. “Touché, dear innkeeper, touché.”

The remaining vampires line up behind him. Each one stands ready to donate two or three ounces of blood to me. If I wasn’t afraid I’d bind them all, I’d offer free shots of vampire blood in the bar when this mess is done. As things are now, I’ll have to tell them we’re all out if they ask for it.

I feed from each wrist, thanking one vampire while I reach for the next arm. My ability to control my aura increases after the first two. I pull the energy in and lock down the power. Before I get to Antonio, I remember his shot in the bar last night. Joanna stands next to him, and while I would have liked to drink from her, I feign fullness to avoid binding Antonio to me.

“Thank you both for the offer. I believe I’ve had enough.”

Taking a moment to read my hunger levels, I realize I’m telling the truth. I’m back to my normal self. It’s nice to save Joanna as a backup in case I need it.

“I’d like to ask all the masters a personal question. My strongest ability is to cast physical illusions over an entire room or redirect it at an individual, even from a distance. What are your abilities?”

Revealing this small portion of my power is not dangerous. They will assume I mean humans only, still having no idea I can do so to vampires and the eventual result of such glamour means I can mind control them. The last true manipulator, like myself, was killed over six hundred years ago. Way before any of these youngsters were around.

Excitement charges the air as each master looks at the others nearby.

Jet is the first to speak. “I shift to animal form. My favorite is the Bengal tiger, but I think a bear or wolf might better suit the climate here.”

I smile encouragement at him. “Thank you, Jet. The wolf will be a great asset with Jonathan’s ability. You’ll both be invaluable trackers.”

Liam speaks next. “I turn to mist and fly.” A note of pride creeps into his voice. And well it should. Such a power is a remarkable attribute in a fight—an opponent can never land a hit on vapor.

“Can you speak mind-to-mind with Francesca when you’re in such a state?” I ask.

Liam nods, a spark of surprise lighting his eyes. “Yes, I can. Kudos to you for seeing the tactical advantage in that.”

“You’ll be able to cover a greater distance from the air. This will be particularly helpful in the areas around all the buildings. That bastard has to eventually go inside to warm up.”

“I admit,” Liam adds, “I haven’t had a reason to mist in such extreme cold. I may not be able to hold it as long as I’d like.”

“We’ll take what we can get. Thanks.” I turn to Salvador, curiosity in my eyes.

“My bite can bring extreme orgasmic pleasure to a human. I can make it last. Twist it to cover hours if I wish.”

Shock fills me. His reluctance to share blood with Sheba now makes perfect sense. That ability combined with the blood connection would render them all drooling love idiots. I bet Theresa, his wife, grew weary over the decades of all the servants trailing after Sal like lovesick puppies. It must have taken him years to find a woman strong enough to not lose herself in him.

“I understand about Sheba now.” My voice is softer now, with sympathy. “I can show you how to mark them to other vampires and help them maintain a sense of self. We’ll talk later, okay?”

Sal nods in gratitude. Apparently, my spike-the-water trick is not as widely known as I would have thought. It would have helped his people to gain protection, while still allowing them independence. Of course, he’ll have to cut down on the amount of love groupies he has at his beck and call, but it’s a start in the right direction. No wonder my staff scrambles to donate when his group visits. He brings so many companions with him that my employees rarely get a chance, but it certainly makes sense now.

Drew, Antonio and Joanna are not master vampires yet, not by a long shot. Even though they all have the beginnings of a greater power inside them, I don’t want to count on their mastery of it yet, not in a fight.

A movement near the back of the room swings every vampire head to the rear doors. Jonathan walks in, closing the door behind him. He looks at us all and stops dead in his tracks.

“Wow, talk about freaky. A bunch of bloodsuckers staring at me is not how I envisioned walking in here.” His sarcasm drips in the air, making several vamps relax and smile at themselves.

I can always count on the werewolf’s quiet strength in himself to prevail. That is, unless he’s angry, of course.

I motion to Asa. “Did you bring the map?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He strides to the front of the theater, to the large table Rafe set up earlier. He unfolds the map to show a grid pattern overlaid on the resort and speaks. “Here’s what I was thinking on how we could locate the bastard with everyone’s help.”

Chapter Twenty-five

With the plan in place, Rafe returns to our apartment to gather all the winter gear he can find. Thankfully, all of the guests came to the inn prepared with the proper outdoor apparel. Most of them anticipated skiing or exploring the property while their human counterparts slept. The excitement level of the vampires is high in anticipation of the hunt, it’s like they’ve all been given a bonus within their vacation.

The companions and servants were allowed back into the room a few minutes ago and most huddle around their vampire masters. The theater room is the most defensible. It has only one emergency exit door and no windows. Our employees are all retreating to their homes off and on site. I’ve issued the barest of details to keep everyone calm. I told them there was a criminal on the property and to arm themselves. I left off the parts about Paul, the murder, one of the dogs being killed, and the cause for the power outage.

Instructions went out for the personal panic-bracelets that are normally only worn when working or donating blood, to be firmly in place at all times. I will know instantly when one is pressed, thanks to my own matching bracelet. Overall, our group is levelheaded. I don’t anticipate any false alarms.

I let out a sharp whistle to quiet the rising voices, drawing all eyes to me. “In case some of you are confused, all humans will be staying here with me.”

Theresa challenges this instantly. “You? Wouldn’t it make more sense for you to be outside with the others hunting this psychopath? And wouldn’t all warm bodies be useful in this circumstance?”

“No,” I answer calmly, making sure I glance around the room as I continue. “This vampire has an extraordinary skill over humans. He can take your will from you so completely—the mental bond with your master may not be enough to protect you. And some of you have no protection at all.” I allow that little tidbit to sink in before I finish. “When you love something, do you allow it to be protected by the weakest of your kind, or the strongest?” I address the last to the vampires in the room, just in case any of them have lingering doubts about Asa’s plan.

Heads nod in agreement.

Liam speaks in support. “You do not leave the worst soldiers to protect the women and children.” Oh, I wish he hadn’t said that. Some of them may take umbrage at such a reference. “You post,” he continues, “the most ruthless to take the last stand.”

A corner of my mouth quirks up at Liam’s compliment. “Thanks.”

One thing that hasn’t occurred to him or the others is that I refuse to leave Rafe. No matter what. Despite our rock-solid bond, he might be vulnerable to this particular vampire’s skill. I trust no one to protect him as I can. I can’t even tell Rafe without insulting him. Facts are facts. I’d give up everything in my life, every bauble, every dollar, and every piece of property to keep him safe. I’ll make no excuses or apologies for it either.

“Okay,” I call out. “Next step is weapons. Let’s head to the dojo and see what we’ve got.”

The seven vampires plus Rafe, Jonathan, and I enter the large padded sparring room. Asa shakes his head in exasperation as the vampires naturally pick weapons they fought with when they were human. I signal for him to talk to me in a corner.

I lower my voice to a whisper, counting on the clang of swords, maces, and axes to distract the superior hearing of the predators for a little while. “I know you’re not happy with the weapons, but what do you think the chances are of them finding this guy?”

“Fair to middling. I’m not really sure.”

“I’m debating on something,” I shift around to put my back to the room, making sure no one is focusing on us. “Something I’m not really comfortable with.”

“Okay, Viv. I’m not a mind reader. Spit it out.”

Terse as always, that’s military training for you.

“I’m considering sharing blood with you and opening up a mind connection in case we need it.”

“A mind connection?” His voice holds his surprise. “I don’t understand. I thought that only worked with vampires and their human mates or servants. How could you do it with me?”

“Remember what I told you earlier in the basement about not wanting to take your will and drink from you?” Asa nods. “Okay, well the two are connected. If I made you my vampire servant by exchanging blood, I could essentially open a telepathic link with you if I wanted.”

Asa looks a little put-off with the idea. I rush forward to complete the offer. “I can sever the mental tie at any time. And if I refrain from drinking from you again, your will would be restored in a few weeks.”

His face sets, no expression leaking out, “If you think we’ll need it. Then okay.”

No hesitation. No doubt. No pointing out we have cell phones that work, so why would we need it? I think in some cases, like this one, the unwavering training to follow a commander isn’t such a bad thing. He tilts his head to the side, offering up his throat for me.

I pull back a bit. Was I ever this trusting? I don’t think so. Granted, I was tortured and held captive for years prior to be being forced into this undead existence.

Smiling to ensure no insult, I reach for his hand. “I was thinking of the wrist.”

Bringing it to my lips, I swipe the edge of a tooth against his supple skin. Sharp, tangy blood rushes onto my tongue. I swallow it down and seal the wound. Only a small amount is needed to link us. With luck, taking so little will allow the servant bond to dissipate faster over time.

“That’s it? Are you sure?” Asa asks in surprise.

I smile. A small smile that shows more in my eyes than in my face. Pushing my will down my bloodline, I try to make a connection with him. I reinforce the effort by looking deep into his eyes, searching for a way to enter without force. I see the link of our blood, reflecting clearly in the mirror surface of his mind. It’s like looking at liquid mercury, with a small doorway opening in.

Can you hear me now? I use the humorous phrase from the wireless commercial to inject a little lightheartedness into the moment.

Holy shit! Asa exclaims mentally. Is that you in my head? His face has a look between panic and fascination.

Seriously? Who the hell else would it be?

The vampires around us are finishing up their weapons selections. We won’t have much time before they wander over to us.

Okay. Good point. I guess I do sound like an idiot. Can you read everything in my mind or only when we concentrate like this?

You’ll need to work on shielding yourself. I’m staying on the surface to not invade your privacy too much. Normally, we would have time to practice. But this is an extraordinary situation. For now, think of closing the door which let me in, doing so should help you balance the connection. Make no mistake; I can get through the door whenever I want. But it will help you…

The connection between us cuts off as Asa practices his newfound skill. Good to see he’s a fast learner.

“That was cool.” He smiles big, letting his pride in the small accomplishment reflect in his features. “How do I open it?”

“Focus on that same door. This time, try opening it.”

His face scrunches up. He looks like he’s thinking hard or trying to pass gas—I’m hoping for the former.

Did I get it right?

Yes, I reply.

I close the connection as Rafe walks over to us.

“Experimenting?” Rafe asks.

“Yeah,” I smile. “You know my motto: ‘Better safe than dead.’ ”

Asa gives us a thumbs-up and walks away to help Joanna pick a suitable weapon from the ones left.

“Technically,” I say, looking over the group, “Jet doesn’t need a weapon. He’s going as a wolf, right?”

“Yes,” Rafe shakes his head ruefully. “But he’d like to have one ‘at the ready,’ that is earmarked for him ‘just in case’.” He smiles as he looks over the motley bunch. “They’re so excited, it’s as if we’ve hit on the ultimate vacation experience for them. To legally hunt down another of their kind without retribution.” He raises his eyebrows on the last part. “Who knew?”

I snort at that one. Yeah, that’s all we need. Killers running loose in Alaska for the enjoyment of the undead-and-unable-to-express-it set. Rafe’s arm comes around my shoulder, squeezing me close to his side.

“You feeling better after the vamp blood, liebling?”

“Yeah,” I answer a bit distracted. “I’m good.”

“What are you brooding on then?”

You mean other than the feasibility of a vamp that turns to mist seeing anything in the dark? Or perhaps it’s the tiger-turned-wolf to track when he doesn’t know anything of the property outside his orgy cabin? Could it be the two youngsters that have no battle training? I pause a second and look around. Oh wait, let’s not forget the angry vamp looking to avenge his dead wife. Or the one I pissed off, claiming blood rights to his companion and then altering the memories of that same companion?

Disgust colors my mental tone when I’m done.

“So let me guess? You have a backup plan?”

I smile once more. This time, it has an edge to it. “When do I not? This time,” I say as I walk to meet the group carrying weapons and grinning like loons, “I have two.”

“Report back via cell phones when you have a visual of the target.” Asa’s voice drones like a drill sergeant reminding troops of the basics before heading off on a field training assignment. “Don’t try to engage alone, call for backup. Those in animal or other form should contact their mates via telepathy so Vivian and Rafe can inform those out on the property.” He looks to me to see if I have anything to add.

“Keep in mind it’s forty below right now, and that doesn’t include the wind chill.” My voice isn’t as deadpan as Asa’s. I sound more like a demented Julie, the activities director from the old 70’s show on a cruise ship. “Your core temp is going to slip lower the longer you stay out there. Your reaction time will slow. Your senses will play tricks on you. You can easily lose your way when moving from the light of the buildings. Keep the map with you at all times, and refer to it often.

“Above all, stay safe. The goal is not to add to the body count. We will find Ivan. It just may be a long hunt and you’ll need to watch your strength reserves. Come back often to feed. We’ll have donors here on hand. Of course,” I add with a big toothy grin, ever the salesman, “free of charge.”

There they stand… the Magnificent Seven. Bundled to the gills in winter gear. Armed to the teeth with dull, sparring-quality blades and knives.

Christ. What the hell are we doing?

Before I have a chance to even formulate a non-snarky answer to my own question, my cell phone vibrates at my waist. Caller ID tells me it’s coming from one of the employee apartments up on the northern end of the property.

“Yeah?” My voice comes out smooth and calm. No need to arouse more fear in an employee than necessary.

“It’s Jerry. We got an issue up here. Are all the guests with you right now?”

“Yes.” I glance around the room to confirm. “Why?”

“I just winged a man about a hundred yards out from one the buildings,” Jerry replies.

“What?” Does he mean what I think he means? “Are you trying to tell me you shot someone?”

The whole room instantly quiets. All vampires, including their servants and mates, are straining to hear both sides of the conversation over my cell phone. Damn, it’s hard to have a private conversation around all these bloodsuckers.

“Yes, you heard me right,” Jerry answers. “After you said there was a fugitive on the property running loose, I decided to take some action.”

My fingers come up to pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m not sure if I’d rather scream in frustration at the danger he’s put himself in or applaud him in his efforts.

“I came up to the apartments with my rifle. Just in case,” he says.

The rifle is not going to be able to do much damage to this fugitive, but I don’t have the heart to break it to him. I know why he’s really there. Dr. Margery Cook lives in one of the cabins near the apartments and she moved to the larger building during the emergency. He’s always had a crush on the no-nonsense, auburn-haired doctor.

“Okay, Jerry, thanks. Keep an eye on the others,” a smile comes through in my voice now, “and Dr. Cook. But, you need to be more careful. This guy isn’t what you think he is.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I know exactly what he is, missy.” His gruff voice takes on a strength I haven’t heard from him in a few years. “I came loaded with silver.”

I turn my back to the crowd in the room, hoping to hide my surprise. “Excuse me? Did you say you have silver bullets?”

His deep, masculine laugh holds a confidence that reminds one at once of his sharp intelligence. This is no longer the young man I hired in the late seventies, fresh from Vietnam. How could I have forgotten his valuable background in this dire time?

“Yeah,” he replies. “Silver bullets. Vivian, aren’t you aware that most of the employees hunt during the resort’s off-season? Most all of us have guns.”

My blood chills at the thought of over one hundred employees possibly armed with silver. Perhaps I have been foolish in not binding them to me in blood. I value their free will above all else. Could it be a mistake that could cost me my life down the line?

“Jerry, where did you get the silver bullets?”

“I cast them myself.” A hint of pride comes through. “Takes time and hard work but it can be done.”

“Who else has them?” My voice remains carefully neutral.

“I see where you’re going with this, missy. It’s just me.” Jerry takes on a more serious tone. “I was never in fear of you, you’ve got to believe me. It was a precaution against the guests. In life, it pays to be prepared.”

I let out a sigh. “I can’t fault your logic there. It’s obviously come in handy.” Best to get it all in the open. “What are you using?”

“I’ve got a Remington 700 CDL 7mm magnum, with a Nightforce NXS scope.” Asa lets out a low whistle across the room, clearly impressed with the engineer’s choice. “Works great, but the silver rounds lose accuracy over distance. Has to be a close shot, can’t safely do more than a hundred and fifty yards, I bet.”

I know nothing about guns. Considering Asa’s reaction, it’s got to be excellent. “You say you hit him? Are you sure?”

“Oh, yeah. He went down like a rock.” Jerry’s smile in those few words comes through loud and clear.

This piques my interest a lot more than hearing about the weapon. “Really? Where on his body do you think you hit him?”

“I was aiming for his head.” He says it so matter-of-factly that my stomach does a little flip at the thought. “But I got him high on his left shoulder.”

“You sure you didn’t hit an employee?”

“Yes, he was up and off like the wind before I could crank another round in the chamber and squeeze it off. A human would have been down longer, wouldn’t have moved that fast either.”

That’s the first time Jerry has come right out and said he knows we’re not human. The canny old bastard is paying closer attention than I gave him credit for. “Did you see any blood on the ground?” I ask.

“Yes. A small, dark pool showed up in the glow of the footlights on the path.”

“Great.”

That means the bullet stayed in. The wound would have sealed instantly if the round passed through.

“We’ll send out people to track him.” I pause a moment, deciding on what I can say to get through to the stubborn man and keep him safe. “Jerry, you did a great job. Listen to me carefully. Under no circumstances are you to go after this guy, got it?”

“I’m not a fool, Vivian. I’ll be staying right here on this balcony, watching the entrances. He knows I’m here now, I doubt he’ll be back any time soon.”

The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up. A chill runs through me, stopping the slow beat of my heart for a bare instant. If he’s wounded and needs to replace blood, I know where Ivan will be going next. I click the phone off and turn to Jonathan. I open the mental connection between us for the first time in seven years.

Jonathan. His head whips up and he locks eyes with me. Yes, it’s me in your head. Please don’t freak out. If you understand, just nod.

Jonathan nods, his look intense.

Good. You heard the whole phone call with Jerry. Ivan will need to feed to gain his strength back. The silver will slow him down until he gets it out, so we have some time, but not much. I know he won’t want to agree with what comes next. I’m going to send everyone out to track him but I need your dogs.

Jon shakes his head once. He’s clearly unwilling to put the animals in the path of this sadistic son of a bitch once more.

The cabins, Jon. The families.

I try to appeal to his inner sense of right and wrong before I force my will upon him to make him do what I want.

I need you to send the dogs to circle the homes. Have them sound the alarm if Ivan approaches.

The anguish on his face is clear. A moment passes, and he nods.

“You’re right. In the end they’re only dogs.” Jon chokes up a bit on the last. “It’s just that they’re my dogs.”

I know, Jon. But could you look at Bunny and her kids and ever forgive yourself if something happened to them?

Jon doesn’t answer me. He doesn’t need to. He’s already moving for the door. Jon will do the right thing.

“All right people.” My voice rings out clear and strong across the room. “You heard the phone call, you’ve got your maps, and you know the plan.” Everyone stands a bit taller, ready to face the cold and the danger that awaits. “We need to strike while he’s weak. Get to that blood trail as fast as you can. Once he gets the bullet out, there’ll be no more scent to follow.

“Let’s move!”

Chapter Twenty-six

The next few hours prove to be very stressful with rapid-fire reports of conflicting information keeping us all on our toes. The misty cloud shape of Liam reports through Francesca that there’s no sight of Ivan. Big surprise there. The tiger-cum-wolf, known as Jet, has tracked—with Jon’s help—the last location of Ivan to a bloody silver bullet where the scent trail ends. Antonio, Joanna, Sal, Drew, and Asa have not actually spotted Ivan, but they’re patrolling the quadrants closest to where he was last scented.

Jonathan has set his wolf dogs to guard the family residences. They’ll howl and bark if they sense anyone but Jon near the cabins. What seemed like a good idea at the time is now making me doubt myself.

Do I risk moving the ten families that live in those private dwellings to the main building, or would they be most vulnerable during a move? If there is an attack, will a vampire nearby be able to get to the cabins in time or do I, being the closest, leave the people here at the main building alone?

My own past has not prepared me to defend a large group of people. The harsh lessons learned from my experiences have made me an efficient killing machine and a highly skilled hunter, but not the best strategist for planning a large-scale defense. Maybe what I need to do is start thinking like a cold-blooded killer again. I’ve dressed up the core of who I am with pretty trappings—long frivolous hair, perfect make-up, and form-fitting clothes.

But I am something the others will never be—a murderer with the ability to kill from a distance. If it comes down to Ivan or me, I will win. Ivan’s demented plan may make sense and thus enable me to anticipate his next moves if I figure out what that bastard has in store. Does he plan more sabotage? Will he try to drain another employee? I can defend or go on a counterattack against him before he has a chance to strike—if I could decipher his end game and anticipate.

He will need to feed, but when? His wounds healed once the bullet was removed, but his reserves of energy will lower the longer he stays out in the cold. His gorging on Paul could hold him a bit more if he got that silver out fast enough, but we don’t know how long it was in.

My thoughts tumble one over the other in a faster-than-light torrent of concepts. I must protect those under my care. Restlessly, I pace. To fail here and now, against this weaker enemy, is not an option. How much longer should I let this hunt go on? I think I am the target, but am I willing to be the bait as well?

Living for years afraid to show what I could do, followed by decades of being used for that talent, had left me ready to snap. Killing without mercy to escape and then becoming a hard, heartless mercenary for a corrupt Tribunal did not help me either. The black abyss I battled for years yawns wide at my feet, ready to welcome me back without a moment’s hesitation.

Dria? What are you thinking? Rafe inquires gently from his position by the front desk. Your thoughts are too jumbled for me to read.

I was just debating the merits of thinking like a killer and trying to decide what Ivan would be doing next.

Give the group a chance. It’s only been three hours.

He sends his calm, quiet strength to me through our connection. I know he’s trying to soothe my rampaging mind. It works a little, but fear for those around me leaks in slowly.

Three hours and forty-six minutes, to be exact. I look down at my watch to confirm the inner clock ticking loudly in my brain. I had high hopes when Jerry reported shooting him that the hunt would be over quickly.

It may take slightly longer than we anticipated, that’s all. The hunters will be happy, our people will be safe, and Ivan will be dead. No fear, my love, we will come through this unscathed.

I wring my hands in a very uncharacteristic gesture of nerves.

You make it sound all neat and pretty, wrapped up in a bow, but this guy isn’t going down easily and I need to minimize the damage.

Soooo… What do you want to do?

Before I have a chance to answer, my phone vibrates on my hip. I grab it, hit the button, and greet Joanna in one continuous movement.

“I made another pass by the empty guest cabins, as you’d asked,” Joanna reports. “Still no sign of him.”

“Okay.” I move to the map spread out on the table. “Antonio is by the bowling alley and the ski lift. He’s closest to you. How are you doing in the cold?”

“I’m ashamed to admit it, but I need to warm up soon. I’m experiencing that slowdown you described.”

“A quick feed will help you bounce back. Taking a rest should bring up your core temp, too. Swing by, and I’ll let the others know.”

No sooner do I end the call and clip the phone back to my waist, it vibrates again. This time it’s Sal. “The generators are still secure and there’s no sign of Ivan here. The good news is we’ve got him on the run. I saw the wolves racing through the woods minutes ago, hot on his trail.” He pauses. Even in his weariness I sense the underlying thrill of the chase through his speech. “We were trying to flush him into the open, but the woods hide many things in the dark.”

I think back to some of the traps I’ve set in the past. The ruthless rogue predators whom I caught and showed exactly what ruthless truly meant.

“Look up—don’t neglect the trees. The wolves can’t scan high as easily as you and it would be where I’d hide.”

A grunt greets me on the end of the line. “Good thought. When I was a general, we fought in the open. The jungles were far, far away.”

He hangs up, assuring me he’ll check the trees. I pace again, wondering if this plan of Asa’s to have the hunters track down Ivan is the best course of action. My own futility cripples me. Rafe will always be my prime concern. Leaving his side to attend the hunt has never been a viable option though I hadn’t anticipated how I’d feel about my employees and guests’ safety.

When did a piece of land in the middle of nowhere and a bunch of humans become so important to me? What would happen if Ivan did ruin it all and the police came to investigate?

Rafe and I would have to start again somewhere else. But the decades I have invested here, dammit, they do mean something to me after all. I don’t want to lose it.

This place has become a part of me. The fact hits me hard—the truth lodging in my throat like a hard pill to swallow.

The shock of revelation leaves me staring into space for a few minutes.

Francesca enters from the hall, breaking the spell, leaving her post watching the back entrance into the north wing of the building. “Liam came in the back. He made his way to the pool to warm up.”

Pulling myself away from the realization that I have allowed myself to care for something beyond Rafe, I focus on what Francesca’s saying.

I wondered how long Liam could take being in mist form out in the cold. The fact he’s going to an eighty-two degree pool to first warm up is telling. I hope I can convince him to go back out armed and in human form. Another set of legs and eyes, with a weapon, will be much more valuable. Some men are stubborn. It shouldn’t take much to get the warrior in him to the forefront, to recognize the real need and act on it.

Nodding to Francesca, I let her know I heard and she returns to her post. We have Theresa positioned in the lobby watching the front and the west wing. Matt, Jet’s mate, is on the second floor as our first line of defense in case Ivan enters through a window again. Rafe, the strongest of the four mates, is in the west wing, at the pool. That wing has the most glass and the least amount of defensible walls.

Honestly, I’m a little freaked at the idea of having anyone susceptible to vampire wiles watching an entrance. We’re limited with only the four humans powerful enough to resist Ivan long enough to call for help, but it is the only choice we have.

I resume my earlier movements, prior to the phone calls. My pacing must be nerve-wracking to the companions, servants, and employees left in the building, all of whom are gathered in seats watching me. I feel like a caged tiger pacing in front of bars at the zoo.

What the hell do they all want from me? I hold back the urge scream obscenities. It might make me feel better, but I bet it would freak the shit out of all of them.

Let me think about the facts so far—Ivan’s wound will require him to feed soon. The apartments are secure, for the most part by Jerry. The dogs are watching the cabins. Ivan’s only option to feed is either to catch one of the vampires tracking him or… or… to come here.

Shit. I knew it would come to this. My agitated mind didn’t allow me to connect the facts and see the truth.

“Change of plans, everyone.” I look up to find all thirty sets of eyes glued to me. Guess my nerves are catching. “You’re all going to the basement. Grab coats and food. It’s cold down there.”

I call Theresa, Matt, Francesca, and Rafe back in. All of them will be staying together. Within ten minutes, they are ready to descend the basement stairs located in our private suite. Joanna arrives at the back door to get out of the cold right when the last of the group shuffles through the hotel kitchen.

“What’s going on?” Joanna asks.

I’m standing near one of the tables in the dining room, counting heads and making sure no one’s left behind. Rafe nods to me from the entrance to our suite.

“I’m putting them in a more secure location.” I reply to Joanna. “Hopefully, it won’t be long until Ivan’s caught.”

Done, he says while closing the door. The last of them have descended the stairs.

Joanna looks cold and very pale.

“You need to feed. Here.”

Before she can protest, I draw my nails across my wrist and thrust it to her lips. Her eyes go wide, but the lure of drinking old blood causes her to latch on to me quickly.

What are you doing, Dria? Rafe’s voice in my mind sounds angry.

I’m starting Plan B.

I close the mental door firmly, not wanting to explain myself right now.

While Joanna feeds on me, I lean over and brush her hair carefully to one side. My teeth break the skin on her neck before she has any idea what’s going on. One small mouthful is all I need. Sealing the fang marks, I rise and pull her off my wrist.

My hands cup her face gently as I angle her to look deep into my eyes. Exerting my will, I capture her mind so swiftly that she has no time to register even fear.

I’m going to need your help over the next few hours. You will not remember any of this. I’m going to lock parts of your mind away to protect your sanity. Do you understand?

Yes, my mistress. I will do whatever you command.

Sleep, sweet Joanna, sleep.

Liam exits the pool wing. He sees me across the lobby sitting at one of the dining room tables alone and gives me a wave.

“Where is everyone?”

“I sent them down to the basement.” I’m feeling cool and calm now.

The path ahead of me makes every moment crystal clear. Live by a plan and you live. No plan and you die.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

“Yes.” Liam eyeballs me sitting prim and still in my seat. “Want me to go down there or will you send someone up?”

“No need.” I smile. “There are several pints in the fridge. Some employees donated while you’ve been in the field. Just pop a bag in the microwave to take the chill off.”

He wanders past me to get the blood. “Good thinking.”

“Speaking of good thinking, are you ready to go out with a weapon and not as mist the next time?”

Liam sighs as he places the bag in the microwave and sets it to low. “Yes, I had the same realization myself. While misting to fly is a wonderful skill to have, it isn’t the greatest for a large-scale surveillance at night.”

“I agree. Go out when you’re ready, but stay close to the main building. I have a feeling Ivan is on his way here.”

“Here? Out of every place he could get warm, why here?”

“Because he came here for me. I’m going to give him exactly what he wants.”

Not knowing how to respond to that, Liam wisely says nothing. My phone vibrates, yet again.

“Yes?”

“It’s Antonio. Did Joanna make it back?”

“Yes. She’s warming up in the gym on the first floor. Getting her blood moving with some exercises to increase her core temp.”

“I can stay out a bit longer. Where do you want me next?”

I check the map we moved from the theater. It’s spread out on the table in front of me.

“Move to the front of the main building. Stay about a thousand yards out. I have a feeling the hungry Ivan is going to head our way soon.”

“Roger that.” Antonio ends the call, sounding way happier than a cold vampire should sound.

I open up my mental link to Asa.

Asa? I need you to circle back towards the main building. Call Drew first and tell him you want his help. Make a big noisy show getting yourselves to the main building. Explain to him that he’s bait for Ivan.

Excuse me, repeat that command?

Jesus, I’m in your head, Asa. It’s not like you misheard me.

Are you truly using him as bait?

No, I have other plans for him. I’m going to be the bait.

Does Rafe know about this? His mental voice sounds tentative.

Rafe always knows everything I have planned. That doesn’t mean he always agrees with it.

Asa hesitates a brief instant before responding. I’m not so sure in this instance that Rafe would be wrong.

You let me worry about that. Get Drew to the main building and hide. Wait for my signal and then bring him in the entrance by the pool.

Yes, ma’am.

We end the connection just as Liam finishes his drink.

“You feeling ready to face the cold yet?” I ask.

Liam regards me with cold, calculating eyes. I think he was watching me while I mentally talked to Asa.

“You’re a cold-blooded killer hiding in that lovely body, aren’t you?”

“Aren’t we all, Liam? After all, we’re vampires.”

He nods, accepting the truth of my words. “Yes, we are. But some of us are better at it than others.”

I smile at him. It’s a chilling smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “You’re right. Some of us are. We’re the ones who live the longest.”

“Ivan won’t be one of them, will he?” Liam asks softly.

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Liam layers back up and ventures out via the side door. He’s off to flush Ivan closer to the hotel and help spring my trap. I contact Sal over the phone then mentally connect with Jonathan, who’s working tandem with Jet. Instructing them all to make separate, large sweeping circles three-quarters of a mile out around the main building, and then to tighten up on each pass.

Dria, Rafe pushes into my mind. I’m not happy with this plan. You’re making a huge assumption. Have you even tried your theory yet?

I can’t risk alerting him. Logically, though, it all adds up. I think it will work.

It’s a big chance.

I know. I try to send reassurance to him through our link. I’m not in danger. You trust me on that, right?

I do. He heaves a big mental sigh. I just hate this is a battle I can’t be at your side. I see him leaning against a wall in the workroom. He’s the last stand if Ivan gets past me and all the other vampires. Yeah, that’s a snowball’s chance in hell.

We’re not even ten feet apart. You can charge up the stairs if I need you.

That brings a smile to his face. One of the best things about you, is you don’t need me.

One of, huh? You’ll have to tell me all the others when this mess is over.

Like you don’t already know… Rafe gently closes the link, knowing I need to concentrate for the next steps to go off flawlessly.

Everything is in place. I wait for the guest of honor to arrive.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Recent phone calls from Asa, Liam and Antonio have informed me of Ivan’s whereabouts. Jon hasn’t spoken to me through our mental connection, not even once. I never got a chance to practice opening that form of communication with him, and I think part of him feels uncomfortable with it. Asa reported seeing the wolf forms of Jet and Jonathan, so I know they are out there, but not where.

The circle tightens little by little with each pass the team makes, drawing our target in closer. I have not revealed all the details of my secondary plan to anyone yet, besides Rafe, and there’s the off chance that I might be wrong. Very off chance.

The hours drag in an endless march while I ponder my plan. The dark dawn of morning passes but cannot be distinguished from the never-ending night. Thankfully, the blood the master vamps gave me in the media room still sustains me, so I will be at my peak when the time comes to act.

All the lights in the inn have been extinguished, except for the ones by the pool. I enter through the double set of doors and place myself in the lighted area. Mikey and the other parrots stay miraculously out of my way. It adds to the freakiness of the moment when not even the birds break the silence.

I settle myself in a lounge chair for an extended wait. My body stills as I sink into the lush cushion to portray the semblance of relaxation. By slowing my heart, I achieve a meditative-like state. It’s not the same as the one I reach after yoga, but in a pinch, it will do. It allows me to open my senses. Makes me aware of everything around, to an extensive degree.

The plant fronds rustle in the circulating air. The gentle lap of the water against the side of the pool calls to the astrological water-sign in me that I was born under all those centuries ago. I never used to believe in all that star-sign bull. But it doesn’t need me to believe in it to be real—like most things in life, it either exists in spite of you, or because of you.

Have I thought of every outcome? Will my plan come together in the end? I’m not one for self-doubt, that’s for sure. It’s slightly nerve-wracking to have all the events of the past forty hours come down to this moment. Will that sadistic son of a bitch take the bait? Am I the real reason he has come here or is it something else?

The twilight illumination of this Alaskan region won’t arrive for several more hours. The master vamps outside shouldn’t have problems with the minimal diluted sun exposure. Since Antonio and Joanna are younger, they might be uncomfortable if they were outside when the sunset-like hours occur. With luck, this mess will be resolved before that becomes an issue.

I connect mentally with Jonathan; the wait has been long enough and I have a feeling he won’t know how to reach out to me.

Any sight of Ivan?

Jesus! That’s freaky. Can’t you give me any warning before you jump in my head?

I smile at the thought. What do you suggest, furball? I knock?

Okay, okay…Good point. Back to your question. Yes, I spotted him about ten minutes ago. As I was closing in, he gave me the slip.

Where did you last see him?

About a quarter of a mile from cabin ten, Jon answers. He appears to be working his way slowly to the main building.

How was he moving?

Pretty good. Not running at an all-out sprint, but moving along. He must have warmed up somewhere.

Thanks. Keep me posted with any changes. Try to tighten the circle to draw him in.

Sure thing, Viv. You ready for him?

I smile at that one. I was turned ready.

We end our connection and I reach through my bloodline with my extended consciousness. I tap on each thread, chasing it to its end. Every dot of energy accounted for, including a few new sparkling ones that weren’t there before.

Asa? Where are you and Drew?

We followed a trail that led to the maintenance building. There were signs of forced entry. We think Ivan broke in to warm up at some point.

Good, I was wondering where he might have done that. Jon spotted him by the cabins a little bit ago. Get into position near the stone gardens outside the pool wing. It won’t be long now.

How can you be so sure? It looks like an obvious trap. What if he’s smart enough to stay away?

You let me worry about that. Don’t come into the building until you get my signal.

Roger.

Ending our connection, I unleash my aura. Every bit I keep locked away comes rushing to the surface. My skin tingles; the tiny hairs on my arms stand on end. The power feels like a long-lost blanket—both comforting and confining. Similar to when I hunted Rafe for our afternoon sex in the basement, I close my eyes allowing my senses to extend into the building. I push through interior walls, pausing only when I reach the cold outdoors.

There. I sense something. It hides in the small attic above the fun floor. A new presence lurks. A hungry vampire sits still in the dark. Good thing I have what he needs after recovering from the gunshot wound—blood.

I send the delicious taste of my power into the air. Next, I accentuate his hunger by broadcasting the gut-burning hollow I felt a few short hours ago when I turned Paul. The illusion wraps itself so softly around Ivan that he has no idea it’s not his own body calling its needs to him.

His movement hits my mind before I physically hear it. He’s descending through a ceiling access panel into a third-floor hallway. While even vampires can’t see in complete blackness, we can draw on the slightest illumination to see our surroundings with ease. The emergency exits signs will be more than Ivan needs to find his way.

I draw upon a memory of the compelling scent of ancient vampire blood to weave a trace of the aroma into the air—I intend to make him work at tracking it down. He reaches the second floor landing at a dead run and leaps several stairs at a time to land heavily on the wood floor at the base of the staircase. The smell permeates the lobby, causing him to stand in confusion while trying to regain his bearings.

His steps vibrate through the floor to my poolside chair. Ivan moves first down the hall toward the dojo. After a few minutes, he returns the way he came. His solid weight touches down softly on the lobby rug. All of these sensations come through to me from my connection to the inn. Blood, sweat, and tears went into its construction and upkeep. The fluids from all the people who have consumed my blood for decades allow my energy to infuse the very inn itself, and in this moment, give it a life of its own.

I sense Ivan’s step heading toward the pool and project the removal of my clothes. Laying my curvy, delectable body across the chaise. Posing myself on my back, my breasts remain covered by my arm. I draw my right leg up to conceal the juncture between my legs.

Ivan doesn’t keep me waiting. He pushes through the double doors, coming to stop at the entrance while the doors swish closed behind him.

“You,” he says in a hiss.

His stark white hair and goatee stand in marked contrast to the rest of his dirty, ragged appearance. He must have discarded his coat in the attic; I can’t imagine he was able to survive outside this long without some protection. Dried blood cakes his clothing but the exposed skin of his shoulder reveals no trace of a wound.

Ivan advances about ten feet, maintaining a safe distance from me. He’s shaking in his rage, fisting his hands open and closed in rapid succession. “You took everything from me. I spent years locked in silver and starved because of your meddling!”

“Really? Did I now?” responding to his first statement, while ignoring the second. I bat my eyelashes playfully. “Are you so sure?”

I push a strong sense of desire his way, turning his hunger and blood lust around to another kind of lust—one I’m an expert at manipulating. Recreating my own sexually aroused scent, I send it wafting with a shift of my leg.

“Was Angie really the right girl for you?”

Ivan shakes his head, caught in my web and unsure of what his mind tells him.

“I don’t understand. It was you that got me imprisoned! She was mine.” His rage takes front and center in his emotions, but he’s having trouble holding it together in the face of my illusion. “W-Why did you sever my mate bond with her?”

“It was not my fault you were imprisoned. I tried to keep you with me, but the Tribunal stepped in. You should blame them.” I stare straight into his eyes as I utter my next words, “Angie was weak. I had no choice but to sever the bond or kill her. With your ability to exert your will in place of her own so completely, I knew you were destined for stronger prey.”

I lick my mouth, allowing a fang to elongate and stay showing over my bottom lip.

“Why set her free to remarry?” His face contorts in an ugly visage. “That faithless bitch deserved to die!”

Throwing my head back, exposing my long throat, I laugh in a tinkling, seductive sound. “Food is food, man.” I make a tsk-tsking sound, to draw him out of his haze. “I bet she didn’t even recognize you when you came for her.” His eyes flash to mine; I think I hit the nail on the head with that one. “When will you learn?”

“Learn what?” he sneers. Apparently, Ivan does not care to be laughed at. He walks closer and stands a mere five feet from me now. Good.

“Only a vampire master and another master can find true happiness together. The Tribunal spreads the lies of mate bonding with a human far and wide to keep the rest of us from getting too strong.” The lie trips off my silver-tipped tongue with ease.

Ivan’s face no longer holds the impassivity most vampires wear on a daily basis. The insanity he had before his imprisonment looks like it grew during his stay in the ancients’ jail. His eyes look wild, darting around the room, only to fall back on my lush curves like a moth drawn to flame. My pull on him through the illusion messes with his mind more than he can handle; he looks ready to snap.

“I don’t understand. Why would the Tribunal lie to keep us weaker?”

“Haven’t you noticed most of them don’t have mates?” I ask, hoping to draw something useful from the psycho before his death.

“I was imprisoned below ground in a damp cell with silver chains. I didn’t see any of them much.” His traitorous body shows evidence of his arousal, though he ignores it, while I twist on the lounge to draw his attention.

“Much? That implies you saw some of them.” I smile again, this time pulling my arm back and sitting up a bit on the chaise.

Lush, perfect breasts on display, a sight not many men could resist. Ivan proves to be like most men, giving me a long lingering stare.

“Emiko came down to see me the most near the end. She was the one assigned to set me free.”

“Did she bother to explain that I was saving Angie as food for another? Or did she imply I kept her for myself?” I snort to show the foolishness of this statement. “Or maybe she told you I let your wife live as part of your punishment?”

“No. She knew nothing of the reason for my confinement. I was there before she became an enforcer.” He looks speculative now, maybe thinking back on his last days there. The clarity in his eyes plays hide and seek with his blatant craziness. “She informed me my Angie lived and was waiting for me in Chicago.”

Ah… so Emiko steered him to that poor young woman. If she didn’t know why he was imprisoned, then someone pointed her toward him with the information.

“Didn’t you wonder how she knew Angie was alive or how to tell you where she was?”

Ivan looks around the room, searching for answers in the green foliage of the plants. “She spoke of a mentor on the tribunal during one of her visits. But never a name.” His roving eyes come back to land on me. “Are you trying to say I was set up? That someone used me?”

“Why, yes, you silly boy.” I’m actually amazed he was able to piece that together. “Angie’s mind had been wiped clean so she could continue to feed the community. You finding your way here was dumb luck.”

“Dumb luck?” Ivan scoffs out loud at that one. “I tracked that new husband of hers for months trying to kill him, too. That no-good bastard left every town right when I pinpointed his daytime sleeping location.” His eyes take on a new shine. “But I certainly enjoyed myself on the long journey here.”

I don’t want to think about the string of victims like Sheba he’d have left in his wake. To do so now could break the web I’m trying to spin.

The sexual desires I’ve been pushing out finally penetrate the full-on layer of nutso he’s got going on. Good God, the crazy ones are hard to manipulate. His hunger for blood re-directs into one of sex and Ivan’s body language changes from one of rage-filled predator to that of horny jackass. His limbs loosen from the tight stance he held while his hands relax from fists. He smiles at me in a leer, as if he’s just now noticed I’m naked. I’m betting it was the reference to his kills that finally brought on the recognition of his body’s responses to my projections.

Ewww. The thought sickens me so much I don’t even want to contemplate it.

“I thought you hated me all those years ago,” Ivan says in a soft cadence. “You really only wanted me for yourself?”

“Yes. Like calls to like, baby. I knew you were strong. Together, with your power, I can direct all the fantasies here to go exactly as desired—all without the vampires knowing it.”

“I… I… I never thought I could do something I enjoyed with another of my kind.”

“Come to me, I will show you… ” I send my scent into his nose, filling his head with nothing but thoughts of me and the pleasure that awaits him.

Ivan advances the remaining space between us, unbuttoning his filthy shirt on the way. Soon his skinny, unappealing body stands before me.

Now, Asa.

I spread my legs on the chaise, a clear invitation to the vampire. Ivan’s breathing in and out fast, like a horse that finished a race. He climbs on to the lounger with me, looking down into my eyes.

“You’re so beautiful, it’s like a dream come true.”

I reach up, running my hands over his chest to rest on either side of his neck.

“More like a nightmare.”

I follow the blood connection I share with every living and non-living thing on the property to its end. Touching on the blood that was once in Paul and that now resides in Ivan, I flex down, spiraling into his mind before he has any chance to figure out what I’m doing.

“How does it feel to be locked in your own mind, Ivan?”

No sound escapes the psychopath. He can’t even move unless I let him. “How does it feel to know that Angie found love? And that the real reason she never recognized you when you went to kill her was because I saved her? I wiped her mind clean of all traces of you, you sick bastard.”

I smile at him. This time my smile reaches my eyes. But it’s not a pretty smile—it’s the smile of an enforcer doling out justice.

The fire door in the back of the room crashes open. I pull my illusion away for Asa and Drew to see exactly what I want them to see: the truth.

Ivan no longer crouches over the form of Vivian, but over the real form of Joanna, who lies fully clothed beneath him. Joanna’s hands lock on his neck, holding Ivan in place while I hold him hostage in his own mind.

How does it feel, I ask from inside his head, to know the man who truly loved Angie and gave her happiness will be the one who gets to end your sorry existence for all eternity?

Chapter Twenty-eight

I bolt from my spot at the kitchen table. I’d projected the entire scene at the pool on to Joanna’s form. I’d never left our apartment in order to honor my promise to Rafe that I’d only be ten feet away.

“Rafe! Come quick. They have him!”

A shot fires in the distance. Rafe flies up the basement stairs, taking them three at a time. He grabs my outstretched hand and we race to the pool in the opposite wing.

“Are we too late to see the actual killing?” Rafe asks.

“Not yet. Asa shot him, but my connection to Ivan says he’s still alive.”

We burst through the doors to the sight of a bloody Ivan on the floor, with a large hole through his chest. Asa has Joanna in his arms, comforting the cute blond vampire. Drew stands alone over Ivan’s prone form with a sword raised high.

The parrots fly down with a loud squawk, ever ready to torment me. Rafe waves his hand, and the birds turn in mid-flight to land in a large, potted palm. Damn! I have to learn how to do that.

Drew’s manic eyes swing up at our entrance. “Don’t try and stop me, Vivian. I don’t trust the Tribunal to give me justice for the bastard killing Angie.”

“I wasn’t planning on stopping you, Drew.” I cock my head to the side. Why hasn’t he done it yet? “I was planning on bearing witness for you.”

Ivan looks dazed, as well he should, with no ability to communicate. A just ending for someone who did the same thing to his own victims.

Crap, could Drew be feeling wrong about killing him in cold blood rather than finally getting the revenge he’s been craving for months? I’ll give things a nudge for him. I open the puppet-string-like hold I have on the psychopath, forcing cliché words from Ivan’s mouth that are sure to push Drew over the edge. “She loved it,” Ivan rasps from his spot on the floor. “Don’t think that slutty bitch didn’t want…”

Drew’s arms swing down, severing Ivan’s head in one fell swoop. No easy feat with a dull, sparring sword. The head rolls to the side. A final grimace of hatred contorts Ivan’s angry features. Blood pools below the body, staining the tile in a slow-spreading circle.

“Drink and finish him,” I command.

“What?” Drew’s voice sounds shocked.

“Drink the blood of your enemy then cut out his heart.” I deliver my instructions as matter of fact as I can. It’s not the fun part, but it needs to be done. “You gain in strength by consuming his power. Live to fight another day.”

Drew looks unsure of himself. I take it he has never killed another vampire before.

“Now!”

Drew moves to follow my command. Choosing to drink from Ivan’s wrist rather than the obvious outpouring from the severed neck. Pitiful. Drew never would have made it as an enforcer.

The pulling force of Drew’s feeding stops the spreading pool beneath the body from getting larger. Good thing Ivan was weak with blood loss or we’d have a larger mess to clean up. Joanna and Asa watch in fascination. It takes about five minutes for Drew to drain Ivan. I reach down to the silver dagger strapped against my thigh.

“Here,” I say, offering Drew the blade, hilt out. “Cut out his heart and we’ll burn it.”

Drew takes the blade, bending to do the messy task. Tears pour down his cheeks. He may have wanted to avenge his wife after she died, but I don’t think he bargained for all of this when he came here seeking solace in our remote Alaskan resort.

Jonathan comes in the wide-open fire door with Jet right behind him.

“Damn, we missed all the fun,” Jet says. “Would have been my first vampire kill in a century.”

Both men saunter in naked from their shape change. Jon grabs a towel from a nearby stack, tossing it to Jet, before getting another for himself.

Drew stands over the body with the bloody heart of his wife’s killer in his hands. The tears stop and a new resolution forms beneath the shock. “Where, Vivian?” Cold eyes meet my own. “Where can I burn it?”

“There’s a fireplace in the lobby. It’s the closest.”

Rafe retrieves a soiled towel from a nearby chair. “Here, Drew. Wrap the heart in this.” He escorts Drew out to help with the fire while I’m left staring at the beheaded corpse.

“There won’t be enough daylight to fry the corpse until spring.” I scratch my head, weary from the past two days, weary to my bones. “Asa, can you drag yourself from Joanna long enough to help?”

Asa jumps like I’ve stung him with a cattle prod. “Yes, ma’am.”

Jon snorts and turns it into a cough, trying not to laugh out right at Asa’s reaction.

“Haul the remains out front. We’re going to have us a bonfire on the driveway. Oh, and go around the wing, will you—not through the lobby? I’d rather not get any blood in there.”

Asa bends to his assigned task, so I turn to the towel-hipped Jonathan.

“Can you start notifying our people and get them to spread the word? I’ll call the rest of the hunters in.”

“Don’t bother,” Liam shouts from the doorway. He’s standing with Antonio and Salvador. “We heard gunfire and ran right over. Once we saw you all had it under control, we stayed back to let Drew have the kill.” Liam pats Asa heartily on the back as the younger vampire walks by carrying the headless corpse in his arms, the severed head piled on top. “What a fine way to spend a vacation,” he says with a big grin. “I can’t tell you when I last had so much fun.”

The charred smell of a burning heart and bloody clothes in the fireplace apparently make the others think party. I’m not sure how it happens exactly, but before I could say boo, the lobby had filled with the people coming upstairs from the basement.

Warm hugs and loud, life-affirming kisses could be heard through the vast space. The giddy high associated with surviving a terrible event, seems quite prevalent here tonight. Laughter sounds a little too loud, a little too quick. Word of the bonfire spreads and as Dr. Cook mills around, checking for signs of shock, some industrious soul has set up a buffet table for the enjoyment of those who can eat.

But still, I feel like all that’s happened is rather surreal. The retelling of “the hunt,” as they’re starting to call it, has begun. Sal’s role in flushing Ivan to the main building has become a thing of legend. Liam’s brave part, flying around as a cloud, sounds a bit like an intelligence-gathering mission against large enemy forces.

Jet, on the prowl in wolf form, is accredited, by his own account, with knowing exactly where the killer was at all times. Antonio receives claps on the back in thanks from the families he and the wolf-dogs helped to protect. Joanna and Drew are the stars of the event, each having played an equally crucial part in stopping the killer. One in acting as bait, and the other in implementing the iron hand of justice.

Note, I didn’t say “of the law.” The law has no place here in Alaska on our resort for the undead. But justice—yes, justice—will always prevail.

No one knows of my involvement with orchestrating Joanna’s part in it all, except for Rafe. I can never hide anything from him, so I don’t bother trying. I’m off lurking in a corner, near the entrance to the dining room, with Rafe by my side. This is one time where I have no desire to seek the limelight. The events of the last two days have left me drained. All I want is to curl up in a hot tub with my man by my side.

Seeing Bunny and her children across the room reminds me of Paul. I need to find out the results of that talk Jon had with her. The arrogant werewolf is still wearing only a towel. If it keeps slipping lower on his hips, we may have an orgy in here soon. I motion him over to ask about Bunny.

“You need to get some clothes on.” I can’t help but smile when I say it.

His thick wrestler’s body is stocky and powerful. He wears that towel like a toga any Olympic athlete would be proud to wear. If my heightened senses can pick up the pheromones he’s kicking off, making me think of hot wrestlers and athletes, then you can damn well bet all the others can to.

“Is that really why you called me over here, Dria?” Jon purrs my real name out of earshot of the other employees. His golden-hazel eyes move from me to linger on Rafe. “Or is it because you and Rafe decided to finally beg me for a threesome?”

Familiar warmth pools low in my middle. It’s dangerously close to spilling over to my pussy and lighting it on fire.

Rafe throws his head back and barks out a loud laugh, helping to break some of the spell.

“The day I need more than my dick in my wife, will be the day I’m dead.” Rafe’s laughter abruptly cuts off. His next words come out low and deadly. “And since I plan on killing you with my dying breath, we can guarantee it won’t be your dick in her either.” Rafe raises his voice to almost normal. “Why don’t you put some clothes on and stop teasing the whole damn room. There are children in here, for God’s sake.” He sighs, slowly letting out the rest of his anger. “If you’d rather consider it an order from your boss, then do it. But seriously man, you need to get clothes on, quick.”

“For you, boss,” Jon winks cheekily at us both, “no problem.”

He turns, angling toward the north wing where the gym has workout clothes available for the guests. Letting his towel slip as he goes—until it drops to the floor in the carpeted hall and his bare ass is revealed to the foyer.

I project out a wave of calm, smoothing over the hot, boiling waters that churn at the sexy werewolf’s exit.

Damn the furry bastard!

It sure as hell doesn’t help that Jon’s got a fine ass, not to mention I was checking it out with my husband right next to me. Ugh, not good. Thank God, Rafe isn’t the jealous type.

“How can I fault you, my love,” Rafe whispers next to my ear. “When I too am drawn into the same web he weaves. It’s his nature.” He kisses my temple. “We need to find him a mate.”

I know, hon, I know.

The bigger problem is who you will allow next to him and thus next to you?

I shake my head in response, no desire to voice my own fears, even if it’s only in my mind. Sharing Jon will be the hardest thing I’ve had to do in nearly a hundred years.

The night I turned away from a young, teenaged Rafe, still ranks as the hardest. I left him in his mother’s secret yoga studio to spare him from a future with me. Little did I know the full strength of his will. I often wonder if the fates brought us together, or some cruel, cosmic joke. I’ll never know for sure and I don’t care either.

I hope Jon hurries. I don’t think I can take Joanna’s gaze on me from across the room much longer without some kind of a diversion.

Crap. She’s got that puppy-dog-adoring-look going on. I tried to take very little blood from her to avoid this. I won’t have this problem with Asa because I didn’t move in and camp out in his head for several hours.

If I could have known when Ivan would break in, I could have timed it better… But come on, there is no way I could have known that. I think I’m going to have to talk to her. Joanna gets up from the chair, heading our way.

I reach out in a silent plea to Rafe to save me. Don’t let this go on longer than a minute or so, okay?

Yes, dear.

I don’t need to turn to see his smile. It came through loud and clear.

“Hi, Vivian.” Joanna sounds tired, too. Good.

She doesn’t know I literally held her mind in my hand. The same hand she so calmly holds between both of hers right now. Rolling a fellow vampire without their consent, while very rare and hard to do, is a crime still decreed by the ancients to be punishable by death.

I let Joanna know everything that transpired, exactly when it happened, letting her think it was herself running that situation and not me controlling her. She walked away feeling very brave and proud of what she accomplished. Unfortunately, she also feels an exceptionally strong connection to me she can’t explain away easily in her subconscious.

Damn. This is a bad week.

“Hey, Joanna. How are you feeling?”

“I’m good. Feeling really solid right now. Does that sound odd?” She gives me a soft, calm smile. She had a good bit of my blood, maybe two ounces. I bet she feels great. “Nah, really, no worries, Viv. I’m right as rain. Even better, I swear.”

“Well, that’s good, love.” I glance frantically toward the north wing, hoping for some kind of reprieve.

There. I see gray sweats.

“Sorry. I’m in the middle of a meeting,” I nod my head toward Jon. “We can talk later, ‘kay?”

Coward. Rafe’s liquid voice stirs up my ever-present desire for him.

“Sure,” Joanna replies. She grabs my left hand, now holding both of mine in an earnest grip. “I’d like to stay after Liam returns to Europe. May I?”

Criminy! Another one who wants to stay here. What the hell is this? A boarding house for the chronically lost, damaged, and undead or a damn hotel? Maybe I’m not a big enough bitch. Why do they all want to play in my sandbox?

Because, you throw a damn good party, Rafe inserts smoothly. Now buck up and be nice to the young woman. It won’t kill you.

Jon arrives at that second. The biggest, fakest smile I can muster on short notice comes blazing out for Joanna. “How about we talk about it tomorrow. Okay, Joanna?”

“That’s fine.” She lets go of my hands.

Finally. That was getting creepy.

“I’ll see you later.” Joanna leans forward, kisses one of my cheeks, and swings across to kiss the other in quick succession.

I don’t think I can handle more vampires here on a permanent basis. Truly, I don’t.

Jon, who apparently has eyes for only Rafe and me tonight, glances after the statuesque blond like she was wearing a garbage bag. “Are you done teasing and flirting for the night?” He decides to live dangerously and continue in the same taunting tone. “Or do you want to hear what Bunny said regarding Paul?”

Chapter Twenty-nine

“Well, of course I want to know what happened, you ass.” I hold back from smacking him, but barely. Does he think I enjoy this crap?

Get it out, I command into Jon’s mind. Before I yank it out.

Jon does a funny imitation of a crack addict for a second. His arms flail like a fool at the voice sounding in his head, his eyes go round, and his body gives a sharp jerk before he can quiet his reaction.

“Holy shit. That part was real, huh?” For the first time all night, I feel him pull his aura of sex back in. “I’m sorry. Real sorry if you, um… read things… that I… um.”

The room’s overall tension level returns to the excited, happy state it was in right after the danger passed. I nod in understanding because I did see a lot of things he may not have wanted me to see.

“Part of me thought I imagined that portion,” he continues. “How long have you been able to talk in my head?”

“Seven years.” I let out a tired sigh upon seeing the hope flare in his eyes. “From the moment I first fed from you. I only opened the connection now out of necessity. I will sever the link tonight while you sleep.”

Jon’s carefree armor firmly back in place, he gives me a crooked smile. “Don’t go rushing to cut the link on my account. I’m always open to any nasty little thoughts you might want to share.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I smile at the handsome man. “Back to business. What’s the verdict with Bunny and Paul?”

Cheering near the front windows reaches a crescendo and firelight spills in from outside. The bonfire, with Ivan’s body and head, roars to life on the driveway. Why does no one but the ex-enforcer in the room think this is freaky?

Let it go, liebling… Rafe pushes out with his calm, soothing my mind in a gentle touch. They need to do this to put an end to the horror of the last day.

Jon turns to face us once the initial bloodthirsty cheer dies down. “Bunny said she will accept Paul into their lives after you vouch for his control over his bloodlust.”

“Good. I couldn’t have hoped for a better outcome.”

It will be a lot of work to train him, so yes, I could have hoped for an easier solution. Easier, would be if she’d said no and I killed him. Not good for Paul, but easy for me.

“Where is Paul?” Jon asks.

Rafe responds, “Asa carried him down to the basement right after the change. He’s still out cold.”

Jon grunts in acknowledgement. “Asa turned out to be handy with a gun at the end. That’s a hard shot to make with silver bullets.” His face turns speculative at the mention of the silver. “How do you think he did it?”

“I think,” I answer, nodding in Asa’s direction by the fireplace, “that he has the beginnings of telekinesis. Silver bullets are highly inaccurate over any distance. Asa’s talent manifests in his ability to control exactly where his shots land—with pinpoint accuracy.”

Jon lets out a low whistle. “Do you think we need to be worried?”

“No. I think he’s loyal and will remain that way.”

Rafe grips my shoulder tight in agreement. “Asa’s a good guy. He’ll be here to stay.”

“For how long?” Jon asks.

Damn, he always has to push. I look him dead in the eyes, allowing no emotion to show. “Until I say he can leave. Or until he dies.”

Jon’s hands come up in a stop gesture. “Okay, queen bitch. Just asking.” With that parting shot, Jon turns on his heel and leaves.

He worries about sharing you. With only one rival for your affections, he sits firmly in the second spot. Adding more men riles his wolf.

There is only one spot. It’s you. I turn to face my lover, wrapping my arms around his neck as I lean in to kiss him. Asa, as well as all the other newcomers in the seethe, will all need to know that. My lips brush Rafe’s in a gentle expression of love.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Sal’s smooth tenor pulls me out of our tender moment.

Yeah, I bet he’s sorry.

Later, my love. We’ll be alone soon.

Rafe uncoils my arms from him, turning me to face Sal. He knows I need the nudge. I’m so tired—I’d gratefully have ignored the old vampire.

“Yes? What can I help you with?” My smooth innkeeper voice reveals none of my true feelings.

“I’d like to arrange the transport of John Pierre back to Washington. He has family and friends who will need a proper burial to say goodbye.”

“The front desk can handle all the details. It will be done in time for your departure tomorrow.”

“About that—do you think we can stay a bit longer?” Salvador asks. “This trip has been exactly what Theresa and I needed.”

“I think we can arrange something. Please check with Miranda, she’ll make sure we can accommodate your party.”

“Thanks, Vivian.” A true smile lights the vampire’s face. “Your properties have always been breathtaking, but this place is a gem.”

I nod my head in thanks and he moves on to confirm his plans with Miranda at the front desk. My body sags against Rafe. His arms wrap around me in a comforting hug.

Loud cheers start again as Jerry walks into the lobby from the north wing. He must have entered through the back door and then made his way up here where all the noise is. Jerry gets the hero’s welcome he deserves. Hearty claps on the back and a mug of beer thrust in his hand within thirty seconds of arrival.

I need to get out of here. Think they’ll survive if we ditch?

Rafe leans down to place a soft kiss on the back of my head. I don’t think they’ll notice we’re gone.

We slip into the dining room and then through the small commercial kitchen. The door to our private quarters stands open. We walk in, closing the door behind us, and start to strip. My sodden clothes fall to the floor as I make my way to the back door in our kitchenette.

All I want is to relax in a hot tub right now. You game, baby?

Rafe’s hard, calloused hand cups my bare bottom as I reach to open the door. When do I ever deny you anything?

The cold, harsh air slams into both of us. Whew! Nothing like an Arctic wind to wake you up!

Race you!

Rafe’s muscular form flies past me, bumping me slightly in his haste to get by. I step out from the shelter of the building on to the asphalt walkway. I have no desire to race him. Besides, if he gets there first, he’ll have to open the cover while standing there buck naked in the cold. Silly man.

Steam rises off the water, leaving a vapor cloud to hang above the tub. I catch sight of Rafe’s powerful thighs flexing in a jump as he leaps into the tub.

“Damn! It burns when you’re in the cold for too long.”

“Too true.”

With languid movements, I mount the short steps to enter the spa. I sit on the side to swing my legs over.

“Why do you get in so slow?” Rafe asks. “The burn in your toes has got to be killer.”

“On the contrary,” I state as I slide one foot into the hundred-degree water. The ensuing burn from being in the cold sends shockwaves of pain coursing up my foot. “It reminds me that I’m not dead. If I never truly died when I turned, what did I become?”

This is a conversation we’ve had before. One that neither of us has a definitive answer for, but one we speculate on now and then. Vampires can die—as the dear departed burning Ivan is proof of—so we are not immortal. Perhaps semi-immortal would be a better term.

I lower my second foot into the hot water. Relishing the pain like an affirmation in my mind. I feel alive, therefore I am. I never died, so my soul remains intact. I will be judged by all of the actions in my life, not by the bodies I have left behind. This is what I believe—it is the mantra I hold to my heart as the hot water surrounds me.

Rafe glides forward in the tub, wrapping strong arms around me and pulling me close. He wants me to feel exactly how happy he is that this whole mess is over and we’re finally alone.

“You became exactly what I need,” Rafe whispers his answer to me. “You are my life.” His arousal presses into my middle.

I open my legs to straddle his lap. Eager hands lift me into position. I tilt my head at a slight angle to press my mouth to his. Our kiss deepens in intensity while the tip of him pushes at my entrance.

“Mmmm…” I pull back to speak. “To think that ten minutes ago, I was too tired to think straight. Amazing what cold air, hot water, and a hard man can do.”

The sound of a throat clearing brings both of us whipping around.

Asa looks uncomfortable, standing about ten feet from the stairs. “I… uh… umm. A call came in right after you left. Miranda put it through to me in your absence.”

My look could cut steel right now. This better be quick. “Yes? Get on with it? We’re kind of in the middle of something.”

Asa manages to stare at a point about six feet above our heads. “Yes, ma’am. Unbeknownst to me, Drew took it upon himself to call the Tribunal and report his kill.”

“Damn fool!” I push slightly away from Rafe in my anger. No need to ruin the moment completely by dragging him down too. “I was planning on being with him when he made the call. Jesus, couldn’t he wait a few damn hours?”

Asa doesn’t answer my rhetorical question. Points go to him for biting his tongue on that one. “Rolando called to confirm the details, which I was able to do.” He continues to stare off above us, not meeting my eyes. “They want your corroborating statement as well and request that you call them back before daybreak.”

“Fine,” I check my ever-present watch. “We have plenty of time for that. Anything else?”

“Yes. The guests enjoyed themselves so much they’ve been asking if we would consider holding a real hunt here.”

“Real? As opposed to what?” I allow my irritation to come through. “The fake one we had this week with a murderer?”

Asa rushes to explain. “No, no, not calling this week anything. But they’re asking if they could somehow come back and do it again. Have you arrange it all.”

Crap! Now why in the hell would I want to do that? Who would want their property destroyed and worry about getting their employees killed? I shake my head.

“Tell them I doubt it.”

“Wait,” Rafe says. “You still have an enemy on the tribunal we need to ferret out.” He rises up out of the tub a bit, drawing my eyes to the water cascading off his chest. “Perhaps they’d agree to send condemned rogue vampires up here for a fee. With expenses in Argentina so high, that group always has a hand out for cash.”

He smiles a rakish grin at me. He’s aware that I’m not even looking at his face and really didn’t pay much attention to what he said. “You never know,” he continues. “It might help flush out whomever has an axe to grind with you.”

“Hmm?” I look away from Rafe’s perky nipples and to try to form a coherent thought. It takes me a minute, but I’m able to piece together the meaning of his suggestion by playing it back in my head. “Okay. The idea’s sound. But let’s talk about it later, when we have clothes on.” I address Asa again. “Anything else?”

“Nope.”

“Would you mind leaving then?”

“Oh, uh… sure.” Asa high-tails it back into the building as though he’s got an angry band of villagers at his back.

Rafe laughs gently and draws me back into his arms. “Now, where were we?”

I’m happy to feel his arousal hasn’t lessened, even with the interruption. I open myself mentally, ready to allow his body to drive every care from my mind. One last thought occurs to me before he slides in.

Did I just say I’d seriously consider having a formal hunt, like old times past, here at The V V Inn?

A personal note from C.J.: If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review on the product page where you purchased it. Reviews help readers discover new series and perhaps try an author they never heard of. Thank you!

About the Author:

C.J. Ellisson lives in northern Virginia with her husband, two children, three dogs, and a fluffy black cat who makes her sneeze. Unlike most full-time authors, she’s also battling severe chronic illness. C.J. works daily to put her Lupus into remission and continues to fight numerous bacterial infections while her immune system slowly attacks her body. She turned to writing when she could no longer work outside the home and claims the escape of penning contemporary erotic romance, urban fantasy, and erotica has helped save her sanity.

Vampire Vacation is the first book in the V V Inn series and there are currently six novels and four prequel novellas planned, with more to be added if there is enough reader interest.

Books in the V V Inn series, in reading order:

Prequel Novella: Death’s Servant

Vampire Vacation

The Hunt

Big Game

Death Times Two

Blood Legacy (coming soon!)

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Acknowledgments

One of my favorite sayings is the old African proverb “It takes a village to raise a child.” In my case, it took a social network known as Facebook and a website called writing.com, to bring my book into being. While the actual creating part may have been from me, the critiquing, editing, polishing and general belief in this work came from many, many individuals.  I won't have the room to thank them all one by one, but please know I'm grateful, more than mere words can express. You all know who you are.

No matter where I got the encouragement to finish my first novel, the work never would have been fit for public consumption without my old writing partner, Supriya Savkoor. You helped guide me on this twisted path to publication by sharing all your vast knowledge and experience on writing with me, and I thank you.

A big thanks to Hope Rice, for being the beta reader who found the most errors in my work. I'll try not to cringe when I think about how clean I thought the manuscript was when I sent it out.

Special thanks to my agent, Kristin Lindstrom, who believed in me and my book, even when the big publishers passed on us. Here’s to hoping we fare better in the overseas market!

Big hugs and a shout out to my family, friends, neighbors and book club members who dealt with me talking non-stop about my novel for well over a year. Oh—and an additional thanks, mom & dad, for agreeing to never discuss the sex parts in the book with me.

Finally, above all, I thank my best friend in the whole world, my husband Pete, for always believing in me and in this book, no matter what. All the achievements I could ever hope to earn would mean nothing without you by my side.

bookmarks:Glossary for Vampire Vacation

Glossary of Terms and Characters:

Antonio - a young vampire vacationing at the inn, and member of Liam's seethe.

Asa - the fledgling vampire sent by Cy, who was turned in Afghanistan while serving in the Army.

Angie - a human guest who stayed at the inn eight years ago with her first husband, Ivan.

Blood Coffee - a mixture of half-blood and half-coffee, favored by undead everywhere.

Blood Bond - a term used to describe the exchange of blood between either a human and a vampire, both ways, or a master vampire and a member of their seethe. It enables telepathic communication between them through the bond, if desired.

Bob - an employee, he works on the grounds-keeping crew.

Bonded Mate - a deeper connection than a servant, this bond allows the non-vampire to stop aging and share a significant amount of power associated with the bonded vampire. A complex ritual and exchange of large amounts of blood must take place for this bond to occur. The only way to break the bond is through death or a rare deep mind manipulation severing the link.

Bunny - Paul's wife.

Cali - Cy's bonded mate, and a werewolf. She's also Asa's aunt.

Companion - a human who has donated blood to a vampire and been accepted into the vampire's care for future feedings.

Cy - Vivian's contact in New York, whom she turned when she discovered him close to death in an alley outside his bar over forty-five years ago.

Debi - an employee at the inn, who also doubles as a blood donor.

Dr. Margery Cook - the onsite doctor on the property should a problem with a human arise.

Drew - a loner vamp who has come to the inn on his own to relax, and Angie’s second husband and bonded mate.

Dria - the master vampire narrating the entire story, aka Vivian and Alexandria.

Enforcer - a highly skilled vampire assassin, used as an instrument of justice by the tribunal.

Fledgling - term used for a vampire under the age of five years.

Francesca - Liam's bonded mate and human spouse.

Iona - an employee, a maid.

Ivan - Angie’s first husband and bonded mate.

Jerry - an engineer and sharp shooter employed twenty years on the property.

Jet - a master vampire, from Japan, vacationing at the inn with his spouse, Matt, and a human companion.

Joanna  - a young vampire vacationing at the inn, and a member of Liam's seethe.

John Pierre - the dead guy in chapter one.

Jonathan - Vivian's werewolf servant and the head groundskeeper on the property.

Liam - a master vampire, from Scotland, visiting the inn with members from his seethe.

Liebling - German endearment, meaning darling.

Manipulator - a rare breed of vampire able to mind control other vampires. Usually hunted down and killed by their own kind to ensure they do not gain power over their fellow vampires.

Master Vampire - a vampire who heads their own seethe, or is independent of a seethe. One not requiring the blood of a master to gain in power, but has accumulated enough strength to hold their own in a battle where an older vampire may try to drain a younger one for their blood.

Mate - see Bonded Mate.

Matt - the bonded mate and human spouse of Jet.

Michelle - aka “Chelly”, an employee at the inn, who also doubles as a blood donor,

Miranda - an employee, originally from the UK, who mainly works the front desk.

Old Blood - a term used to describe the blood a seethe member gets from a master to increase their own power. Contains the added benefit of increasing a vampire’s perceived undead age if the blood is strong enough and consumed regularly.

Olivia - a companion from Liam's seethe, and the only human selected to travel with them on this trip.

Paul  - a gourmet chef imported from the lower forty-eight, married to Bunny.

Rafe - Vivian's bonded mate for sixty-five years, and co-owner to the inn.

Rolando - part of the tribunal of ancients, located in Argentina.

Romeo - Jonathan's old Alpha, but not the Were who changed him.

Salvador - a master vampire who has visited Vivian's properties for over fifty years, who currently resides with his large seethe in Washington state.

Seethe - A vampire family, or group of vampires, with a master vampire at its head.

Servant - see Vampire Servant

Sheba - a companion in Salvador's seethe, on a long vacation with a group at the inn.

Theresa - Salvador's bonded mate and human spouse.

Tommy - an employee, originally from Australia, who mainly works the front desk and organizes the blood donor list for the guests.

Tribunal of Ancients - the governing body of ruling ancient vampires, entrusted with maintaining the secrecy of the existence of vampires from the human race.

Turning - term used for when a human has been changed into a vampire.

Vivian - the nickname for Dria, a play on words from The V V Inn.

Were - shorthand for werewolf.

Vampire Servant - a human, or Were, who has donated to and ingested the blood of a vampire. A mind connection can be established (and broken), allowing telepathic communication. The servant feels a desire to protect and serve the vampire above his or her own needs.

JUMP TO...

NEW REVELATIONS by HEATHER TOPHAM WOOD

ARMAND by APRIL AASHEIM

TUESDAY’S CHILD by DALE MAYER

JUST A LITTLE NUDGE by JESI LEA RYAN

HAUNTED ON BOURBON STREET by DEANNA CHASE

SPIRITS AMONG US by MORGAN HANNAH MACDONAND

LONDON by JC ANDRIJESKI

AMONG THE LIVING by JORDAN CASTILLO PRICE

VAMPIRE VACATION by C.J. ELLISSON

TOUCHED by HAZEL HUNTER

TOUCHED

A Second Sight Novella

Book 1

BY HAZEL HUNTER

In the world of Isabelle de Grey, eyesight isn’t the only way to see. Her psychic ability gives her a second type of vision. When she touches objects and people, she looks into their past. But her gift is equal parts curse. She has yet to find the lover who can accept the brutal truth of what she sees. Isolated and rejected, she is ready to leave Los Angeles and abandon her career when she meets FBI profiler Gavin “Mac” MacMillan.

Thrown together when the daughter of a mutual friend is abducted, Isabelle discovers that Mac could be the man who won’t push her away. Despite his controlled exterior, she senses a fevered passion in him that boils just below the surface. But as she and Mac give in to their desires and race to save a young girl, Isabelle must learn yet again that every touch has its price.

Heat Level: 5

CHAPTER ONE

Isabelle twisted sideways to get out of the way of the police officer. He came barreling through the living room, which was rapidly filling with black uniforms. Even so, she never let go of Anita’s shoulders.

“We’re going to find her,” Isabelle said, gripping the older woman tightly, shaking her a little.

Dark circles underlined Anita’s puffy eyes, which now frantically searched Isabelle’s.

“Is that something you’ve seen?” Anita asked. “Do you know something?”

Isabelle slowly shook her head and drew her lips into a thin line. Not even the long-time clients understood.

“No,” Isabelle said gently. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that.”

Anita’s face fell.

When she’d first arrived, Isabelle had been shocked at the sight of her. She’d aged twenty years in a week. Her graying hair, normally drawn back in a barrette, was a curly and frazzled tangle. The smart business suits she usually wore had been replaced by a simple, cotton frock. But it was her eyes that were the most telling–haunted and bloodshot, as though her daughter were already dead. And now those eyes filled with tears.

Isabelle’s chest twinged, and she hugged the older woman to her.

“I’m going to find her,” Isabelle whispered. “I promise.”

“Excuse me,” said a voice behind her. “Coming through.”

Reluctantly, Isabelle let go and backed up. As Anita held a kleenex to her nose, a young man in a dark suit, white shirt, and black tie passed between them carrying some equipment. The large and well-appointed living room was getting crowded. A combination of uniformed police officers and detectives had been pouring in ever since Isabelle had arrived–shortly after Anita had called with the news that her daughter, Esme, was missing.

Through the expansive picture window that looked down the long, rolling front lawn, Isabelle could see that television cameras and lighting were being set up. Some of the reporters were already holding microphones to their mouths and talking, but what they could possibly be saying, Isabelle didn’t know. There was nothing yet to say–nothing of real importance. The only thing that anybody knew was that no one had seen Esme since yesterday morning, when she’d left her dorm room for a morning run.

“Honey,” said Anita’s husband. “Why don’t you and your…friend…move into the kitchen. We’re going to set up the command post here.”

Friend, thought Isabelle. That was polite.

“Here,” Isabelle said, extending a gloved hand to Anita and taking her by the arm. Isabelle had seen where the kitchen was. “Let’s get out of the way.”

She didn’t bother to look at Ben's disapproving face, knowing full well what she’d see. He’d said ‘friend’ but what he’d meant was ‘psychic charlatan.’ It didn’t take reading him to know that–and not just because it’s what most people thought. Anita had let slip more than once that her husband, an Assistant Director of the FBI in charge of the Los Angeles Field Office, wasn’t particularly accepting of her sessions with Isabelle. In fact, Isabelle had the distinct impression that Benicio Olivos could barely tolerate her.

As they moved toward the kitchen, she and Anita drew a variety of glances. The policewomen stared at her gloves–she wore the gray silk ones today–while the men cast furtive glances at her dress. In the spring heat, she’d worn a simple, lightweight scoop-neck dress with cap sleeves. Gathered at the waist with a small, white belt, the pleated skirt fell to mid-thigh and the aqua and gray pattern in it complemented the gloves–not the other way around. The gloves always came first. They had to.

Sprinkled among the curious glances were also a handful of frowns. Apparently word had already spread that Anita had called in her psychic. As they passed through the crowd Isabelle wondered which of the people wearing the conservative suits were FBI and which were police. As she did, it suddenly dawned on her why so much media was gathering at the bottom of the hill-like front yard–the daughter of an FBI agent was missing.

As they pushed through the swinging double-doors, the empty kitchen was a relief. Isabelle let go of Anita who immediately went to one of the wrought-iron stools at the center island and sank into it. A polished water kettle gleamed on the glass stovetop. Isabelle lifted it–full. She set it back down, turned on the burner, and then began to hunt for tea in the cupboards behind her.

“To the left,” Anita said quietly.

In the cupboard were a variety of boxes but, at the front, was chamomile. Isabelle brought it down and opened it but, as she did, she glanced at the coffee maker. No fresh coffee. The machine was off, and there was only a shallow eighth-of-an-inch of dark liquid at the bottom of the carafe. It’d have to do. As the water boiled, she fetched two mugs, put sugar in both, and a tea bag in one. She poured the cold coffee into her mug, the hot water into Anita’s and set the tea in front of her. The silk gloves made the handle slippery so she held the mug with both hands.

“Drink,” Isabelle said.

Then, as she followed her own advice, she downed the quarter cup of sludge in one gulp and nearly gagged. She hated cold coffee.

To say that she wasn’t a morning person was an understatement. Ever since her gift had surfaced, full-blown in high school, she hadn’t slept through the night. The readings and lingering images from her second form of sight made sure of that. Not only did they guarantee sleeplessness, they’d made loneliness the norm as well. Though at first Isabelle had tried to maintain relationships, the constant breakups, strained friendships, and simply knowing too much about people had all amounted to pushing them away.

Anita stared down into the teacup, unmoving, unblinking, as though she might conjure her own vision. And Isabelle realized that, for now, there could be no thought of giving up, not if she could help. Though she had finally resolved to stop working as a psychic and leave L.A., today was not going to be that day.

“I need to see her dorm room,” Isabelle said abruptly.

She’d gathered at least that much on the phone, even through Anita’s stream of consciousness. If that’s where Esme had last been seen, had last been, had last touched something, then that’s where Isabelle needed to start.

“You don’t want to see her room upstairs?”

“No,” Isabelle said, shaking her head. “Not unless she’s been here recently.” She paused. “Has she?”

“No,” Anita said, sounding disappointed. “No, she hasn’t.” She stood up from the bar stool, a little shaky. “Let me get Ben.”

Right, Isabelle thought. This ought to go over well.

In the living room, two computers had been set up on a folding table and one on the glass coffee table. Ben was standing stock still, arms crossed on top of his bulging middle, watching the frenetic activity. His face, like Anita’s, seemed to sag under twice normal gravity. The thinning hair with combover and the thick mustache had both already turned white. Though he seemed lost in thought, that wasn’t the case, because he turned to them as they approached.

“Honey,” he said tiredly to Anita while studiously ignoring Isabelle, “I’m sure your friend wants to help but…look around you.” He glanced around the room. “These people are experts. They know what they’re doing.” He glanced at his watch. “And Mac will be here any minute,” he said. “He called from the airport.”

“Mac?” Anita asked, surprised. As she’d approached her husband, her face and the set of her shoulders had been determined. But that resolution suddenly vanished. “Mac is coming?”

A few of the faces in the surrounding sea of uniforms and suits turned toward them.

“Gavin MacMillan,” someone whispered.

“Coming here?” someone else said.

Anita seemed dumbfounded, and then her face began to brighten as though it was the first good news she’d heard in her life. But even as a little smile grew, it quickly faded. “It’s that bad?” she asked.

“No,” Ben said quickly. “No. But you know Mac. He couldn’t be stopped. And besides,” he said, grasping Anita’s arms. “Why shouldn’t we have the best of the best?”

Though he’d obviously meant to reassure her, Ben's effort had the exact opposite effect as Anita suddenly burst into tears and covered her face with both hands.

Isabelle didn’t know who this Mac was or what he was going to do, but she needed to get to Esme’s dorm room, right now.

“Ben,” came a deep voice from the front door. “I got here as soon as I could.”

Mac felt his jaw tighten as he watched Ben's grim face pathetically try to smile.

“Mac!” Ben exclaimed, clasping Mac’s outstretched hand. Mac pulled him into a hug.

“Ben,” Mac said, as Ben thumped him once on the back and then let him go.

As the older man quickly pulled back, Mac realized that the activity around them had stopped. All eyes were on them. Apparently Ben knew it too because he looked like he wanted to say something, even opened his mouth to start, and then clamped it shut as his eyes misted up. Ben apparently didn’t trust his own voice.

“We’re going to find her,” Mac said, keeping a firm grip on Ben's hand. He held an open arm out to Anita, who was already crying, and she immediately fell against his chest.

“Oh, Mac,” she said, sobbing. “She’s gone.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

Mac stood with them for a moment, absorbing the bizarreness of the situation. In all his life, he’d never have thought to use his expertise to help the man who’d trained him. It was a strange turnabout–and one he could have lived without. Ben and Anita had been like a second set of parents to him in the early days. Was it already ten years ago?

Slowly, activity resumed around them. As he let Ben and Anita go, he noticed the young woman who stood just behind Anita. She was obviously not a cop or an agent. The clingy dress and heels would have been the first clues but–gloves? Was this a friend of the daughter’s? But in answer to his own question, his profiler’s brain took over. Too old to be an undergraduate. She’s my age, maybe thirty. Attractive. Very attractive. Why the gloves? A friend of Anita’s. From where? Brunette, lipstick, eye makeup, but nothing else. No stockings. The high-heeled shoes are worn. Not in their social circle. How does Anita know her?

And she seemed vaguely familiar. His eyes narrowed just a bit. He didn’t know her but he’d known someone like her. Suddenly and painfully, it clicked–a single civilian amidst the group of officers and agents. He knew who she reminded him of. Like a wound that wouldn’t close, the memories that he’d worked hard to put away quickly came back. His glance flicked from the long, dark hair to her mouth. That’s where the resemblance was strongest. A familiar tightening in his chest began. Mac willed himself to turn away and motioned to Sharon.

“Let me introduce my assistant,” he said. “Special Agent Sharon Lyang.” The young Asian woman stepped forward on cue, nodded curtly, and shook hands with Ben and Anita. “Sharon will coordinate the command post which I see you’ve got a good start on.”

“I’ve already been in touch with CIRG,” Sharon said stepping back again.

Mac knew that Ben would know what that meant but not necessarily Anita.

“The Critical Incident Response Group,” he explained. The brunette behind her was listening intently. “Their forensics people are on the way, and we’re mustering local investigators to start canvasing the area.”

He watched Sharon unshoulder her laptop and stoop over the computer on the coffee table. She’d be the center of the command post, his eyes and ears for all incoming data, and most importantly, she’d coordinate the phone taps and traces.

“I reviewed everything on the plane,” Mac said to Ben. “I assume there’s still been no ransom call.”

Ben finally found his voice.

“No,” he managed to get out.

He knows as well as I do that it’s already been too long. Twenty-four hours. No one noticed Esme was gone and no one had called to ask for a ransom. The victim was likely dead. He couldn’t help but quote the statistics in his head: only ten percent of abductions went beyond twenty-four hours.

“I need to see the dorm room,” Mac said. “I understand the roommate is there.”

“Right,” Ben said, moving toward the front door. “I’ve got a driver for you. They’re–”

“Isabelle is going with you,” Anita interrupted.

Ah, thought Mac. Now we’ll find out who that woman is.

“Anita,” Ben growled as he stopped and slowly turned back toward his wife, a low but vehement warning tone in his voice. Mac scowled at the sudden anger. Even under these circumstances, that didn’t seem like Ben.

“You’ve got your expert,” Anita said, defiantly. “And I’ve got mine.”

At that, Mac raised his eyebrows.

Quickly, Anita dragged the woman forward who, for her part, looked as though she wanted to melt into a crack in the floor.

“This is Isabelle de Grey,” Anita said. “She’s my psychic.”

CHAPTER TWO

“I’m sending you home,” Prentiss said. “Home.”

At that the girl stopped crying, if you could call it that when you were gagged. Water ran from her eyes and nose, and she sniffed loudly trying to breathe.

“That’s right,” Prentiss said as he sauntered behind her, hands clasped behind his back. His patent leather shoes padded softly on the industrial gray carpet. It gave him an opportunity to inspect the ropes. They looked nice and tight, but he tugged on them to be sure. Her wrists were securely fastened to the back of the metal chair. He moved her long, black ponytail aside and checked the gag. It looked fine. As he circled to the right in the small room, he stooped and tested the rope that bound her right ankle to the front chair leg. Good. Slowly he stood upright and circled in front. She swiveled her head to look at him.

It was the first time she’d stopped blubbering. She’d soiled herself in the first few hours, but there was really no help for that. The basement didn’t have a bathroom. No doubt it was distressing. Hopefully, very distressing.

“I’m sending you home,” Prentiss said, stopping directly in front of her.

She blinked giant tear drops down her cheeks as though she were trying to see him clearly.

“Home to your Creator,” he intoned. “To God Almighty.”

He smirked. It had a certain ring to it.

She started to cry again, frantically shaking her head back and forth. He stared at the sudden motion.

How did she do that so quickly? He tried to do it himself. With a quick and vigorous waggling, he gave it everything he had. Quickly, he had to stop. It hurt his neck and made him dizzy.

How does she do that?

Without a moment’s hesitation, he backhanded her.

“Stop that,” he said simply.

A satisfying thwack bounced off the bare walls in the sparse room. The girl whined loudly through the cloth of the gag.

“Don’t thank me now,” he said, turning away from her.

Slowly, patiently, he ambled to the other side of the small room and looked, yet again, at the cardboard boxes strewn against the wall, most torn and half open. Dark blue choir robes spilled out, sheets of music, and some red hymnals. He spun on his heel and, as he did, he let the switchblade that he’d been carrying up his sleeve drop into his hand. With a flick of his wrist, it snicked open, glinting under the bare fluorescent utility lights. But the girl hadn’t noticed. Her head was hung low.

He rushed back to her side, grabbed a handful of the long, dark hair and yanked her head back. Her wide eyes grew even larger as he showed her the knife.

“You look at me when I’m talking,” he seethed, before letting her go with a shove.

He took a moment to smooth his mustache and then circled back to front and center.

“You’ll thank me later,” he said, quickly regaining control. “When you’re pure.” Yes, purification. That’s what he’d decided to call it this time. “God only wants the pure.”

“Don’t touch anything,” Mac said. “Even with the latex gloves.”

The police sergeant held up the yellow tape so he and Isabelle could pass under. A psychic, Mac thought. That was a new one. Then again, this is L.A.

Ben had obviously been unhappy about her presence but Anita–Mac watched as Isabelle stooped to pass under the yellow crime scene tape–Anita had seemed close to panic. It was as though this woman was her way of having some control over what was clearly a situation where no one had control. It’d also been evident that if Isabelle hadn’t been allowed to tag along, family peace was at stake.

Even so, Mac didn’t approve. He didn’t need a civilian to complicate things. As he ducked under the tape, he couldn’t help but look down the back of her legs, which were shapely. Her high heels were wrapped with the same white booties that he and the sergeant wore, a strange juxtaposition. Once again he was reminded of a different place and time, a different civilian.

A small crowd of students had formed in the long corridor just outside the door, along with a few UCLA campus policemen.

“Officer,” he said to the largest of the three. “Clear this corridor. If these folks can’t stay in their rooms, we’ll evacuate the entire floor, and they can find somewhere else to loiter.”

“Yessir,” said the man. He motioned another uniformed officer to move left and he went to the right, spreading his arms almost across the entire width of the corridor. “Okay folks. That’s it. Time to go.”

“Take me through it, sergeant,” Mac said, turning back to the tiny room.

Dressed in a dark gray suit that was slightly too large for his lean frame, the young, black police sergeant removed a notepad from the interior pocket of his jacket. Isabelle hovered near the door and was looking into what appeared to be a small closet.

“Jodie Ashmont, the roommate,” Sergeant Dixon said, reading from his notepad, “called campus police this morning when she realized that the victim’s bed hadn’t been slept in last night.” He pointed down to the twin on the right side of the room. Across from it, on the left, was presumably the roommate’s bed. In fact, everything in the cramped space was mirrored: two desks, two chairs, two single-door closets near the front door. On the inside of the open closet doors, identical mirrors hung. Narrow wire baskets suspended underneath them were filled with sundry toiletry items. “The last time Jodie saw Esme was yesterday when she left for a morning run, which she did every day.” He flipped to the next page. “She didn’t see what she was wearing or note the exact time.”

Twenty-four hours, thought Mac. A whole day before anyone had even noticed that she was missing. The most important time period when it came to solving any crime, the first twenty-four hours was invaluable, but now it was gone.

He opened the desk drawer, looking for anything that might help to characterize Esme more than the interviews with Ben and Anita had already done. An assortment of pens, pencils, highlighters and push-pins in an organizing tray was no help. He pulled open the drawer next to it: sticky notes and envelopes. The drawer below that held pads of paper and a new notebook. He leafed through everything. No checkbook for more information on her finances, no journal or diary to judge her frame of mind.

“No one else on the floor remembers seeing her that day,” the sergeant said, as Mac upended Esme’s backpack on the bed. He rifled through the textbooks, consistent with her economics major. No phone but her wallet was there, consistent with the jog. The wallet held student ID, a credit card, which Mac already knew was linked to her parents account and hadn’t been accessed since her disappearance. Movie posters on the wall above the bed included one for Lord of the Rings, one from Star Wars, and also Gone with the Wind. Everything pointed to Esme being your average freshman, and that didn’t help victimology. Nothing about her family, her schoolwork, her personality, her likes or dislikes indicated what might have contributed to her being a victim. By all accounts, she had not been emotionally vulnerable.

Mac shook his head. The abductor had selected her on his terms and, at present, they had no insight into him.

In his peripheral vision, Isabelle crouched at the foot of the open closet. But when he looked over at her, he realized that she’d picked up something, and she’d removed the latex glove.

“Hey!” he started, as she stood up holding a running shoe.

“A running track,” Isabelle said quickly as she stood, staring blankly into the closet. “There are bleachers, metal, a stadium on one side. The track is red and spongy. White lines in it. Round and round.” Her chest heaved as she sucked in a breath and then she plunged on. “Now there’s a dirt path with exercise stations. Metal bars with pealing paint. The gravel on the path is crunchy. Early morning.”

Mac stared at her, listening to the stream of babbling.

So this is the act, he thought. He quickly studied her.

Small-boned and delicate, her chestnut-colored hair fell in long waves to mid-back. Her high cheekbones, full mouth and light, olive skin suggested more than just the English ancestry of her last name–maybe from her mother’s side. That might also explain the strikingly pale, amber eyes.

“The brick buildings aren’t tall,” she breathed. “The grass is nice to run on, soft.”

“Ma’am,” said Sergeant Dixon. “Please don’t touch anything.”

But Isabelle didn’t appear to have heard him. Her breathing was rapid and shallow and she gripped the shoe so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. Her hand began to shake.

“Ma’am,” the sergeant tried again.

Mac had seen enough.

“Miss de Grey,” he said loudly, stepping toward her.

She dropped the shoe.

“Let me be very clear,” he said and paused.

He waited for a moment for her to look at him but she didn’t. She continued to stare into the closet. He scowled a bit as he watched her. This might work for her clients but not for him–not for any profiler worth their salt. Vague predictions, a scattershot of random observations–those were the tools of the psychic. He’d just heard it himself. It was classic. They also dwelled on the obvious, which he was just about to point out, when Isabelle started to sway. She held out a trembling hand to the bed next to her and, reacting instinctively, Mac lunged forward.

“No you don’t,” he said, grasping her hand. “Don’t touch anything.”

Even as Isabelle screamed “No!” she knew it was too late. The reading came hard and fast.

Concern for her. Worry about Ben–his skin looked gray. Where is the damn campus map? Don’t touch anything! Her shapely legs. Time is running out. A woman, a brunette, in his bed. The agony of loss. Psychobabble. Nothing on the abductor. Nothing! Don’t touch anything.

She snatched her hand from his and nearly toppled backward. Only Mac’s grip on her arm prevented her from doing just that.

“Don’t ever,” she managed to get out between gasping breaths, “touch my hands. Not ever.”

As the room slowly came into focus, she shook loose from his grip and quickly covered her bare hand with the latex-gloved one, clutching it to her chest. It’d been months since she’d read anyone, and this was why. A moment of nausea swept over her, and suddenly the already warm room was too hot. She focused on Mac’s tie, dark blue.

“Well if you hadn’t taken your gloves off and touched something–”

“That’s how I work,” she said, standing straighter, concentrating on his face now. “I–”

“I don’t care if it’s how you live and breathe,” Mac said evenly.

Though he’d backed up, giving her space, his large physique still loomed. The handsome face, with its square jaw and deeply set eyes, was lent a sense of boyishness by the dark, short-cropped hair. But it was his eyes that were riveting. They were the deepest, most intense, blue-green she’d ever seen.

“You touch anything else,” he said slowly, enunciating each word, “and you are out of here. Do you hear me? I don’t care what Ben says.”

The images and emotions from the reading still reverberated in her head. Mac’s controlled exterior was just that. The buttoned-down agent was positively roiling inside. He was enraged about the abductor and deeply worried for Ben. His skin did look gray. She hadn’t noticed at the time. And he thinks I have shapely legs. Were it not for the dire circumstances–and the nausea–she might have smiled. Compared to most men, Special Agent MacMillan was a Boy Scout.

“Do you hear me?” Mac said.

She took a deep breath and slowly let it go. Two readings so close together wasn’t good. One was hard enough. She took a moment to run her fingers back through her hair, but then looked him directly in the eye.

“It’s not psychobabble,” she said.

“What?” he said, staring at her.

More often than not, people weren’t explicitly aware of their own thoughts. Not even hearing them repeated verbatim registered but–as she bent to her purse, she looked at him out of the corner of her eye–maybe an FBI profiler was an exception.

The sergeant cleared his throat.

“Did you say stadium?” he asked.

Psychobabble? Mac thought. That’s exactly the word I would have used.

Except that he hadn’t.

Though Isabelle initially appeared shaken, the act of putting on her own gloves seemed to calm her. The small tremble he had noticed in her hands disappeared and color had returned to her cheeks–the smooth skin a little less pale. But when his gaze drifted to her lips, an alarm went off in the back of his mind.

Time is running out.

“Let’s talk about the stadium in a moment,” Mac said, forcing himself to take his eyes off Isabelle and the glove ritual. “First, I want to talk to the roommate.”

A sour look crossed the sergeant’s face as he motioned to the officer standing at the door, who promptly left.

“Yes, Sergeant Dixon?” Mac said. “Is there a problem?”

“Well,” he said slowly. “She’s been a little less than helpful.”

“When can I get my stuff?” came a young woman’s voice from down the hallway. The three of them turned toward the doorway just as Esme’s roommate appeared. Wearing red plaid pajamas and fuzzy slippers that looked like giant mice, Jodie Ashton came to a sudden stop at the yellow tape, hands on hips, and glared at them all.

“When can I get my stuff?” she said, her voice high and shrill.

“Jodie,” Mac said, taking a business card from his jacket pocket. “I’m Special Agent MacMillan, this is Sergeant Dixon, and this is Isabelle de Grey.” He held out the card to Jodie. “I wish this didn’t inconvenience you and that I could pick a better time to do this but,” he shook his head slowly, “I’m afraid time is one thing we just don’t have.” He waited for her to take the card and watched her appraise him, in that way women usually did. He smiled, a genuine smile, and kept holding out the card, and eventually Jodie’s expression softened and she took it.

“You know,” she said, less shrilly. “I’ve already been through this twice now.”

“I know,” Mac said, sounding full of sympathy while taking in the clothing, judging her age, and also her maturity level–which wasn’t as high as the age. “But it’d really help me out if you could answer a few questions.”

Jodie never stopped gazing into his eyes, and she seemed to have forgotten she was holding his card. He decided to just go ahead and start.

“What do you know about where Esme likes to run?” Mac asked. “Is there any place in particular?”

“I don’t know,” Jodie replied, a little testy again. “We’re roommates, you know. Not like friends or anything. All I know is she gets up really early and goes running. But I guess the stadium’s the closest place to run.”

“Mmm hmm,” Isabelle murmured quietly.

Mac ignored her, but Jodie glanced at her as though she hadn’t realized anyone was there. Shapely or not, Mac thought, Isabelle’s distraction wasn’t helping.

Where was that campus map he’d asked for?

“Does Esme often not come home at night?” Mac asked.

“Never,” said Jodie. “Not that I know of.” She paused and actually smiled. “But there’s always a first time. You know?”

Mac smiled pleasantly at her and nodded.

“Now, about this morning,” he said.

“I already told the policemen that I didn’t see her leave,” Jodie said, nearly pouting. “I don’t know what time it was.”

“Okay,” Mac said. “Just tell me what the usual morning is like. For example, how do you know she leaves for a run?”

“Because I hear that stupid velcro on her shorts, where she keeps her key,” Jodie answered immediately. “Every single morning. And her bed squeaks.” Jodie pointed to it.

Though Mac appeared to look back at the bed, he glanced at Isabelle standing near Sergeant Dixon. He was taking notes. She’d pursed her lips and was tapping her foot.

“So yesterday morning?” Mac said, turning back to Jodie.

He kept the questions open ended and let her do the talking, now that he’d made the point of the conversation clear and established rapport.

Jodie nodded her head.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “Just like usual. Her phone goes off. The bed squeaks. The closet opens. The light comes on.” Her voice had taken on a sing-song quality. “The velcro rips.”

“Her phone goes off?” Mac asked.

“Yeah, she sets her alarm. Every morning at six.”

“Six?” asked Sergeant Dixon. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Jodie said, as though it were obvious. “Every morning, the same.” Apparently Jodie was oblivious to the fact that she’d never mentioned a time before. “I used to check my phone, but now I just roll over.”

“Look,” Isabelle said behind him. “We need to get to the stadium, to the exercise track with a gravel path, and to the grassy area near the brick buildings. We’re wasting time here.”

Mac ignored her.

Just then, a young uniformed police officer came up to the tape behind Jodie.

“Special Agent MacMillan?”

“Yes?” Mac said.

“I’ve got the campus map you requested. And we’re posting flyers of the missing girl around the campus and in local neighborhoods.”

“Good,” Mac said curtly, heading to the door and ducking under the tape. “I want everyone in this dorm questioned about their whereabouts yesterday morning, between six and seven a.m.–students, staff, everybody,” he said, taking off the gloves and booties. “Tell your lieutenant that I want to pull in as many uniformed bodies as needed and get it done quick.”

“Yessir,” the man said as he handed Mac the map, spun on his heel, and trotted off.

“Sergeant?” Mac said.

“Yessir.”

“I take it you’re familiar with the campus?”

The sergeant ducked under the tape and held it for Isabelle, who followed him out. As she passed under the sergeant’s hand, Mac was aware that the sergeant was watching her.

“Sergeant?” Mac said.

“Uh, yessir,” he said quickly. “The stadium is walking distance and,” he paused, “Isabelle is right. The other places that the students like to run are the jogging track that circumnavigates the campus and the intramural field, next to the stadium, adjacent to the brick gyms.”

Isabelle made a small harrumphing sound that clearly said I told you so. Again, Mac ignored her.

“Jodie,” he said turning to her. “Thanks for your help. You’ll be able to get into your room as soon as forensics is done.” He looked down the hallway to a trio of agents dressed from head to foot in clean-room suits and carrying bright, orange tool cases. He waved them over. “Hopefully it won’t be too long.”

Jodie frowned at the approaching forensics team.

“Let’s go then,” Mac said to the sergeant. “When someone disappears during their morning run, it only stands to reason that the most likely places to search are going to be the standard running venues that virtually any campus will have. It’s not rocket science,” he said pointedly, returning Isabelle’s glare. And it’s not ESP either, he thought. “But it’s the most logical place to start.”

The sergeant’s phone rang and he immediately answered.

“Dixon,” he said.

As forensics arrived, Mac pointed at Isabelle. “Get a cheek swab from her.”

A little look of consternation flitted across Isabelle’s delicate features, and he would have chided her about not following protocol, but something in the sergeant’s stance had changed. Something had happened.

“Be there in five,” the sergeant said and snapped the phone closed. “A tip,” he said. “A real one.”

CHAPTER THREE

For such a large campus, the police station seemed tiny. Isabelle glanced around the sterile lobby as the three of them were ushered through into an even more barren cubby-hole of a room. A young man, maybe twenty, sat there waiting alone. He was thin with stringy brown hair and fuzzy stubble that looked as though he’d tried to grow it for weeks. On the single small table rested his overstuffed backpack and, under it, was a battered skateboard. He sat up straighter as they entered the room.

Special Agent MacMillan wasted no time.

“Brendan,” he said. “I’m Special Agent MacMillan, this is Sergeant Dixon, and this is Isabelle de Grey.” She was starting to get used to hearing their names all together. “Thanks very much for coming down here to help us out.” Brendan bobbed his head once, looking at the three of them. He smiled nervously at her, but Mac quickly cut off his view by half-sitting on the table. “Can you tell me what you saw?”

With the only chair in the room occupied, Isabelle moved to the closest corner as the sergeant closed the door and went to his own corner.

As though it was the moment he’d been waiting for, Brendan grinned broadly.

“I saw her yesterday morning, about 6:30, outside Parking Structure Eight,” he said quickly.

“Structure Eight?” Mac said, turning his head to the sergeant, though never taking his eyes off Brendan.

“Right next to the intramural field,” the sergeant replied.

Mac nodded.

“She was with a man,” Brendan said.

As though electricity had run through the room, the suddenly still air seemed to crackle.

“Go on,” Mac said.

“He was taller than her and wore dark slacks and a matching jacket, like a suit.”

They all waited. She and the sergeant exchanged looks.

“And what did he look like?” Mac asked.

“I told you,” Brendan said. “He wore–”

“What did his face look like?” Mac asked.

“I didn’t see it,” Brendan said, no longer grinning. “They were walking away from me, into the parking structure.”

“Color of his hair?” Mac said.

“Brown,” Brendan said. Then he glanced nervously at Isabelle. “No. Wait. Maybe black.”

Isabelle grimaced ever so slightly. She felt Brendan’s pain. Memory was a tricky thing.

“Don’t make it up, son,” Mac said quietly, surprising her with his softer tone. “We need facts. If you don’t know, it’s okay to say that.”

Brendan’s face went beet red.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, staring at the table. “It all happened so fast. I was on my board, downhill, really moving.”

“So you didn’t see her face either?”

“No, I did!” he yelled. “I did. She looked at me.” He nudged the skateboard under the table with his foot. “It’s really loud, and she turned to see me. I saw her face. It was her. The missing girl.” Brendan frantically dug a cell phone out of the side pocket of his shorts and in moments was showing them a headshot of Esme. “That’s her. The one in the email that everybody got. Right?”

“Right,” said Mac. “A man taller than her?”

Mac got up so quickly Brendan nearly dropped his phone.

“Yes,” he nodded.

Mac came and stood next to Isabelle.

“Take off your heels,” he said.

“Excuse me?” she said, just as it dawned on her what he was getting at. He’d been about to say something when she held up a gloved hand.

She raised one foot and removed the shoe as she placed her hand on Mac’s arm for balance. It was like a rock. She quickly took off the other shoe. In moments, she was three inches shorter. The tile floor was cool and hard against her bare feet and if Mac had seemed to loom before, he towered now, a good eight inches taller than her. He stood close enough for her to see the beginning of stubble on his chin, and now she noticed the swell of his chest under the crisp white shirt. As he gazed steadily down at her and she realized that he was studying her, Isabelle felt her heart race.

“You’re five foot six,” he said and turned to Brendan. “Esme’s the same. Was the man my height?”

Isabelle exhaled, just now realizing she’d been holding her breath, while Brendan stared at them like a deer caught in the headlights.

“I…I…” he stammered. “I don’t know. It was so quick. They were on the other side of the street.”

Mac pointed to him with a little ‘get up’ motion.

“Let’s go,” Mac said.

“What?” Brendan said, bewildered but obeying the gesture immediately.

“We’re going to the parking structure.”

“Cordon it off, Sergeant,” Mac yelled to him from several yards away. “I don’t want anything to enter or leave.”

“Yessir!” he called back, phone to ear as he waved away a driver that looked as though she had wanted to park.

“Okay, Brendan,” Mac said. He led him by the shoulder across the street. “Show me where you were.”

Isabelle stayed out of the sun, on the first level of the multi-story parking structure, near the sidewalk. As she shielded her eyes against the glare, she watched Mac position Brendan.

“Now,” he said, turning back to her from the other sidewalk. “Where were they?”

Brendan pointed several feet to her left. Isabelle immediately moved in that direction.

“Right there!” Brendan called.

She stopped, just before the corner of the structure and turned to look back across the street. Behind Brendan and Mac were several brick buildings, forming a quad with grass and cement sidewalks running between. From the police station, near the main entrance to the campus, they’d driven up a hill and then down and around it. As they’d rounded the bend, Isabelle realized that the stadium was actually built into the hill and that it was passing by on their right as they circled it. That stadium was visible just off to the right now.

Mac quickly trotted across the road. For a big man, he moved lightly. And as his jacket lifted, Isabelle wasn’t surprised to see that Agent MacMillan was trim at the waist.

“The shoes,” he said.

“Oh, right,” she said, starting to take them off.

She’d been so absorbed watching him, she’d forgotten. She held on to his strong arm again and, when she’d finished removing the shoes, she’d half-thought he might look down at her again. But that didn’t happen and she was surprised by a small twinge of disappointment.

“How’s that?” Mac called out to Brendan.

“You’re too tall!” he shouted excitedly.

Mac took a few long steps toward him and stopped. A couple of cars passed in between them on the two lane road.

“How about now?”

“Yeah,” Brendan said. “That looks right.”

Mac motioned him back across the street and turned back toward the parking structure.

“Maybe six feet,” he said to himself. “And he was standing right here,” he said, looking at the ground.

As Brendan joined them, Isabelle began to inspect the asphalt in their vicinity.

“He was wearing a dark suit,” Mac said to Brendan. “And his build?”

Just in front of the closest car, nearly under its bumper, Isabelle saw a light blue, silicon earbud covering. About a foot from that, there was a dirty penny, the face chewed up as though it’d been run over.

“Not like you,” said Brendan. “Maybe average?”

Though her hand went to the small pearl button at the base of her glove, Isabelle hesitated. Random readings of discarded objects would be draining, even painful. She stared hard at the coin. Especially something like that. A pair of earbuds that had likely had one owner was one thing. But a coin that had been in circulation for years, maybe decades, would carry the impressions of so many people, in so many circumstances…

“And what was Esme wearing?” Mac asked.

“Well, running stuff,” Brendan said. “Definitely she was wearing leotards or whatever they’re called. And a tank top.”

“What color?” Mac said.

“Um,” Brendan said. “Maybe white?”

“Remember what I said?” Mac cautioned. Isabelle finally looked back at the two of them. “Facts.”

Brendan’s eyes darted all around the structure, looking at the floor, the parked cars, the sergeant with his yellow tape.

This was ridiculous.

“May I touch you?” she said.

“I’m not finished,” Mac said, a warning tone in his voice that she was getting used to.

“I didn’t ask you,” she said, not looking at him. “I asked Brendan.” She smiled at him and saw him grin crazily in return. “I’m a psychic, and I’d like to read you.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Mac said but, as she stepped toward Brendan, she undid the button of her glove.

“Then keep questioning him,” she said to Mac, never breaking her stare into Brendan’s eyes. His pupils dilated. “It has no effect on what I’m doing.”

“I was wondering why you wore the gloves,” Brendan said, as though he were mesmerized.

“Do I have your permission?” she said lowly, standing directly in front of him now. “I’m going to see everything you saw.”

“Brendan,” Mac snapped. “Was she wearing white or not?”

Isabelle slowly removed the glove, one finger at a time as Brendan watched.

“I’m going to hold your hand,” she said.

“Okay,” he said excitedly, though he hadn’t moved a muscle.

Slowly, she reached down and took his hand in hers.

The surroundings instantly vanished. Brendan’s most recent thoughts were the strongest and those had to do with sex. With her. Then they were back in the station. He’d needed to use the bathroom but had been afraid to ask. Then, he was looking at the email. There’d been a chemistry quiz in his first class. She felt the tightness in her chest as the anxiety of failing again gripped him just as the TA handed him the paper face down. And then. And then…She gripped his hand hard and sucked in a ragged breath. There she was. It was Esme.

“Gray running shorts,” she said as quickly as possible. “White tank top. Silver chain necklace. Hair in a pony tail. Neon blue running shoes. The man is average. Average shoulders. Taller than her. She’s turning to look at me. He has dark hair. The suit is almost shiny, and it’s jet black but his hair isn’t. He’s a brunette. Not yet gray. He won’t turn to look. I’m nearly past now. There are five cars. Dark blue SUV. Black Mini. On the other side, a gray Japanese compact. A beige Jeep with a palm tree on the door. A silver Prius.”

Then Brendan and his skateboard were past the structure.

As quickly as she could, she dropped Brendan’s hand. Her shoes clattered to the floor, and as her purse slid off her shoulder, the parking structure started to spin. Suddenly, she was leaning backward into Mac’s chest and she felt his arm circle her waist from behind. With both hands, she grabbed the steely and steadying muscles over her midriff as he supported her. As she blinked, the world finally came back into focus, including Brendan’s elated face.

“I remember the Jeep!” he said.

CHAPTER FOUR

Mac had to admit, it was a good act.

As they headed back to the command post at the house, he’d gone over it in his mind. Three of the vehicles that Isabelle had mentioned had been in the structure, though not in the same spots. No trick there. A quick rundown of vehicles registered for permits in the structure might help to eliminate one or the other of the remaining two cars, though maybe not both–leaving one as a visitor. Even so, Isabelle hadn’t seen any license plates. That would really have helped. And if all they had to go on was a black Mini or a gray Japanese compact, that wasn’t going to be enough.

The description of Esme’s clothes had been confirmed by her mother but, again, a study of her closet in the dorms might have led to an educated guess on what colors Esme liked to wear. Besides, it was the kidnapper for whom they needed a description, not Esme. And Isabelle’s description of him had added little more than Brendan’s.

Mac crossed his arms over his chest and glared out the front window. Six lanes of traffic, virtually bumper to bumper, all going nowhere. Rush hour in L.A. was the worst kind of oxymoron. They’d hardly gone a mile in the last five minutes. He could have got out and run it in less time.

He glanced at Isabelle in the rear view mirror, sitting behind the sergeant. She’d seemed subdued since they’d left the parking structure.

It’d taken the rest of the afternoon to question drivers as they’d returned to their vehicles and were cleared one by one. Everything that had been on any floor of the structure had been retrieved and bagged according to location, by floor. He had noted that Isabelle had intently watched the objects being collected, occasionally reaching to the button of her glove but apparently thinking better of it. Mac had asked Brendan to stay on the remote chance that, if the man in the dark suit showed up, Brendan might recognize him. But as the cars had cleared out and no new ones were permitted entry, it became clear that the highly unlikely wasn’t going to happen–the man in the dark suit wasn’t going to saunter in and walk up to his car.

They weren’t going to get lucky.

But Mac already knew it wasn’t going to amount to luck. He’d pulled police reports for the campus going back three months. Esme’s bedroom at the house, the dorm room, and also the parking structure had been photographed. He’d even asked for a weather report for yesterday morning. There was no knowing where the telling clue would be found, because it was only when the entire body of evidence was together that he’d see how it was interconnected. Even so, he’d begun to formulate a picture.

The abductor had been organized by virtue of the fact that he’d been premeditated, selecting an out of the way locale that was dark, a time of day that was less heavily trafficked, and a victim who was low risk for him, someone he could overpower easily. He was likely a sexual predator, whether that gratification came from sex itself or something else involving the victim, because there had been no ransom call. And Esme was likely not his first victim because her abduction had gone too well. There was virtually no evidence.

Evidence, he thought, clenching his jaw. In addition to time, it was something they sorely needed. There could be no analysis without data. Eventually, as he sifted through it and started to reach conclusions, he’d even examine his own biases. He glanced at Isabelle again.

She seemed to be looking directly into the setting sun, her amber eyes turned a sparkling hue of gold. Her face was aglow in the dim orange light and her lips–he could read so much there. When she smiled, as she’d done with Brendan, there was something completely guileless in her face, but when she was impatient her lips nearly vanished into a thin line. She would crook her mouth up at the left corner when she was at a moment of decision, and she thought no one was looking. No matter how sure she sounded, the little movement betrayed what she felt. And when she did a ‘reading,’ her full lips parted, the curve of them captivating. He glanced at the scoop neck of her dress and the gentle dip between her–

Mac tightened his jaw and pointedly looked back out the windshield. Female FBI agents invariably wore business suits, like their male counterparts. Wearing a dress was simply not part of the uniform.

The FBI suits, he thought. Brendan said the man wore a suit. But who wears a suit to a kidnapping?

Mac narrowed his eyes. This abductor was moving further and further into outlier range. A college campus. Check. Not an unusual location. A parking structure? Check. Not an unusual spot. Close to the getaway vehicle. But a business suit? Not so much. Not on a campus. Who wears a suit on a campus?

He was dimly aware of their SUV exiting the freeway.

Not professors and not students.

Did administrators wear suits? Only higher ups. A dean or assistant dean, something on that order.

Was there a business school on campus? That would be a fit.

What would a list of men with dark hair, an average build, who wore suits to campus look like? It might not be too long. As he blinked, the car inched past a barrage of flashing bulbs and glaring media lights. The news presence had to have tripled since the morning.

“Wow,” said Sergeant Dixon. “Even for L.A., this is pretty bad.”

“Get us as close to the house as you can,” Mac said.

“Oh I’ll get us in the driveway,” Sergeant Dixon said. “No problem.”

True to his word, he did just that. As he moved slowly but steadily down the street, past one checkpoint after another, the wood barricades were moved aside and then replaced as the sergeant waved to people he obviously knew. Reporters tried to press toward the vehicle, and lights and microphones were aimed at them but to no avail. In only a few minutes, they were in the driveway.

As Mac opened the door, the sound of helicopters drew his attention. Up in the darkening sky, at least three different television stations had reporters hovering.

“What a circus,” he muttered.

He paused at the front bumper to let Isabelle precede him. She smiled a little at his gesture for her to go ahead and then was past him. It occurred to him that she’d never smiled at him before, not until that moment. But before he could smile back she was past him and headed toward the open front door. He frowned a little as he followed her, his eyes pausing on her narrow waist, then moving down those shapely legs. He couldn’t quite make sense of her.

When they’d left the house this morning, he’d been saddled with some friend of Ben's wife, some fraud claiming to be a psychic. In fact, even now, there had been no point in the day when she offered any more information than his investigation had turned up. Random chance could account for her selecting the Jeep. She threw out the information at a frantic pace, probably waiting to see what was confirmed or not. And yet…he followed her into the living room. It didn’t seem like she was acting. Profiling had come naturally to him, a lifelong student of human behavior. Her concern seemed like real concern, her exhaustion like real exhaustion. Wouldn’t a fraud, a user, have headed right for the reporters down at the bottom of the drive? Put her name out there, gotten in front of the cameras, drummed up business? Her profile wasn’t matching up.

Not unlike the kidnapper.

The kidnapper. The business suit.

Although he knew Ben was heading directly for him, he held up a hand as he stopped next to where Agent Lyang sat in front of the computers, virtually where he’d left her seven hours ago.

“I want a list from the university of all senior, male, administrators,” he said to her as she looked up. “I want to know if there’s a business school there as well. Or a law school. I want to know of any middle-aged man of average build and dark hair who had reason to be on campus wearing a dark suit yesterday morning.”

Sharon only nodded.

“Mac,” Ben said. “Anything new?”

They’d been in constant contact the entire day. Ben had known, either from him or Sharon, exactly what was going on at all times. Ben knew there was nothing new, but he couldn’t help but ask.

“Not yet,” Mac said, gripping Ben's shoulder. “Not yet.” Even though he slumped, Ben's shoulder felt tight. “Don’t give up. I haven’t.”

Ben nodded, as though he hadn’t either, but his eyes said something different. Mac read the resignation there as though Esme’s body had already been found.

Anita came through the swinging doors from the kitchen, followed by Isabelle. They both looked as though they’d been crying.

“Ben,” Anita started.

“What?” Ben yelled, whirling on her. “No, there hasn’t been a phone call. No, there hasn’t been a new clue. No, there hasn’t been a body.”

Stunned silence fell on the room. Two uniformed police officers and two agents who were probably from CIRG all froze. Sharon, who was on the phone, covered the mouthpiece with her hand.

“Benicio,” Anita said, her voice calm, even commanding. “You eat something this very instant. Your skin is gray. You come into this kitchen right now and eat,” she said turning away from him. “I’m not asking you again.”

A collective eyebrow went up around the room, and Mac cocked his head at Anita’s retreating back. That’s what he’d thought the first time he’d seen Ben that morning. The gray pallor of his skin was alarming–expected but alarming. As Anita passed Isabelle, the two women exchanged a look. Only when Ben moved did Mac realize he was still gripping the man’s shoulder. Ben shrugged him off.

“Everyone get out,” he said tiredly. “Just…please, get out.”

Sharon glanced at Mac and he shook his head a tiny ‘no’. If a call came in, even though the odds were a million to one against, someone from the Bureau had to be here.

“Oh for crying out–” Ben started.

“You heard the man,” Mac announced. He motioned to the other FBI agents. “Let’s go.” He waved the police officers toward the door. “Let’s give them a little privacy. Everybody’s tired. Including me.”

Though he needn’t have, he motioned to Isabelle. She was already moving toward the door.

“Mac, I’m sorry,” Ben said, turning to him. “It’s just that–”

“Don’t apologize,” Mac said quickly, stopping him. “And don’t give up. Because I haven’t. Truly. You know me. I’m not going to offer you false hope. I wouldn’t do that.” He slowly shook his head. “But something’s wrong here. I feel it in my gut.”

“Okay,” Ben said, really sagging now and not really hearing him.

“Go eat,” Mac said, steering him toward the kitchen. “I don’t want Anita angry at me.”

As Ben headed that way, Mac gave Sharon a last look and they nodded at each other. He closed the front door softly behind him.

As Mac nudged his rental car past the encampment of cameras and lights that seemed to take up nearly the entire block, he couldn’t help but be reminded of a sideshow at a carnival. And the show wasn’t just in English. It seemed like every major language from the globe was represented among the various emblems on the vans topped with antennae and radar dishes.

But as he neared the end of the crowd, he realized it was moving. Cameramen and reporters were moving in parallel with him on the sidewalk and, he realized with a start, that Isabelle was in front of them.

“What?” he muttered.

Had she been a publicity hound after all?

But the closer he got, the more he could see that she was moving quickly. In fact, they were chasing her. As she neared the corner, he stepped on the gas, cranked the wheel, and put the car directly in the crowd’s path. Engine idling, he jumped out of the car. Isabelle, glancing backward, ran straight into his arms and screamed.

“It’s me,” he said quickly. “Isabelle, it’s Mac.”

Though recognition dawned on her face, there was no time for more than that. Quickly, before they were pinned by the onslaught, he wrapped his arms around her, swept her around the front of the car, and opened the passenger door in one smooth move.

“Watch your head,” he said, pushing her inside.

“So the FBI is using psychics?” called out a voice from behind the glare of lights. “Where’s Esme Olivos? Do you see her in a crystal ball?” yelled someone else.

Great.

Mac pushed through several people who grunted in response.

“Is she a psychic or isn’t she?” demanded the tall Hispanic man in front of him as he thrust a microphone into Mac’s face.

Mac shoved it right back at him, nearly hitting him in the mouth. As the reporter backed up, he collided with the people in back of him and the press of the entire growing throng lessened for a moment. Mac quickly leapt toward his door, threw it open, and slammed it shut. He toggled the locks. With a quick check into the rear view mirror, he made sure he wasn’t going to kill anybody, then he threw the car into reverse and gunned it. The squealing of the tires nearly had people diving for cover and in another few moments, the entire crowd was left behind. He squealed around the next corner too before finally slowing down. Then he stopped.

“Where’s your car?” he said, more loudly than he’d intended, adrenalin still coursing through him.

“Car?” Isabelle said, her voice too loud as well.

Her gloved hands were gripping the car door handle as though she were hanging on to a lifesaver. Her wild stare flitted from him to the rear window, back the way they’d come. Her breathing was erratic and her entire body seemed to be trembling. They’d been a like a pack of wolves and obviously not what she had expected.

“You shouldn’t have told them you were a psychic,” he said.

That got her attention.

“Me?” she yelled, her eyes focused hard on his. “Me?” The sudden change in her took him aback. “You think I caused that? I think you better question some of your…your…” she stammered, looking for the right word. “Your agents or officers or whatever! Whoever! That’s the last thing I’d–” She stopped abruptly and opened the car door. “You know what,” she said. “Never mind.”

Then the door slammed closed. The only sound was the idling of the engine. But rather than walk back toward her car, she headed away from him, away from the house.

Oh come on. You’re not going to walk all the way home. This is L.A.

He found the button for the passenger window and lowered it as he pulled up alongside her.

“Where’s your car?” he said. She hugged herself around the middle and kept walking, fast, not looking at him. “Look,” he said. “You can’t walk back there to your car. They’ll be all over you.”

She ignored him.

He got ahead of her and pulled into someone’s driveway, across the sidewalk. She nearly toppled over the hood, hitting it with her hands. For the second time, he jumped out of his door and raced around the hood, grasping her by the upper arms as she stood.

“Isabelle,” he said. “Just stop for a second. Think. You can’t go back through that crowd.”

“I’m not,” she hissed, yanking herself free from him.

“So your car is parked out here somewhere,” he said, gesturing to the dark street around them. “Where?”

“I don’t have a car,” she said, not looking at him as she tried to back up and head toward the sidewalk.

“You what?” he said, easily sidestepping and blocking her path.

She stopped and pushed at his chest.

“I don’t have a car,” she said, finally looking up at him. “So if you’ll get out of my way, I’ve got a long way to go.”

Dumbfounded, he almost let her pass when she tried again. But then he sidestepped again.

“So you’re just going to walk home. Wherever that is.”

Exasperated, she hugged herself around the middle again.

“I’m going to take the bus,” she said. “The Metro Two. Downtown. And they don’t run all night.”

“The bus?” he said, incredulous. “You’re taking the bus? Who would–”

She tried to get around him again. This time he held her by the shoulders and stared down into her face. She was mad, tired, and, he finally realized, completely serious. She was walking to a bus stop.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay.” He looked up and down the sidewalk. “Look. I’m not from L.A. but even I know it’s not a great time to be taking public transportation. Let me give you a ride.”

She shook her head and had been about to say something.

“Isabelle,” he said, holding her firmly and noticing for the first time how close they were standing. “I’m not taking no for an answer. We’re both tired and I don’t even have a hotel yet. It’s been a long day, for both of us. Just let me take you home.”

To his surprise, she took a deep breath, held it for a few beats, then finally exhaled and nodded. They were both tired. He opened the door and held it for her and, once she was inside, he got behind the wheel. This time, they both put on their seat belts.

“All right,” he said, checking the mirrors and backing into the street. “Which way?”

CHAPTER FIVE

It was only eight o’clock but it seemed like midnight to Isabelle. As they pulled in front of her building, it felt like she hadn’t been there in a week. She could almost feel the gloves coming off as she walked through the front door.

“This is your neighborhood?” Mac asked, looking up at the building through the windshield.

Except for directions, the ride back had been blissfully quiet. She’d tried to still her mind and put away the images from her readings. But the tone in Mac’s voice bothered her.

“We don’t all get to live in Bel Air,” she said. “Thanks for the ride.”

She opened her door and Mac immediately did the same and turned off the engine.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said, pausing. “I can see myself up.”

“Of course you can,” he said getting out. “But that’s not going to happen.”

His long strides had him at her door in moments and, as he held it for her, and she got out, she glanced up at the building and actually looked at it for a change, the way that Mac had done.

At least it was dark. The building, the street, the whole neighborhood looked worse in daylight.

None of her clients knew where she lived. Though she’d told herself that it was to preserve her privacy, it was really so they didn’t see this. As her savings had slowly dwindled, she’d moved to worse and worse sections of town. In fact, she had a car. It was parked in the narrow little garage under her unit. She just couldn’t afford to fix it. Her clients came to her through word of mouth, and she had a good solid base of regulars, but it was still L.A., where even a one-bedroom without air conditioning was an arm and a leg. The neighborhood was yet another reason she was ready to leave.

“Really,” she said, as Mac closed the car door. “I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

He shook his head, his face serious in the pale green glow of the streetlamp across the narrow street.

“Look,” he said. “I don’t want to have to worry. Just let me hear the deadbolt fall, and we can call it a night.”

He sounded so sincere. She flashed back on that moment in the dorm room when their hands had accidentally touched. He’d been genuinely concerned for her–and he liked her legs.

“Fine,” she said at last. “I’m on the third floor.”

She took the lead, up the cracked cement path that led to the dingy building. The exterior lights had stopped working some time ago but the street lights were enough, plus the constant background glow from the skyscrapers of downtown, only a few miles away.

“Watch your step,” she said, beginning the climb.

He didn’t say a word, just fell in behind her. They climbed like that and, as they did, she thought of the day. It must have been months since she’d spent so much time with people. And she’d actually worked alongside them–Mac, the sergeant, even Brendan. It felt good to think she’d actually made a difference. And it was so good not to be all alone. Until this moment, she hadn’t realized how wearing that had been.

As they reached her landing, she took out her keys.

“I’m glad Anita made Ben eat something,” Mac said. “He was looking gray.”

Isabelle tensed as she turned to him and the keys fell from her hand. A shadow fell across his face, the street light behind and below him, and she couldn’t see his eyes.

“Our hands touched,” he said quietly.

Her breath caught. So, he’d remembered. When she’d read Brendan she’d wondered if Mac had put two and two together. Blood pounded in her ears. People never knew their own thoughts this well. But Mac was obviously not like other people.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” she said quickly. “You grabbed my–”

“Hand,” he finished. “I know.”

Even in the cool evening breeze, she felt her cheeks flush hot, as though she’d been caught in the act of some…some…crime. So the FBI agent had caught her in the act. He stooped in front of her and picked up the keys.

“I’d never read anybody without their permission. Never.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” he said holding out her keys. But just before she could take them, he quickly raised them up and out of reach. “Wait. Are you saying it was bad?”

No reading was good. Too often she learned things that were better left unknown. Reading Mac, though, even as quickly as it had ended, had been a revelation. On the outside, he was the man in charge, a solid pillar for Ben and Anita to lean on, a smooth professional to everyone he met. But inside, intense emotions ran fast and deep. Suddenly, though she remembered that she’d also read the word psychobabble.

Hold on.

She looked up at her keys and Mac’s shadowed face. He had yet to say that he actually believed she did readings. Not once during the day had he acknowledged it. In fact, he’d gone out of his way to supply other explanations for what she’d seen.

“May I have my keys?” she said evenly.

“Not until you tell me,” he said.

He sounded serious.

But is he?

People were almost never ready to hear about their own thoughts. In fact, most of the time, people were blindsided by them. Did he really want to hear about the reading? Fine. If that’s what he wanted, that’s what he’d get.

Who was the brunette? Isabelle thought. It was the one question worth asking and yet the one that she dared not. Who is the woman who makes you sad?

She wanted to know. More than that, she wanted Mac to know that her ability was real. But more than anything, in this moment, she didn’t want to push him away. She was tired of pushing people away.

“So, nothing to tell me?” he asked. “Nothing–”

“Did you get an eyeful of my shapely legs on the way up here?”

Mac froze.

Suddenly, Isabelle became aware of the sound of traffic from the nearby freeway and a television across the street blaring the sounds of a car chase. There was a siren in the opposite direction, maybe a real one. But not a sound came from Mac, and Isabelle thought her chest might burst.

Finally, Mac lowered the keys. But as she reached for them, he caught her gloved hand in midair.

“I did get an eyeful,” he said lowly, drawing her toward him. She felt his other hand slip around her waist. “And you know I did,” he said, stepping close to her, nearly touching. “That’s why you went first. So I’ll do a little reading of my own,” he said, closing the distance between them and lowering his face to hers, “I’ll say you liked that I got an eyeful,” he said, just before their lips met.

Though Mac had watched Isabelle’s lips all day, he’d never permitted himself to think about this moment. Kissing her went against training. It flew in the face of professionalism. It probably wasn’t ethical. And Mac knew from bitter experience that romance and work had to be kept separate.

But that was the problem–that bitter experience and the emptiness that never went away. Besides, he told himself, Isabelle wasn’t exactly work. She was…he didn’t know what she was. But right now, as he held her in his arms, he didn’t care. Isabelle was warm, incredibly vital, and exceptionally beautiful.

As though drawn by a powerful magnet, his lips immediately melded with hers. His mouth probed her as he marveled at the lush give of her tender flesh. He gently suckled it, tasting the sweetness of her, feeling the silky glide of her lower lip along his.

Her moist breath came more rapidly and, as he let go of her hand, the keys fell to the landing again, but neither of them paid attention. Instead, he felt her hands behind his neck as his went to her tiny waist, his fingers nearly circling her. Through the thin fabric of the dress, he felt her slender waistline move, supple in his hands.

Though at first she’d reminded him of someone else, Isabelle wasn’t like her at all. Though disappointment tugged at him, so did relief. Maybe it was finally time to move on. He wanted to, needed to, maybe more than he’d been willing to admit.

Isabelle’s lips moved slowly, provocatively, responding to the mounting press of his. He lightly nibbled her upper lip, starting in the middle but moving steadily toward the corner that he had watched crook upward. He dwelled there for a moment but then retraced his path, his lips kneading into hers with growing urgency. Her mouth drifted with his, seeking him out, as though she didn’t want to lose contact. The motion was completely seductive, and he found himself teasing her, relishing the moist glide of her lips on his, their constant movement. But as his arousal stiffened and his fingers gripped her waist, he realized it wasn’t just her who’d been tantalized.

Quickly, he captured her lower lip in his mouth. His tongue stroked it, licking her, savoring the delicious feel and taste of her. He felt her mouth close on his upper lip and then the tentative touch of her tongue. He sucked her lower lip completely into his mouth, wet and warm, making her gasp and drag in a ragged breath. Her diaphragm pulsed against his thumbs and, before she even had a chance to finish inhaling, he released her mouth and pulled her to him.

“Isabelle,” he breathed, as his arms wound around her and he pressed her body to his.

As Mac’s chest pushed against hers, Isabelle realized that his suit and shirt hid a rock-hard body. She knew he looked fit, his shoulders wide and his waist narrow, but the hardness of the muscles of his chest came as a shock–almost as surprising as the sudden intensity in his lips as they captured hers.

This morning, if someone had asked her, Isabelle wasn’t sure if she’d even remember what a kiss felt like. Most guys were turned off by the word psychic right from the start. But for the few who stuck around, her ability to read them, especially when they made love, was a deal breaker. While lots of people said they wanted truth in their relationships, few were actually ready for the reality of it.

But she had already read Mac, if only accidentally, and the passion in his kiss began to match the profound emotion that she’d discovered.

His rounded shoulders bunched under her forearms as his embrace tightened. Like bands of steel, his arms closed around her. And as his mouth engulfed hers, the intensity there became all-consuming. His lips urged hers on, as though they were no longer hers to control. He suckled her lower lip again and then the upper, moving faster and pressing harder. His nose pressed into her cheek before he quickly tilted his head the other way. Her lips followed his, clinging to them, desperate not to be parted from them for a single instant.

The rough stubble of his chin rubbed against her skin. Her gloved hands ran down over the broad shoulders. Though her lungs began to burn, her lips never left his as she dragged in air through her nose. Though her heart beat in her ears, and her chest wanted to burst, she could not lose contact. The feel of his mouth blotted out everything else. The images of the day fell away as pent-up desire rose to take their place. Mindless oblivion was approaching and yet just out of reach.

His tongue probed her then, the rhythm of his absorbing kiss broken, urging her mouth to open. As her lips parted in response, she felt his arms tighten and he leaned forward. Her body curved against him, luxuriating in the press of the hard slabs of muscle. But as the jab of his arousal pushed into her abdomen, she gasped and he kissed her deeply.

The more Isabelle opened herself to him, the more Mac wanted. The curve of her, the press of her hips, her soft breasts, the sweetness of her mouth–she was irresistible. His tongue swept inside her with a carnal desire that made him lean even further forward. Even though they stood where they’d started, he pursued her. He felt the lithe movement of her body against his, and he wanted more. His mouth engulfed hers, capturing the soft, pink lips that had fascinated him during the day, tasting them, and feeding from them as though he were a starving man–and he wanted more.

And her skin?

Was it just as delicious?

He had to find out.

With a small smacking sound, he suddenly released her mouth and immediately ducked under her chin. She gasped, inhaling deeply, and he felt her diaphragm flex against his abs. He held her close and leaned forward yet again. Her back arched to accommodate him and, as her head tilted back, he covered her throat with fevered kisses. He lapped at her with his tongue, nibbled her with his lips, and savored the fresh taste of her silky skin. Her hands clung to his shoulders as he tilted her back even further, and his mouth covered the dip between her collar bones.

Her gasps had turned to rasping breaths that moved in time with his steady progression across and down her skin. Though he tried not to hurry, it was as though his mouth knew what waited just below. But of course it did. He hadn’t been immune to the sight of her figure. His lips and tongue traced a sucking and nibbling line directly to the top of her dress.

Isabelle quietly moaned in response, arching her back even further. He held her weight completely in his arms, and her hands moved into the hair at the back of his head. Both of them breathed quickly now, their lungs heaving for air. His tongue darted under the dress and between the softly curved swell of her breasts. His lips bit gently into her, savoring the creamy flesh, his nose filled with the fragrant smell of her. Lower he went, as his chin nudged the dress down, kneading his mouth into the plump mounds as she moaned again.

Suddenly, his phone rang.

For a moment, he couldn’t place the sound. His mind had gone somewhere else completely and his mouth–it couldn’t stop exploring Isabelle.

But on the second ring, he couldn’t ignore it and on the third he knew he had to answer.

“Dammit,” he muttered quietly, as Isabelle stood upright.

With more willpower than it should have taken, he withdrew his arms from around her and took the phone from his pocket.

It was Sharon. He jabbed the answer button with his thumb.

“Mac,” he said, as he watched Isabelle take a deep breath and try to straighten her dress.

“We’ve had a call,” Sharon said.

Mac’s mind immediately snapped to an image of Special Agent Lyang at her laptop in Ben’s living room.

“The kidnapper?” Mac said, almost not believing he was saying it. He and Ben had both known that the chances of getting a ransom call at this point were none.

Isabelle had stooped to pick up her keys but looked up at him.

“Yes, the kidnapper,” said Sharon. “But no ransom.”

Mac scowled as Isabelle stared at him.

“He wants to talk to the psychic,” Sharon said. “To Isabelle.”

CHAPTER SIX

“Keep him talking,” Isabelle said. “Ask to speak with Esme.”

“Right,” Mac said.

The living room was buzzing with excitement. Anita and Ben stood together at the far end of the room and stared at her, looking hopeful–worried but hopeful. Ben held a headset with a wire that led to the computer and other electronics boxes on the coffee table. Sharon already wore her headset and sat to Isabelle’s left, on the couch. Mac sat to her right. He’d quickly jotted down some dialogue for her to read, and that sheet of paper lay on the coffee table in front of her.

Why me?

“Just act natural,” Mac said.

She nodded and tried to give him a smile. Though they hadn’t held hands or anything, Mac had stayed close.

“One minute,” Sharon said.

She pointed to the clock on the screen, almost nine o’clock.

Why does he want to talk to me?

Her gloved hands seemed to wrestle with one another in her lap, and now she realized they were shaking.

“You’ll do fine,” Mac whispered. “I’m right here.”

She nodded, aware she was holding her breath, and let it go with a whoosh.

The phone rang.

As though a fire alarm had gone off, the sound seemed to shatter the air. Isabelle jumped, her hand flying to her chest.

Sharon held out two fingers, then one, then pointed at the handset in the charger. Isabelle picked it up.

“Hello?” she said.

Sharon hit the enter key on her laptop and a timer started. Mac had already explained that every second on the phone could count. If he was calling on a land line, they’d be able to trace it instantaneously. If he was calling on a cell phone though, the longer the better to narrow down which cell tower was being hit the strongest. Something about triangulation.

Another agent across from her, also wearing a headset, nodded.

Isabelle listened but there was only silence.

“Hello?” she said, again louder.

“Your gift comes from Satan,” a man’s muffled voice said. “It’s filthy.”

Whether it was the tone of his voice or what he said, Isabelle didn’t know, but a shudder ran down her spine. Sharon nodded, rotated her hand as though she were cranking a pencil sharpener, and pointed at the timer.

“Satan?” Isabelle asked. “Satan gives gifts?”

That was lame.

“Do you mock me?” the voice said.

“No!” Isabelle quickly answered. “No. I’m just a psychic. I don’t know the first thing about Satan.”

There was a dry chuckle on the other end of the line.

“But he knows you,” he finally said. “He owns you.”

Isabelle glanced at the laptop screen. Fifteen seconds elapsed. Across the room, Anita was clutching Ben as the two of them shared the headset. Mac pointed to the top paragraph on his sheet of notes.

“May I speak with Esme?”

There was silence for a moment.

“Is that her name?” the kidnapper asked, sounding amused. “I call her the Whore of Babylon. Satan owns her too.”

“Her name is Esme,” Isabelle replied. “You’ve seen it on TV. The way you saw mine.”

Mac gave her the ‘okay’ sign.

“I need to speak with her,” Isabelle said.

“With whom the kings of the earth had committed incest?” the kidnapper yelled and everyone who was wearing a headset flinched. “The one who the inhabitants of the earth have been made drunk with the wine of her incest? You don’t tell me what to do!”

“I’m not telling,” Isabelle said quickly. “I’m asking. I need to know if she’s alive. You’re not the first person to call this phone number today.”

“You don’t know?” asked the muffled voice. “You don’t know if she’s alive? How can a psychic not know if she’s alive?”

“That’s not how it works,” Isabelle said, automatically. “I see things through touch.”

There was silence for a moment.

“So working with the FBI and touching things?” he asked.

Isabelle checked with Mac. He nodded.

“That’s right,” Isabelle said.

“And I saw the woman drunken with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus,” the kidnapper replied.

“I still don’t know if Esme’s alive,” Isabelle said.  Mac nodded. “Is there any point to this conversation?”

“There’s a point,” the kidnapper snapped. “It’s a war between good and evil. Faith versus heresy. Between God and the devil.” He paused. “Between me and you.”

Isabelle swallowed in a dry throat and, for the first time, she doubted that this phone call was serious or that Esme was even alive.

“Between you and me there’s nothing,” Isabelle said. “Not until I know Esme is alive.”

There was only silence.

The timer on Sharon’s computer said two minutes.

“Hello?” Isabelle said into the silence.

“Hello?” came a young girl’s voice.

“Esme?” Isabelle said, nearly yelling.

Across the room, Anita clamped both her hands over her mouth and Ben closed his eyes.

“Esme,” Isabelle tried again. “Is that you?”

“Yes,” came the faltering, trembling answer. “I’m–”

Then there was the sound of scraping and jostling.

“Between you and me,” said the kidnapper suddenly and then the line went dead.

Sharon and the man across from her frantically typed on their keyboards. Everyone in the room held their breath. But finally, the agent across the table shook his head and took of his headset.

“Didn’t get a lock,” Sharon said as she took off hers. “The signal strength was too weak and we couldn’t narrow it down to one tower, more like four.”

Shoulders sagged around the room and Isabelle quickly looked at Mac.

“Maybe a fifty square mile area,” he said. “That’s not small enough.”

Damn it, Isabelle thought. I should have talked to him longer before I talked to Esme. Maybe he would have quoted more scripture. Maybe–

She felt the phone in her hand move and looked down to see Mac taking it, nearly having to pry her fingers away.

“Good work,” Mac said quietly, as the people around them began to move again.

“But we didn’t get the trace,” Isabelle said.

“But we know she’s alive,” Anita said from across the room. Tears were running down her face as Ben held her with an arm around her shoulders. “At least we know she’s alive.”

Mac’s gut had been right.

“No ransom,” he said, standing.

“What?” Isabelle said, taking his hand as he helped her up from the couch.

“No ransom request,” Ben said from behind Mac. “What are you thinking, Mac?”

“It’s a true outlier,” Mac said, measuring his words. “By this time in a case, nearly thirty-six hours, there’s usually an outcome. It doesn’t happen often but it happens. But no ransom request?” He looked at Ben. “He’s not a kidnapper. That’s the wrong profile. It never did fit.” He turned to Sharon. “I want the analysis of the tape from DC, ASAP. Text the transcript of it to every member on the team.”

“Background noise?” Ben asked.

Mac shook his head.

“I’d have to say it was pretty clean,” Mac said. He looked at Sharon who nodded in agreement. “There won’t be much help there. But speech patterns, accents, even the lack of background noise or echo, that might tell us something, even the type of phone. We’ll have to let DC work it over.” He looked around the room to each face in turn, finally ending with Isabelle. “Good work, everybody.”

Before the girl could start crying again or yelling, Prentiss gagged her, despite that rapid head shaking she could do.  Then, he whooped and pumped his fist. That had been, by far, his finest performance to date.

Damn, he was good!

News of it would have to be on TV. He’d have to rush home and watch. This was turning out to be much better than the usual killing. He glanced at the girl tied to the chair. There was plenty of time for that tomorrow.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Mac followed Isabelle up the dark stairs for the second time this night.

“Maybe I should have asked him about the Bible,” Isabelle said. She’d been second-guessing herself ever since they’d left the house, even through the blinding gauntlet of camera lights and flashes. “Or maybe Satan.” She reached the front door and unlocked the deadbolt and the knob. His hand gently rested on the small of her back. “Even if I’d just said that I’ve never read the Bible it might have taken more time,” she said turning to him, the door open behind her.

His hands slipped easily around her waist as he stood close, looking down into her stunning eyes as they searched his.

“He had a timer,” Mac said. “Probably on his phone. There was nothing you were going to say or do that would have kept him on the line any longer. Too many people have seen crime dramas.”

He drew her closer.

“Really?” she asked, sounding relieved. For a moment, he wasn’t sure she realized he was holding her, and then her hands found his waist as well. “You’re not just saying that?”

“Now why would I do that?” he said lowly, as he bent to kiss her.

Isabelle felt Mac walk her backward through the door, heard him kick it shut with his foot, and lock the knob behind his back. His kiss was hard on her mouth, insistent this time, as though he were finishing something he’d started. The sudden fierceness of it was like fire, hot and wet, capturing her lips in a heated fusion of flesh. She ran her gloved fingers into his hair, desperately longing to feel it against her skin and yet knowing that was impossible.

But what she could feel was his body. Even as his arms wrapped around her and he continued to move her backward, she slipped her hands up his torso and under his jacket. Though his lips never left hers, he quickly peeled off the coat, stripped the tie, and unbuttoned the shirt as though her hands on his body had been a signal. Her hands dove under the open shirt, as she continued to back into the bedroom and he flicked on the light.

Pressing her palms against the curves of his pecs was like touching a statue. She quickly rubbed her hands down the six-pack abs and, in moments, her fingers had undone his belt and pants and he had unzipped the back of her dress. Their mouths wrestled for dominance, their breathing harsh and uneven. In her mouth, his tongue danced and curled, finding hers, twining with it, and then releasing it. As his pants and boxers fell, he undid her thin white belt and lifted her dress over her head. And for the first time since they’d arrived, his lips left hers. She dragged in a lungful of air and, as the dress hit the floor, she saw Mac’s body.

His powerful muscular frame was incredible, everything her fingers had said and more. The wonderfully broad chest was dusted with dark hair that, down the middle of his corrugated abdomen, gathered into a near perfect line. Tight, corded muscle flexed at his hips and, as he came toward her, the long muscles of his thick thighs rippled smoothly under the taut, hairy skin. And between the hips and thighs, his aroused flesh stood rigid and erect.

He must have seen her gaze because he suddenly picked up his pants, dug in one of the pockets, and produced a condom.

“From my luggage,” he said, tearing it open. “From…” He paused just as he was about to put it on. “From before,” he finished, smoothing the tight latex over his shaft.

She’d been so caught up in the moment, it hadn’t even occurred to her to use protection. Though Mac’s movements were quick she was mesmerized. The smooth muscles of his arms rippled and his pecs bunched as well. But more than anything, she watched his bare fingers, touching himself in a way that she couldn’t.

In moments he was done and closing the short distance between them. But instead of reaching for her bra or panties, his hands lightly grasped one of hers and he began to unbutton the glove.

“No,” she gasped, tugging it away. He stopped, his eyebrows furrowed, gazing down at her hands before she hid them behind her back. “I can’t,” she said. “It’s always a reading. I can’t control it.”

She waited for the protest that she knew would come–because it always did. In many ways, it was the end of the relationship even if it wasn’t the end of the evening.

“Leave the gloves on?” he said, looking into her eyes.

“I have to,” she breathed. “Always.”

As Isabelle stood, hands behind her back, it wasn’t her beautiful body that riveted him, suddenly it was her face. As she waited for his reaction, one emotion after another flitted across it: apprehension, worry and even fear alternated with the desire she clearly felt for him. Then the corner of her mouth crooked upward ever so slightly as she searched his eyes. In that moment, she was transparent to him, vulnerable and utterly irresistible.

“Then leave them on,” he said lowly, reaching behind her and unclasping her bra. “It’s sexy.”

But as the lacy, blue bra fell away and Isabelle let it slip from her arms, sexy hardly seemed the right word. Sexy was the way she looked in a dress. Sexy was the swivel of her hips when she walked. In the flesh, her silky nakedness was gorgeous. The creamy pink nipples matched her lips and the honey colored skin of her bare shoulders and breasts matched that of her face and neck. Tiny lace panties that matched the bra barely covered her, stretching from one rounded hip to the other. Nor had she yet stepped out of her heels.

When she’d told him to stop, he’d thought for a moment she’d changed her mind. But now, with her hands settling on his hips and his drifting to the nape of her neck, there would be no stopping. Despite the aching of his arousal, he kissed her tenderly and slowly, aware of how she’d feared his reaction. Something in her past had taught her to dread that moment. And, as if to confirm it, her lips trembled against his. He ran his fingers into her long, silky hair and caressed her mouth with his, urging her to open to him again. And when she did, his tongue stroked her lips instead of penetrating into her.

Lightly, he captured her lower lip, drew it completely into his mouth, and let his tongue fondle it. He stroked her one way and then the other, moving the soft flesh and sucking on it, until the quaking finally stopped. Slowly, her arms wound around his waist and, as she stepped closer, he felt his arousal jab into her abdomen. The press of it into her was like a jolt of electricity. His entire body tensed, as did hers. He let one hand drift downward, lightly grazing the front of her throat, skimming over her collar bone, until his fingers found her plump breast and he palmed it.

Isabelle moaned into his mouth as he lightly squeezed the tender mound. Smooth and lush in his hand, he felt the dimpled center of her nipple stiffen. Gently, he molded the ripe flesh in his hand as her arms tightened around his waist and his arousal was pinned between them. The feel of her pressing along the length of him was nearly shocking, the engorged tip already sensitive. The entire shaft swelled now and his hips pulsed with the need to thrust. He immediately took her other breast, equally warm and soft, and cupped it.

Her mouth seemed to pause in shock and, as his tongue speared into her, he kneaded and stroked each breast simultaneously. He plumped them, squeezed them and let his hands explore their round fullness. Suddenly, she pressed herself to him, the swelling flesh thrusting into his hands, her hips doing a sensual gyration against his. His arousal throbbed in aching response and in the next moment, his hands had pushed her panties down and he was lowering her to the bed.

Isabelle didn’t bother stepping out of her shoes as the panties finally pulled free of them. Mac’s mouth on hers was like a drug: hypnotic and consuming, soft and yet possessive, owning hers to the point that her lungs screamed for air.

But his hands were just the opposite. When he finally released her breasts to guide her hips to the bed, her nipples instantly ached for his touch. Suddenly, his mouth released hers and her lungs heaved like a bellows, pulling in one lungful of air after another. Slowly, he lowered himself over her, the hard slabs of chest muscle grazing maddeningly across the stiffened peaks of her breasts. As she lay back, though, his hand found her again. Even as his hair roughened thighs squeezed between hers, spreading them, his lips found the skin behind her ear and his fingers delicately plucked one nipple.

“Yes,” she gasped as her back arched wildly in response.

Her hips tilted hard against his, his engorged arousal pressing at her entrance, as her nipple tightened in response. His thumb rode across it, rubbing it, as he bit gently into her neck. Her hips lifted to him and her abdomen contracted as the tug on her sensitive nub made the other nipple harden in empathy. And as Mac’s arousal nudged against her sweet spot, warmth flooded between her legs.

Her hands flew to his chest, her palms over his nipples, squeezing the thick pecs. Mac hissed into her neck, driving her to squeeze harder, but the material of her gloves frustrated her. She was dying to know what those nipples felt like, how the hair on his chest would feel running under her fingers, but the gloves would not permit that. Instead, she quickly slid her hands down his incredibly taut waist, onto his hips, and tugged them to her.

But as she tilted her hips up to his and pulled, Isabelle realized that was the last thing she needed to do. Mac’s thrusting arousal sank into her immediately, the hot distended flesh spreading her as he drove up inside. She’d wanted it, needed it, urged him on, and yet the sudden fullness and stretch made her cry out involuntarily.

Mac suddenly freed her breast and raised up on both elbows. She opened her eyes to see his face just in front of hers, looking down at her. His blue-green eyes were fevered, his breathing hard, and his lips parted as though in question. But there was no answer that she could give. Instead, she let her legs and knees lift higher, her high heels riding along the outside of his hips. He glanced back at them, his chiseled torso twisting, the muscles rippling under the taut skin as he reached backward. Slowly his hand caressed the top of her foot. He smoothed his warm palm under her calf, outside her knee, and then up her thigh. The large hand was tender as he rubbed back down her thigh and then her knee. But at his hip, he paused. Gently, his fingers wound around her hand and slowly but firmly he raised it above her head. His weight pinned it to the mattress as he grasped her other hand and did the same.

As their fingers entwined, he smoothly and steadily pushed into her. The rigid part of him glided upward, deep inside her, as her hips rocked with his, her ankles crossed in the small of his back. The penetration of his hot flesh seemed endless, filling her inch by inch as he completely imbedded himself. Her hips wriggled with the mounting pressure and, above her head, her fingers tightened around his. Her lungs fought for more oxygen as Mac’s breathing grew heavy and harsh.

But as the weight of his hips settled on hers and his groin finally connected with her, her back arched. He ground into her then, his distended shaft pushing at the walls of her body, his hips crushing her sweet spot. But just as the tiny center began to pulse, he drew back and then thrust again. Her hips tucked up under his, trying not to let him go. Her hands tugged at his with the impulse to hang on to his waist. But there was no way she was going to move his hands or arms and, as he plunged upward into her, she had no choice but to writhe.

He lowered his chest to hers and his mouth found her neck again, even as her hips bucked upward and her torso jerked against his.

“Yes,” he whispered hoarsely into her throat.

Quickly, he drew back and thrust again, moving hard into her, as her sweet spot throbbed against his weight and her hips struggled to satisfy themselves. She bucked again, completely involuntarily, her chest meeting his as her back arched away from the bed.

“God, yes,” he hissed.

Again, he plunged into her as her hips moved to accept him, trying to take all of him. He connected with a soft thud, the vibration of their bodies racing to her sweet spot and it thrummed in response. A convulsion spread through her abdomen, taking her breath away and, as he tried to rear back again, her legs gripped his waist tightly and hung on.

But there was no stopping the primal rhythm that had taken over. His hips deftly swiveled below her legs and pumped his hot flesh into her yet again. She raised herself against him, pressing upward to meet his every thrust, as his increasing rhythm fed the growing yearning in her and a familiar coil of tension began to build in her depths.

She lifted her hips to his thrusting body as he drove into her. The rock hard length of him surged upward, again and again, filling her completely only to withdraw. Her torso struggled to keep up, undulating against his, as he rocked her with each new penetration. But as the tempo increased, she thrashed against him, her body writhing, aching for fulfillment. Mac panted as he pounded into her harder and faster and air was forced from her lungs in breathless urgent gasps. His strokes crescendoed, his hips pumping at a frenetic pace, his thrusts possessing her and penetrating to her very core. Her sweet spot buzzed with the pounding, and a sudden convulsion rocked her body.

“Mac,” she managed to gasp between breaths.

Suddenly, he buried himself in her.

Her hips rocketed to life, gyrating wildly as a wave of clenches exploded in her abdomen. Inside, she felt him thicken and his fingers tightened around hers.

“Isabelle,” he breathed, just as his arousal jerked within her.

He grunted heavily with the release of it and her body convulsed around him. Over and over she spasmed, the dazzling waves of passion sweeping through her. Mac’s arousal jerked again, and she felt his climax ripple along its length, molten and spewing. His massive chest flexed into her, their bodies joined at the hips.

As the clenching deep inside her continued to milk him, she shuddered uncontrollably. A deep groan welled up from his chest as he convulsed, bucking deep inside. Together they rode the surge and ebb of pleasure, rocking in unconscious time until, slowly, the waves began to fade. Though tiny tremors of ecstasy continued to reverberate in her abdomen, her climax had finally passed. His hips pulsed a few more times but eventually they grew still.

Mindless oblivion began to take over as a rush of relief washed through her. Mac’s warm body lay on hers now, his breathing harsh behind her ear, their bodies slick with sweat. She felt him slowly withdraw and his hands release hers, but she couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes or even move her arms. Deep peace settled on her and she gave herself to it completely, lulled by the rhythm of Mac’s breaths.

Eventually, she felt him move to the bed beside her and gently guide her arms down to her sides. She wanted to turn to him, say something, see his face, but as he put a pillow under her head, she realized she was utterly exhausted. He draped his giant arm over her midriff and nuzzled behind her ear. Though she had no idea if he saw, she smiled. Then, as a deep sigh of male satisfaction washed down her skin, she drifted into blackness.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Nothing useful,” Sharon confirmed, holding out the report to him as Mac entered the living room. “As you suspected.”

“Okay,” he said, taking it from her as well as the offered cup of coffee.

Isabelle left his side, headed to the kitchen, and glanced back at him with a little smile just before she disappeared behind the swinging door.

The morning had been a strange series of little rituals. Though they’d slept late and needed to get going quickly, she’d unwrapped a new bar of soap for him. She’d made breakfast while he was in the shower and, while she was showering, he realized that she used paper plates, styrofoam cups, and plastic utensils. Everything was disposable. He’d had a few minutes to look around her apartment as well. Though he’d tried to turn off his profiler’s brain, that wasn’t really possible. Despite the rundown neighborhood and the lack of a car, the furniture all looked new. Nor were there any knick-knacks. Or photos. When she’d finished and entered the living room, she was wearing a particularly form fitting dress of dark green, a neckline that dipped a little deeper, and delicate light green gloves to match. She’d actually blushed when she realized he was staring.

“So,” said Sharon. “No news is good news?”

Mac realized he’d been grinning and abruptly stopped.

“No,” he said. “Not in this case.”

“Oh,” Sharon said, looking toward the kitchen. She’d been about to go back to her computer when she stopped, apparently remembering something. “I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to look at the transcript I texted everyone but the abductor misquoted the Bible.”

Mac scowled.

“Did he?” he said, before he took a sip of coffee.

“Yes,” she said nodding. “I compared it to several versions online.” She sat on the couch and brought up the transcript. “The King James, the New International Version, the New American Bible, and others,” she said pointing at the screen. “He says ‘With whom the kings of the earth had committed incest’ but the correct quote is actually ‘With whom the kings of the earth had committed fornication.’ He did the same one more time. ‘Drunk with the wine of her incest’ ought to be ‘Drunk with the wine of her fornication.’”

Mac sat down next to her.

“That’s an interesting slip,” he said. “One might even say Freudian.” He paused. “The killer was nervous.”

“Killer?” Sharon asked.

“He’s not a kidnapper, not in the conventional sense,” Mac said. He leaned toward her. “He intends to kill Esme,” he said very quietly. “That’s clear. No ransom request, claimed not to have known her name. She’s little more than a means to an end for him. With the raving phone call and the incest slip, he’s starting to come into focus.” Mac paused and then thought out loud. “Good verbal skills, aggressive behavior, dares to call when he knows the call will be traced. Arrogant, probably intelligent.” He looked at the computer screen. “Incest? Maybe something he’s experienced.” His gaze shifted to Sharon. “Do you see where this is headed?”

“A serial killer,” she whispered.

“A sexually-motivated serial killer. But what we don’t know is why he hasn’t killed Esme yet.”

At that moment, Isabelle and Anita came in from the kitchen. Anita took a tray of pastries to the sideboard near the stairs as Isabelle followed with another. Mac focused on her. The killer had wanted to speak with her. He’d been so nervous on the phone with her that he’d misquoted the Bible. Something about a psychic being part of the team had unnerved him.

And that felt wrong in Mac’s gut. Again he got the feeling this man was simply not what he seemed. Serial killers didn’t get nervous on the phone or make Freudian slips while quoting Bible verses. But whatever he was after, Isabelle played into it and was likely the reason that Esme was still alive.

He clenched his jaw and shook his head. He needed more time and yet time was close to being gone. This was the third day, the third, virtually unprecedented. He had to have more time. Whatever the killer wanted, he had to be thwarted. He had to be stalled.

An idea began to form in Mac’s mind as he watched Isabelle quickly smile at him and follow Anita back into the kitchen. The killer had to be lulled into a sense of security. They’d give him what he wants. What was it he said? ‘It’s a war between you and me.’ Fine. Make him believe that he had won.

“What does DC say?” Ben asked.

Sharon was gone and Mac was sitting alone on the couch, Ben standing next to him, waiting. Mac stood.

“Exactly what you’d think,” Mac answered quickly. “But I’ve got a plan.”

Ben smiled–not a smile of relief or even happiness. It was the smile of a man who wanted the tide to turn–the grim grin of someone who felt his time was coming.

“Of course you do,” Ben said.

“I’m going to what?” Isabelle asked, not quite believing what she’d just heard.

“Get on television and say you’re a fake,” Ben said, repeating what Mac had just said.

Ben, Mac, and Sharon stood across the center island of the kitchen. Anita stood at Isabelle’s side.

“I don’t understand,” Anita said. “How is that going to help?”

“We’re going to give him want he wants,” Mac said to Anita. “Lull him into thinking he’s got time. That he’s got the upper hand.”

“He’ll get careless,” Ben said.

“He’s already making mistakes,” Sharon said.

“At the very least, he’ll be off balance,” Mac said, still not looking at Isabelle. “That shoe will be on the other foot for a while.”

Anita was silent, looking at the three of them and then she turned to Isabelle. Anita’s lips were pressed together in a slight grimace and she blinked once and then twice.

This is so ironic, Isabelle thought. In all my life, being a psychic has never felt so good. Working with people, making a real difference. And now…she was supposed to deny it, just when she’d had her first, big break. Even if she got the chance to say that she’d lied about being a fake–what good would it do? You couldn’t unring the bell. All the years of trying to make people understand–gone.

Anita swallowed and reached out to her but then hesitated, her hands wavering in the air.

Isabelle took them in hers.

“Let’s do it,” Isabelle said quietly.

“Thank you,” Anita said, clutching Isabelle’s arm.

Isabelle patted Anita’s hand.

“The important thing is Esme,” Isabelle said, mustering a smile. “Didn’t I say that we’re going to find her?”

Anita hugged her tight.

“It’s not what I want,” Mac said, when they were finally alone.

Sharon had left to compose the statement that Isabelle would read, and Ben and Anita had followed her. Though her words were measured, Mac could see that Isabelle was deeply upset.

“But it was your idea,” Isabelle said. “Wasn’t it?”

“I mean I don’t want you sidelined,” he said, coming around the island, moving one of the stools out of the way. “I want you with me,” he said, taking her gloved hand in his.

Isabelle shook her head and looked down at their hands.

“Sometimes I think I don’t understand you,” she said quietly.

“Really?” he said. “Even after…last night? Or after our hands touched?”

“Do you believe I have psychic ability?” she asked suddenly and looked up at him.

The question came as a surprise.

“What?” he said, sensing that everything turned on this.

“You’ve never once acknowledged it,” she said. “As far as you’ve ever said, everything I contribute is something your investigation has already revealed. Or it’s a decent guess. Or a logical thing to say.”

Her eyes flicked back and forth between his, and he felt the squeeze of her hand.

“Mac, do you believe I have psychic ability or don’t you?”

He wanted to be able to say yes, that he believed her unequivocally, without a doubt in his mind. It’s what she wanted to hear, maybe even needed to hear. But sadly, it wasn’t true and Isabelle didn’t deserve a lie.

“I’m a man of science,” he began. “I rely on facts, on data.”

Isabelle’s shoulders suddenly sagged, and she quickly lowered her gaze. In moments, she had dropped his hand and was backpedaling.

“No,” he said reaching toward her, but it was too late. A lopsided smile appeared on her lips and her eyes teared up. “Isabelle,” he said quietly, “don’t.”

“No, that’s all right,” she said quickly, holding up her hands to fend him off as she continued to back away.

Then she ran through the swinging doors, one gloved hand covering her mouth.

“Here we go,” muttered Prentiss, as he poured milk for his cereal.

He sat at the folding card table in the kitchen-slash-living-room of the studio apartment, the small TV set next to the sink. The live image showed that the podium in front of the giant lawn was empty, but as Prentiss settled into the folding chair and set the milk carton down, the father came to the microphone.

“Thanks for giving us your time this morning,” said the older man. Like yesterday, when he and his wife had begged for information regarding Esme, he was wearing a dark brown, pin-striped suit and black tie. “We have an announcement to make.” He glanced nervously down at the index card in his hand as cameras clicked furiously. “Actually, it’s more of an introduction. So,” he said, glancing off camera, “let me just introduce Isabelle de Grey.” He walked off in the direction he’d glanced and suddenly the psychic was on screen. The firing of flash bulbs and shutter releases exploded as she replaced the father. The woman was pretty, Prentiss thought, as he spooned a mouthful of cocoa-flavored balls into his mouth. Instead of the hurried shots of her running down the sidewalk or riding in the back of an SUV, the camera focused on just her.

“As many of you have heard,” she read from a quaking sheet of paper that she held in front of her. “My name is Isabelle de Grey and I have been referred to as a psychic.” Prentiss’s ears pricked up. “But I’d like to state, for the record, that I am not.” Prentiss stopped chewing. “I do not claim to have any abilities beyond those of the every day and the physical. I am not a psychic nor do I believe that such people exist. I have been here,” she glanced off camera but had to blink at the sudden fury of flashing bulbs, “with the Olivos family as a friend and supporter. I see now, though, that my presence has only been a distraction from the real and only reason that any of us should be here: to see Esme safely returned to her family. Therefore, I’m leaving, and I apologize to the Olivos’s for any harm I might have caused.”

With that, she simply folded the paper in half and left. A cacophony of voices immediately filled the air. Questions were shouted.

But Prentiss didn’t hear them. Instead, he stared down at the soppy cereal in his bowl and the spoon that he gripped in his shaking hand. In one savage movement, he swept everything off the table–the bowl, the milk carton, the old newspapers. They crashed against the cabinets under the sink, milk and cereal spewing in every direction, before clattering to the floor.

“No!” he wailed.

CHAPTER NINE

“Just leave the entire box,” Isabelle told the agent. “I’ll just be here.”

The evidence room wasn’t exactly a room. It was more like a giant wire cage with metal shelving stacked high with cardboard boxes. The agent set the box on the metal table and glanced at Sergeant Dixon, who’d driven her here. The evidence room at the FBI’s downtown headquarters wasn’t a particularly cheery spot. But right now, that actually suited her.

The agent glanced at her, and then the police sergeant, but then he shrugged and left.

“You don’t have to stay,” she told Sergeant Dixon, putting her purse on the table and opening the box.

“Well,” he replied. “If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to stay.”

“Suit yourself,” she said.

After the press conference, she’d been livid. Her cell phone hadn’t stopped ringing with calls or chiming with texts. Probably clients wanting their money back, she thought. She’d turned it off. Nor had she spoken to Mac, though he’d tried to talk to her. Instead, she’d stormed out.

But once she was in the car with the sergeant, she had come to a decision: to stop following everybody else’s orders, their leads, and their tips. She’d make her own. She was a psychic after all. And she’d prove to Mac, once and for all, that it was no lie.

The sergeant had looked at her out of the corner of his eye when she’d asked where the objects from the parking structure would be. He hadn’t objected in the slightest to bringing her here, and the way he wanted to stay suggested he might not be as doubting as the other police and FBI agents.

Except, once upon a time, she’d also thought Mac was different.

Even as she overturned the box of bagged and tagged objects onto the table to spread them out, she thought of him. How could he think she was lying? Or maybe he thought she was deluding herself. She didn’t know which was worse. And who was the dark-haired woman who made him sad?

The sergeant helped her space out the objects, turned them over so they weren’t hidden by the paper tags inside the small bags.

“Looking for anything in particular?” he asked.

For whatever causes the least pain, she thought, as she took a seat in the only chair in the cage.

“I’m looking for common people,” she said. “The same person who might show up more than once, specifically Esme or the man in the dark suit. I’m hoping that one of these things is going to have him.”

“Then you’ll know who it is?”

“If it belonged to him, yes. If it belongs to someone else, I might only get a better look at him.”

“The chances of him having dropped something are going to be pretty low,” the sergeant said, turning over a bag with a quarter in it.

“I know,” Isabelle said, unbuttoning the tiny clasp of her right glove.

“If you want to start removing those objects from their bags and just rest them on top, that’d save some time.”

In response, the sergeant picked up the first bag.

“But wear some latex gloves,” Isabelle said quickly, “or I’ll read you.”

He stared down at the bag as though it’d come alive in his hand.

“Right,” he said slowly.

At the doorway, they’d passed a box of disposable gloves.

Isabelle looked down at the silicone earbud cover in the bag. No point in stalling. There was no way to tell what might prove useful or not without reading it. She opened the bag, took off her glove, and dumped the dirty little piece of rubber into her hand.

She was in a classroom with a slideshow going on. Sleepy. Trying to take notes. At the head of the class was an older woman who droned and, in between them, a sea of people’s heads. She was riding a bike home but not in a part of campus Isabelle recognized. Now it was nighttime.

Isabelle dropped the earbud piece onto the plastic bag and took a deep breath.

Nothing.

As her vision of the evidence room returned, she realized that the sergeant was already halfway through unbagging everything. He’d laid the bags out in a rough grid pattern, ten by ten. There were nearly one hundred items.

“Wow,” she muttered.

“I’ve arranged them by floor,” he said. “So it’s not as bad as it looks. The row closest to you,” he said pointing, “is from the first floor. Like the piece you just, uh, read.”

She smiled at him. At least he wasn’t a naysayer.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

On top of the bag at bottom right was a yellow highlighter pen. She lightly laid her fingers on it. A textbook jumped into view and the highlighter traced a bright yellow band over an equation in the center of the page. She was hungry, the library was too cold, and her back hurt. She crossed the street to the parking structure. Another student in a car, a woman, started to follow her to her parking space. A priest passed her on his way to the street. A male student was just leaving the first floor, taking the stairs up. Geez, she hated it when cars followed you to find your space.

Isabelle lifted her hand from the pen and let her eyes focus again. At least that had had some views of the parking structure. She took a breath and reached to the next item–it was a penny. Her hand hesitated, hovered just above it.

“A lot of people have handled that,” said the sergeant.

Isabelle nodded. Money was the worst. She sat up a little straighter, gritted her teeth, and laid an index finger on the coin. The images flashed by like an assault. Faces, stores, cashiers, homes, cars, more faces, a shrieking child with a stick of peppermint candy. Isabelle snatched her hand back. She clutched it to her chest with the gloved one as though it’d been burned and tried to slow her suddenly rapid breathing. The evidence room was some time coming back into focus and the glowing lightbulbs above seemed brighter now.

“Are you all right?” asked the sergeant quietly.

She nodded and glanced over the rest of the items. Two pennies and a quarter, up on the higher levels of the structure. Something to look forward to.

Prentiss listened to the phone ringing as he danced back and forth on the balls of his feet. When he’d removed the gag from the girl, there’d been hardly any spit. Two days without water. She might make it another. But without the television coverage and buzz that the psychic created, what was the point?

“Hello?” a man answered.

“Get the fucking psychic!” Prentiss screamed into his cell phone. “What the fuck is the matter with you people?”

“Hold on,” said the man. “Just calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down! Get the fucking psychic.”

He heard the man tell someone to get Isabelle.

“There,” the man said. “We’ve sent for her. She’ll be here soon.”

“Who am I talking to?” he screamed. “Is this the father?”

“No,” said the voice calmly. “This is Gavin MacMillan, FBI.”

“Well get the fucking father on the line!”

A distinct clicking noise immediately followed.

“This is Esme’s father,” said an older man. Prentiss recognized his voice from television. He started to calm down.

“That was a stupid thing you did, Esme’s father,” Prentiss said, his voice shaking. “Stupid.”

“Can I speak to Esme?” the father asked.

“No, you cannot speak to Esme!” Prentiss yelled, instantly angry again. “You speak to me. I speak to God and you speak to me! You got it?”

“Please,” the man said. “Just let me hear her voice.”

Prentiss wolfishly grinned.

“You want to hear her voice?” he said, digging in the front pocket of the dark slacks. He brought out the switchblade. “Do you?” he yelled into the phone as he flicked the knife open. The girl had seemed vaguely aware of him with all the screaming, but the glinting blade seemed to really catch her attention. “Tell me you want to hear her!” Prentiss screamed.

“Yes,” yelled the father. “Yes, I want to hear her.”

“Well here you go,” Prentiss said, as he slowly drove the tip of the knife into her bent knee.

Her blood-curdling scream echoed off the cement walls, pinned his ears back, and almost drove him wild with its indescribably pure tone of pain. God, it was glorious. He twisted the blade and she screamed anew. He almost ran it up her thigh when he suddenly stopped.

He stared at the phone. How long had he been on?

He snapped it shut with a sudden squeeze and jumped back, withdrawing the blade.

How long had the phone been on?

Isabelle heard the sound of running feet just as she was about to touch the first item in the row for the third floor of the structure. The police sergeant’s hand went to the inside of his jacket as he turned toward the door.

The FBI agent who’d let them in came to a skidding stop in the doorway.

“Let’s go,” he said breathlessly. “Right now.”

CHAPTER TEN

Mac jammed his thumb on the phone’s off button and hurled it across the room into one of the low, cushioned chairs.

“Dammit,” he growled.

Ben's stricken face said it all.

“What?” Anita shrieked, looking between the two of them. “Is she…is she…?”

She choked up, both hands pressed to her chest.

“She’s alive,” Mac said quickly. “No, Anita. Esme’s alive.”

“What?” she breathed, staring at him, her mouth hanging open. “But if she’s alive…”

There was silence in the room as Mac and Ben stared at each other.

“God!” Anita yelled, looking frantically between the two of them. “Tell me! What?”

“Esme was screaming,” Sharon said from behind him.

Anita’s eyebrows furrowed and her mouth opened as though she were going to say something. Suddenly though, her face blanched and her knees started to buckle. Mac darted forward and caught her as Ben tried to help from behind. They managed to get her to a chair before she completely collapsed.

“Water,” Mac said over his shoulder. “And call a doctor.”

Anita’s eyes were half-closed and Ben patted her hand insistently.

“Honey?” he said. “Honey, can you hear me?”

Mac felt someone tug at his elbow. It was Sharon. With a firm grip he wouldn’t have expected, she dragged him back to the couch. There couldn’t have been a cell tower triangulation. That call had been shorter than the first.

“Did you hear it?” she said, leaning close. He looked at her incredulously. Of course, he’d heard it. Everyone on the phone had heard that gut-wrenching scream. “The background,” she whispered. She motioned for the agent across from her to rewind and handed him her headset. “Listen,” she said. He quickly put them on, stretching them to fit his larger head. She cued the other agent.

‘That was a stupid thing to do,” the killer said. And just then, in the background, there was a sound. Dim but long. Muffled but low in tone. It happened again just as the killer repeated the word ‘stupid.’

“Top priority in DC,” Mac said. “I want it isolated yesterday.”

Though Isabelle had stolen a few looks at Mac as she passed through the living room and crossed to the stairs, he hadn’t seen her. The room was buzzing about the way the killer had called, absolutely enraged that ‘the psychic’ had left. And then, he’d apparently punished Esme and made her scream. No one would even speculate on what he’d done. Mac had been deep in conference with Sharon and Ben, the three of them bent over Sharon’s computer, their heads almost touching.

Anita had been resting upstairs and a doctor had been called to give her a sedative. True to form though, Anita had refused it. By the time Isabelle arrived, an exhausted Anita was slumping at the edge of her bed.

Isabelle immediately sat next to her and took her hand.

“Anita,” she said quietly, but Anita didn’t acknowledge her, her stare fixed on the floor.

“You need to rest,” Isabelle tried again, rubbing her hand. “You have to get some sleep.”

“No,” Anita said, her eyes dull and voice monotone. “If that were someone you loved out there, could you sleep?”

Tired and drained, Anita’s face was also haunted. The phone call had obviously been horrific and now they were waiting for another, possibly to hear Esme scream again.

“I read some of the objects from the parking structure at the campus,” Isabelle said into the silence. Anita blinked a few times and stopped staring at the carpet. “Mostly school stuff,” she said, trying to keep her tone casual.

“Did you see anything?” Anita asked, looking at her now.

“Everything,” Isabelle said, grimacing. “I saw too much.” Anita’s puzzled look made her go on. “Lots of people, places, situations, emotions, and physical feelings. But nothing about Esme. Nothing about the man in the dark suit. I’ve only seen either of them once, from the boy with the skateboard.”

“Oh,” Anita said, sounding disappointed.

“But I’m not done,” Isabelle said quickly. “I’ve got another six levels of the parking structure and…I think it’s time to read some of Esme’s things here.”

“I thought you said that her dorm room would be the best.”

“It ought to be the best,” Isabelle agreed. “And I tried there. But I’m always looking into the past. The only thing that I can hope to see is someone or something that crops up over and over again, someone in common. It’s a long shot but, right now, it’s all I’ve got. I’m stuck here, by the phone.”

Anita didn’t move, but her eyes flicked to the telephone on the nightstand.

“Look,” said Isabelle, laying her gloved hand over Anita’s. “Just tell me where her room is. There’s no need for you to be there.”

“No,” said Anita quickly. “No, I can do this. I’d rather be busy than waiting for that damn thing to ring.”

Isabelle helped her up from the bed and then down the corridor and into the room that Isabelle would have known was Esme’s even without Anita. There were track and field trophies everywhere. Anita sat heavily on the bed and Isabelle went immediately to the closet. As she’d done in the dorm, she went to the shoes. Though it’d be impossible to know which of her running clothes were her favorites or worn most often, the shoes were a different story. They were lined up at the bottom of the closet, heels out. Isabelle knelt in front of them. As she examined the heels of the three pairs of high-tech shoes, one pair was more worn than the others. The left back corner was nearly worn away.

The favorites? The oldest?

It was as good a place to start as any.

Isabelle removed her right glove and picked up the worn shoe.

Images of the street below flashed by, then the campus. Her legs were burning. She could see the seconds on her fancy wristwatch ticking by. There was the intramural field and the parking structure. She flew past, trying to beat her best speed. Isabelle was breathing hard now, but faces were starting to appear. Esme’s roommate and, in a few different spots, a young blond boy with a beautiful smile. There was a priest. Students in her study group. She was thirsty. She needed a sports drink. There was the blond boy again.

Isabelle dropped the shoe and steadied herself with a hand on the floor. Her head spun with the long read, the images no more than a mismatched jumble. The room around her was gray but, after a few moments, her eyesight began to return and the beige carpet came into focus. The blond boy was precious, someone that Esme apparently fancied. Yes, he’d been part of the study group. The images began to sort themselves, moving backward through time, slotting into the places that she was familiar with. And, at the parking structure, the priest appeared.

Isabelle froze.

At the parking structure, the girl with the yellow highlighter had seen a priest.

“Are you Catholic?” Isabelle whispered.

“No,” Anita said. “Why do you ask?”

Mac had seen Isabelle arrive but he’d been too caught up in the new tape recording. As he paced at the bottom of the stairs, though, he couldn’t help but think of going up to see her. They couldn’t just leave things the way they were. But as he looked up the stairs, his mind relentlessly went over the bizarre conversation with the killer.

The man claimed God spoke to him and yet his fowl-mouthed anger didn’t quite jive with that. As usual in this case, Mac found himself with mismatched data. It was as though they were dealing with multiple personalities, but true multiple-personality disorder was very rare. A multiple-personality who was also a serial killer, even more so. And why had Isabelle’s leaving the case bothered him so much? Hadn’t he said she was the spawn of Satan? Wouldn’t her removal have fit right in with his belief?

“Here it is, Mac,” Sharon said.

He spun toward her and saw her wave him over. The whole room seemed to follow him as he dashed to the couch, Ben right behind him. Conversations immediately hushed. The room was deathly silent as Mac watched the status bar of the download finish on the laptop.

Sharon immediately opened the compressed file and hit the play button.

The killer’s voice had been isolated and thrown into the background.

‘That was a stupid thing to do.’

Then they heard it. Long and low, deep and resonant–the tolling of a bell.

Then, as he said ‘stupid’ again, it struck once more.

Mac glanced at his watch. Nearly three o’clock. The killer had called at two.

“Get me a map of the campus,” Mac barked at the sergeant. “And a five mile radius spreading out from there. I want to know every church in that area but particularly near the campus.”

It’d been staring them in the face. The Bible quotes. The God talk. They were looking for a church.

“There have got to be about a dozen churches right there,” the sergeant said, heading out the front door.

“It’s the Catholic one,” said someone from the stairs. Mac turned to see Isabelle with one glove off. “He’s a priest.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sirens blaring, about a dozen FBI vehicles and another dozen police cars converged on St. Martin of Tours Catholic Church. Just west of the campus, it was on Sunset Boulevard, bordering the wealthy homes of Brentwood.

Though it’d been against Mac’s wishes, Isabelle had come with them. Not that he didn’t want her close by, but he didn’t want her in harm’s way. But he could hardly say no. Though he’d never have thought to check the Catholic church first, the priest, in a dark suit, wearing a collar that people trusted made too much sense. Isabelle had been part of bringing the case to this point–a big part. No matter what they were about to see, she had earned the right to be there. As the sergeant brought the SUV to a screeching halt, Mac jumped out of the passenger door, walkie-talkie in hand.

“All right,” Mac said into the radio. “LAPD squads, I want every street here sealed off. No one in or out, by any means. Use those helicopters of yours to watch the backyards. We’re looking for”–he eyed Isabelle in her bulletproof vest as she exited her door–“a priest. Average build. Dark hair. Mustache. Wearing a traditional white collar.”

The police vehicles and officers began to scatter, shouting at one another and pointing down the angled and treelined streets that led to this location.

“Agents,” Mac said to the gathering men and women around him. “We’re going to clear each room of the sanctuary first, one by one, and then the outlying buildings. Team One,” he said pointing at them. “You take the bell tower.” They all looked up to the hexagonal bell tower, the final clue, topped with a single, simple cross. “Team Two,” he said. “You’ll start at ground level, clear the entire cathedral.” A few of the people there nodded. “Team Three, you’re with me. We’re heading to the basement.”

From the beginning, Mac had known the room wouldn’t have windows. The acoustics that the lab had pulled out from the killer’s yelling and Esme’s scream all pointed to a small cement room. Plus, the dimness of the church bell meant it was as far away as they could get.

“Okay, people,” Mac said, drawing his weapon. “This man is very likely armed and is to be considered dangerous. Hostage Rescue Team,” he said, nodding to the five-man team in olive-drab, military gear, assault rifles ready. “You take the lead and we’ll follow.” There were nods all around. “Let’s go!”

As the group of FBI agents in front of Isabelle surged down the stairs, Sergeant Dixon grasped her shoulder from behind.

“We’re going to hang back,” he said. “Mac’s orders.”

Frankly, that was fine with her. Everything had happened so quickly. Mac had immediately gone into agent mode when all the facts had clicked. They’d scrambled as though a fire were raging, and Isabelle realized that adrenalin was running high. When they’d told her to wear a bullet-proof vest, it’d finally dawned on her what was happening.

Shouts came from beyond the door at the bottom of the stairs.

The sergeant’s walkie-talkie blared.

“We’ve got her,” came Mac’s booming voice. “All teams, we’ve got Esme Olivos, and she’s alive.”

“Oh thank god,” Isabelle breathed, starting down the stairs.

“No perpetrator,” Mac said. “I repeat. We are still looking for the perp. Clear every room. And we need a medical team down here ASAP.”

The sergeant held her back again.

“I don’t know if you really want to go down there,” he said.

Isabelle turned on the stairs to look up at him.

“I can already tell you I don’t want to go down there,” she said. “But I have to.”

She gazed down at the open door and listened to the frantic voices and shouted orders.

There was no way she could not see this through.

Slowly, she crept down the remaining carpeted steps and entered the room.

It was enormous, like a cavern. The entire Hostage Rescue Team was there, almost looking casual. Beyond them, Isabelle realized there was another door, just next to a rolling, metal, clothes rack full of bright, blue, choir robes.

She quickly crossed the room, running as fast as she could in heels. Once inside the next room, she realized it was no bigger than a storage closet. She recognized Mac’s back immediately, crouched low over someone laying on the ground. Sharon knelt to his right. Though Isabelle couldn’t see her, she knew that had to be Esme laying there. Esme, the runner. Esme, who fancied the young blond man. Esme…

There seemed to be blood everywhere, and Sharon was pressing her hand down over Esme’s knee. Isabelle immediately covered her nose and mouth. Not just at the awful sight but also the wretched smell of blood mixed with human waste. Esme was barely conscious, her eyes trying to roll back in her head. Her lips were completely parched, the lower one cracked and bleeding, and she breathed shallowly through her open mouth.

One of the other agents was taking her pulse and Mac was trying to talk to her.

“Esme,” he said. “Can you hear me?”

There was no response. Isabelle knelt next to Mac, who glanced at her but immediately returned his attention back to Esme.

“How is she?” Isabelle asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“I think she’s going to be fine,” Mac said, as Sharon continued to press on the wound that Isabelle was glad she couldn’t see. “She’s in shock, dehydrated, but she hasn’t lost a lot of blood.”

“Does anybody have smelling salts?” asked Sharon.

Agents checked their pockets. Someone from outside the storage room came in and handed Mac a packet. He quickly tore it open and snapped the capsule under Esme’s nose. Though her head moved sideways, her eyes closed, but her mouth didn’t.

“No go,” Mac said. “We’re going to have to wait.” He turned to the agent in the doorway. “Get me an ETA on that medical.”

“What’s the matter?” Isabelle said quietly.

“The perpetrator might be nearby, and we still don’t have a good description of him.”

Esme was the only one who’d gotten a good look at him. Isabelle gazed down at her. Now she saw the lacerated wrists and ankles. The bruise on the side of her face and the swollen lip.

Slowly, she unbuttoned one glove.

“What are you doing?” Mac said.

“The kidnapper is still out there, right?”

“Isabelle,” he said, his voice tense. “Don’t do it.”

“He might be walking down the sidewalk right now,” she said, tugging each of the fingers loose. “Or riding on the bus.” She pulled the glove free. “Or eating at a restaurant.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Mac said, locking gazes with her.

“It wouldn’t help you to catch him if you knew what he looked like?” she asked. Mac grimaced. “To make sure he doesn’t do this to someone else?”

“Of course it would but–”

Isabelle grasped Esme’s limp arm.

A searing pain lanced through her knee and she groaned. The man’s red face floated in front of her.

“Brown eyes,” she hissed. “Mustache. Brown hair. Parted on the left, straight. His mouth and chin are small. A heart shaped face. Heavy eyebrows. Narrow eyes. Straight nose. Glasses without rims.” Suddenly, her mouth felt like cotton and her tongue seemed swollen. “Asked me for directions. Had a map and looked lost.” Her temples suddenly ached. “His car is a gray Corolla. Panicked about the phone.” Isabelle held her head. It felt as though the pain would split it. “Purify me,” she whined.

“Isabelle!” she heard someone shout and the connection with Esme was broken.

“Isabelle!” Mac said again. “Can you hear me?”

Slowly, the basement solidified out of the gray haze that surrounded her. Mac was holding her upright, had grabbed her forearm, and the paramedics had arrived.

“Mac?” Isabelle whispered through dry lips.

“Yes,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

“Did you get that?” she asked, as his face swam into view.

“Yes,” he said. “The description’s already going out. I’ll get you with an artist when you’re up to it.”

“I’m up to it,” she said, though her voice was a little thick and the headache hadn’t gone away. Everything was coming back into focus, and she realized Mac had his arms around her. “I’m okay,” she said quietly. “Really.”

Slowly, Mac let her go.

The paramedics were working quickly. A gurney had been set up and Esme already had an intravenous drip.

Mac helped Isabelle to stand so they could get out of the way, and she saw the giant wad of bandages that were strapped to Esme’s knee.

“That’s where the knife twisted,” Isabelle said, pointing a trembling finger. The paramedic nearest the knee looked up at her. “And for God’s sake, give her something for the pain.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Going to a hotel must be pretty hard for you,” Mac said as he opened the front door of Isabelle’s apartment for her.

Though at first he hadn’t believed her, and then he’d tried to explain away what she did, there could be no denying her ability. It was more than coincidence or good luck. But there had to be a scientific basis to it. DNA? Chemicals in the skin? Something in the way her brain functioned? He’d been peppering her with questions since they’d left the Olivos’s house.

As Isabelle passed him into her living room, she turned on the light switch.

“Hotels, restaurants,” she said, leaving her purse on the little table next to the door. “But the gloves make most things possible.”

He shut the door and locked it.

“Most things?” he asked, as he felt her hands trace the tops of his shoulders.

“You’d be surprised,” she said as he turned and her hands wrapped behind his neck, “how much you miss being able to touch people until you can’t.” His hands wrapped around her waist. “Or maybe you wouldn’t,” she said smiling.

“Then touch me,” he said. “Take off the gloves and touch me.”

Her face grew suddenly serious.

“I don’t think that’d be a good idea,” she said.

Slowly, he ran his hands around to her back, then up and over her shoulders, and then along her arms until he was reaching behind his own neck and feeling her gloves.

“Mac, don’t,” she said, though she didn’t move her hands. “Please. I don’t think we’re ready.” Though her amber eyes were soft and watching his, something in the tone of her voice made him stop. Not ready? Ready for what? She smiled at what must have been a puzzled look on his face. “Just trust me on this, okay?”

It didn’t help that she had nice hands. He thought for an instant of the way she’d taken her glove off, finger by finger, just before she’d read Esme. Somehow he’d never thought of removing gloves as particularly sensual. But now, the thought of it–being able to feel her warm fingers on his skin–was positively distracting.

Isabelle was right. It wasn’t until you couldn’t have something that you realized how much you wanted it.

His phone chimed.

Reluctantly, he let her hands go and checked messages.

“The APB has been out for a couple hours but still no hits.” He scrolled down to read the other texts though he noticed that Isabelle hadn’t moved her hands. “Esme’s conscious and has corroborated your description. Ben sends his thanks. Yet again.” He turned the phone completely off and set it on the table next to her purse. “Now,” he said, sliding his hands around her waist and up her back. “Where was I?”

Isabelle immediately stepped into Mac’s embrace and wound her arms around his neck, relieved. The gloves didn’t seem to be a problem. Mac just didn’t seem to be bothered the way other men had been. He drew her close, gently laid his lips on hers, and she felt the back of her dress open as he tugged down the zipper. The press of his chest reminded her of seeing it, feeling it against her skin, and yet unable to know what it really felt like to skim her hands across it. And maybe because the gloves didn’t bother him, they bothered her more and more.

But as his hands slipped inside her dress and his lips gently pressed into hers, the thought of gloves quickly vanished. Ever since the reading with Esme, Mac had never left her side. He’d hovered close, letting Sharon take care of the crime scene while he took care of her.

And, at last, he believed her.

His kiss was tender, feathery light, as his moist breath washed over her lips. His hands were gentle, moving along her spine, pausing briefly to undo her bra. There was no hurry this time though the lengthy hardness of his arousal against her abdomen said he was more than ready. Instead, an implacable gentleness filled his every touch. His hands left her back to lightly hold her face and his kisses slowly left her mouth to drift back along her jaw and then down her neck. His touch was so light, it was almost unnerving. As his tongue danced along her skin, a tremor of anticipation shuddered up her spine. In one smooth movement, his fingers had lightly grasped the dress and bra straps at her shoulders and deftly shifted them off her and down to her elbows before she’d even realized what he was doing.

But as she lowered her arms to let the garments fall, he curved over her and suddenly his mouth was on her breast. She inhaled sharply at the moist, warm lips, sliding across the suddenly bare skin. The dress and bra stopped midway in their fall, caught between the press of their bodies. His breath poured over her exposed skin, flowing down her ribs. Slowly, his strong arms tightened around her waist, pressing her closer, as his mouth inched its way toward the already quivering tip. And with that maddeningly slow and steady pace, his tongue traced a wet circle entirely around it.

Isabelle found her hands bunching up the material of Mac’s jacket at his shoulders, as another shudder of anticipation seemed to run up the very center of her. Suddenly, his tongue flicked across the hardening nub and she gasped. He inhaled deeply, and she felt his shoulders tense.

“I love how you smell,” he said, between suckling kisses that enveloped the entire tip of her breast. “The way you taste.”

He leaned forward, curving her back, as he sucked her nipple completely into his mouth and slowly licked it with his entire tongue. As she let go a breathless gasp, the peak shivered erect in his mouth.

“Mmmm,” he murmured, the deep rumbling from his chest sending vibrations through the aching tip as the other hardened in empathy.

Suddenly, his tongue lashed into her, forcing her to come up on her toes and grab the back of his neck. Her backed arched wildly and her hips pushed hard into his erection. And as his lips closed around her and his mouth sucked furiously, the tip of his tongue pushed into the very center of the sensitive peak.

She whimpered, the sensation there something between pain and pure delight. But as he released her with a final tug and turned his attention to the other breast, it already ached. He gave it a testing, teasing flick of the tip of his tongue. Then, another, and another. Each quick stroke was molten, and each time she couldn’t help but whimper until finally he captured the quivering tip between his lips and gently bit.

“Oh god,” she gasped, as a tingling sensation erupted there.

She pushed at his shoulders, trying to gain some distance, pull the tortured nipple from his mouth, but nothing could move him. He gnawed at her, sucked, and licked and, without warning, her hips pulsed hard against his arousal. Finally, his mouth released her.

With one sweeping motion, Mac bent and picked up Isabelle from behind and strode quickly to the bedroom. Her breasts were incredibly sensitive, and he might have suckled them forever except for the straining arousal that threatened to burst. Gently, he lowered her to the bed, quickly stripped, and donned a condom.

She’d only just wriggled the dress and panties down to her knees when he climbed on the bed and tugged them the rest of the way down. The heels came off with the clothes and suddenly she was naked, except for the light, green gloves. Her body was no less stunning this time than the last, the pink flush of arousal suffusing her gleaming skin, even in the fading light of evening. The perfect mounds of her breasts rose and fell with her labored breathing. Her tight and flat tummy flexed with each breath and as he watched her hips settle back to the bed, he suddenly envisioned their bodies joined. Although he quickly lay his hips down between her spreading legs, he easily grasped her around the waist and rolled to his back, bringing her on top.

He wanted to watch her.

Although at first she seemed surprised to be there, her gloved hands quickly found his chest and she pushed herself upright. He watched her eyes follow her own hands as they explored his body. Her face registered everything: hunger and delight in equal measures, followed by a sudden, brief sadness as she looked at her gloves. Suddenly, he wished he couldn’t read her so easily and, just as suddenly, he needed to be with her, join with her, and feel himself fill her. His hands moved to her hips, shifting her backward and as she understood what he was doing, she raised up on her knees and over his erection.

He nearly closed his eyes as the moist, petal-soft folds of her entrance settled on his arousal’s engorged tip but, if he did that, he wouldn’t see Isabelle. He held her round and creamy hips in his hands, feeling her slowly descend, watching as she began to sheathe him. Slowly and indescribably sensually, her hips began a small pulse, barely noticeable, a tiny movement, but he felt it, in his hands, in his arousal, moving him with her. As she eased herself down on him, the pulses sped up. He watched as his swollen flesh slid into her, felt the tight tug of her, the warmth of her body surrounding him. His hands wanted to tug her down, feel her completely take him in, but the tiny pulses of her hips were still increasing. Her entire body seemed to vibrate, the soft swell of her breasts quivered, until at last she sank completely down on him.

Finally, he thrust upward, his hips lifting her, as her pulsing ground into him. Behind the flat tummy and the tight flesh between his hands, he pushed into the heated core of her. As she rose higher, her eyes closed and her perfect lips formed a soundless ‘oh.’

Long, dark strands of hair drifted over her breasts. He reached up, moved the silky waves behind her shoulders, and gently grasped the sweetly curved mounds. She gasped at his touch, still sensitive from what his mouth had done. He fondled the soft flesh, kneading and stroking in turn, as his hips relaxed and he thrust again–hard. An agonized gasp was forced from her, as he buried himself deep inside. Her receptive body enveloped him, and he pushed even higher, into the tight depths. In his palms, her pale pink buds pressed forward like taut pebbles. The pulsing of her hips ratcheted up a notch, as her head tilted backward and her back quickly arched. Her perfect skin shone in the dim light.

“Isabelle,” he whispered harshly, as his hips relaxed only to immediately thrust again.

He imbedded himself, plunging into the softness, driving into the pulsating center of her. His hands massaged and rubbed her breasts until the surging peaks could no longer be denied. As his fingers drew steadily toward them, the tiny pulsing of her hips crescendoed. Slowly, he squeezed the swollen beads, as Isabelle’s pulsing erupted into an undulation that made her entire body flex with abandon.

Isabelle sat back at the sudden heat that flooded between her legs just as Mac thrust. She felt her body lifted as the pumping of her hips ramped up. Mac’s bulging shaft drove upward, but only briefly, and then his hips relaxed. His fingers on her nipples were like electricity, and he quickly thrust again. The sweet pressure of the penetration welled up inside her, but again his hips relaxed. Rigid with desire, the peaks of her breasts throbbed in his grasp, the hard pumping of her hips tugging them. And as Mac pushed into her yet again, his fingers gently rolled the hard nubs.

A deep, shuddering breath escaped her lips and the rhythm of her hips faltered. Suddenly, Mac’s hands were on her hips, and he plunged deep into her just as he pulled her down.

“Oh god,” she moaned.

Her nipples tingled, and the place where she ached to be filled was finally full. She took all of him as he pushed up into her, his hands holding her hips firmly in place. Her sweet spot ground on him and her hips tried to take advantage of his thrusting body, involuntarily whipping back and forth as he settled back down. Desperate to stay with him, she widened her knees and leaned back with all her weight, her hands lightly resting on his thighs. But as she came down, he thrust upward even higher, lifting her body, arching her back with a penetration so sharp that air was forced from her lungs.

“Isabelle,” she heard him hiss, as his hips began to buck.

His fingers gripped her as he slammed upward, spearing deeply into her, forcing her to grunt as their bodies collided with a thud. Her abdomen contracted with the penetration, and her sweet spot panged with new need. No longer hers to control, her pelvis tried desperately to relieve the heightening tension in her mound before his hips relaxed. But it was too late, and again she tried to sink down on him, grind herself to completion. But no sooner had he reached bottom, than his hips shot upward.

The iron hard length of him surged into her very center, stretching her with a powerful fullness. Impaled on his swollen shaft, her knees left the bed. Her lower body erupted in a frenzied writhing, but his grip kept her joined to him as he kept pushing. Agonized gasps escaped her, and Mac’s breathing had become deep and harsh. There was no relent this time, no relaxation of his hips, only the melding of their bodies, his engorged flesh pushing at the walls of her. Her hands gripped his thighs and for one blinding moment she thought of ripping the gloves off, finally knowing the erotic feeling of his skin under her touch, joining with him completely. But at just the thought of it, her blood-rushing climax burst out of nowhere.

Isabelle held on for dear life as her body exploded in a paroxysm of convulsions. An overwhelming tidal wave of passion spread from their joining, sweeping through her sweet spot, engulfing her in a rush of sensation so intense that she cried out. Mac’s body went rigid beneath her, and then his hips flew into overdrive. He thrust repeatedly, moving hard into her, pounding upward, ever higher and ever faster. She dimly heard him grunting as his hammering thrusts compounded the pulsating, vibrating need in her. Suddenly she clenched ferociously on him.

Wave after wave of ecstasy crashed through her thrashing body as Mac suddenly thickened inside her. His stiff flesh jerked one way and then the other as he surged into her, his hips gyrating wildly. Isabelle rode him, moved with him, his body in control and hers at the very edge of oblivion. But as her clench finally released, it was immediately replaced by another. Mac hissed, bucked upward, and his climax burst inside her. His arousal all but vibrated, throbbing over and over, rippling along the entire length of his shaft. He groaned in blissful agony as she rode new waves of passion, and let them sweep her over the edge. Her abdomen convulsed around him, the contraction taking her breath away, as the tension that had coiled finally snapped.

Rhythmic clenching took over, as her body spent itself in another rush of ecstasy. Her hips moved with him, pressing down to meet his every upward thrust. The contractions milked him, trying to drain him, as she savored the hard flesh still jerking inside. He grunted in sharp bursts until, finally, her convulsions ebbed.

Mac’s hips pulsed under her with erratic but smaller thrusts, though they still lifted her body. Suddenly lightheaded, she felt herself sway, but his hands were quickly at her back, pulling her toward him.

Though her small contractions still tightened around him, the climax had peaked, and Isabelle lay with relief on his muscled chest. His skin was hot against her cheek and his breathing heavy and labored. Strong arms wound around her and again her body rode his as his chest rose and fell, her head resting near his shoulder. Both gasping for air, their lower bodies shuddered in the last throes of completion until, eventually, they both lay still.

Complete and utter relief flowed over Isabelle, her body limp, her mind a blissful blank. Beneath her, Mac exhaled in a long ragged breath. His hands drifted up and down her spine, lightly stroking her back. But there was little time to think about the tender caress as a deep black oblivion began to take over. With the very last of her energy, she nuzzled against his throat and was asleep.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Not only was there the smell of brewing coffee, but that had to be toast and eggs.

God, that smells good.

Isabelle rolled over in the sheets, inhaling deeply and stretching. Suddenly though, she sat bolt upright. Had Mac handled the brewer, the toaster, the frying pan and, oh no, what about the refrigerator? It’d taken her years to work herself into a situation where she didn’t need to wear gloves at home.

As she leapt from the bed, she dragged the sheet with her and wrapped herself in it as she flew through the door and down the short corridor, past the bathroom.

“Mac!” she said, but stopped dead center at the kitchen door.

He was standing in his briefs and wearing a pair of latex gloves. It’d have been almost comical if he hadn’t been so incredibly male, his powerful body virtually on display. He had just finished spooning scrambled eggs onto two plates.

“Good morning,” he said, setting down the pan as he immediately strode over to her. “If I’d known coffee and eggs could get you to wear just a sheet, I’d have cooked sooner.” He wrapped his giant arms around her and lightly kissed her.

“You amaze me,” she said, laughing a little.

“And you haven’t even tried the eggs yet,” he said, smiling with her.

This was something she could easily get used to.

Or was it?

As her own smile faded, so did his.

“When do you have to leave?” she said, staring at his broad chest.

“Not for a few days,” he said quietly and paused. “You know,” he said. “Dumfries is pretty nice this time of year.”

“Dumfries?” she asked, looking up at him.

“Dumfries, Virginia, near Quantico,” he said. “Where I live.”

“You live in Virginia?” she said, surprised.

He laughed.

“Where did you think I lived?”

She flashed back to her accidental reading of him. Though she didn’t recall anything specific, somehow she vaguely sensed a rural farm town.

“Nowhere,” she answered, her voice a little strained and hoping he hadn’t noticed.

“Oh, like a wandering gypsy?” he said, squeezing her a bit. “Sometimes it seems like that.” Then it was his turn to get serious. “But, really, Virginia is great in the spring and I thought–”

“I’d love to visit,” she said, quickly.

“Great,” he said, beaming down at her. “And I think I’ll be able to swing some trips to L.A. seeing as how I’ve got an ‘in’ with the head guy here.”

They both laughed a little and gradually became quiet.

“I’m not letting you go, Isabelle,” he said, looking into her eyes. Then he glanced down at the bed linen. “Not unless you insist on holding that sheet.”

She immediately let it go, and it settled to the floor around her feet.

He took off the latex gloves, tossed them on top of the sheet, and in one smooth movement, he stooped and picked her up.

“I hope you don’t mind cold coffee,” he said, heading to the bedroom.

“Coffee?” she said as he turned sideways in the narrow corridor, and she lay her head on his shoulder. “I adore cold coffee.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Prentiss squirted the last of the lighter fluid into the metal trash bin and tossed the empty can down the alley. Then, he took out a matchbook, struck one, and tossed it in.

This was a necessary part of the process, but it wasn’t just about burning the clothes, wig, and mustache. It was a cleansing–a leaving behind of the old persona and the beginning of a new one. He watched the priestly collar blacken and shrivel. The wig and mustache more melted than burned. The glasses might deform but probably not melt. It didn’t matter. No one was looking for makeup and costumes.

He watched the flames for a while. It’d all been too perfect this time. Except for the lack of a kill. He jammed his hands into his pants pockets. Don’t think about it. Think about what had gone right. Because a lot had gone very right this time. First, he’d almost convinced himself that he was actually some type of religious zealot. Second, finding the unused storage room in the church basement had really added more fuel to the dramatic fire. And, third, the psychic on television–he took a deep breath and raised up on the balls of his feet–what a piece of good luck that had been. He’d heard it so many times, and yet he’d never believed it. So much in this business depended on dumb luck. No amount of prodigious talent was going to get you anywhere until someone noticed you. Well they had certainly noticed this time. He grinned. And they’d notice the next time too.

Hands still in pockets, Prentiss walked up the alley with a bounce in his step. Yes, Los Angeles was really starting to feel like home. As he stepped out onto the sidewalk of Hollywood Boulevard, he quickly blended with the crowd, no one particularly noticing him, some of them looking down at the stars in the Walk of Fame.

He smiled to himself.

Though he might be an out-of-work actor now, someday he’d have a star there too.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

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PSYCHIC STORM

PSYCHIC STORM Multi-Author Bundle copyright 2015. All titles copyrighted by the individual authors. Published February 2015 by WHITE SUN PRESS. All rights reserved.

NEW REVELATIONS

SECOND SIGHT BOOK TWO
by Heather Topham Wood

Copyright 2012 Heather Topham Wood
Originally Published: October 9, 2012

All Rights Reserved

ARMAND
by April Aasheim

Copyright 2015 by April Aasheim

Published by Dark Root Press

All Rights Reserved

TUESDAY’S CHILD
by Dale Mayer

Copyright 2011 by Dale Mayer

Published by Valley Publishing

All Rights Reserved

JUST A LITTLE NUDGE
by Jesi Lea Ryan

Copyright © 2015 by Jesi Lea Ryan

ISBN 978-0-9863596-0-6

Created in the United States of America

Published by Jesi Lea Ryan

Cover by Damonza

All Rights Reserved

HAUNTED ON BOURBON STREET
by Deanna Chase

Copyright 2011 by Deanna Chase

First Edition 2011

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011911981

ISBN: 978-0-9837978-0-7 Trade Paperback

978-0-9837978-1-4 ePub Version

Cover and Interior Design: The Printed Page, Phoenix, AZ

Cover image: © Janet Holmes

All Rights Reseved

SPIRITS AMONG US
by Morgan Hannah MacDonald

Copyright 2014 by Morgan Hannah MacDonald

All Rights Reserved

LONDON

ALLIE’S WAR EARLY YEARS
by JC Andrijeski

Copyright © 2015 by JC Andrijeski

Published by White Sun Press

Cover Design 2014 by JC Andrijeski

All Rights Reserved

AMONG THE LIVING

A PSYCOP Novella
by Jordan Castillo Price

Copyright 2009 by Jordan Castillo Price (2.2 edition)

Published by JCP Books

All Rights Reserved

VAMPIRE VACATION

The V V Inn Series ~ Book One
by C.J. Ellisson

Copyright 2014 C.J. Ellisson (3rd Edition)

Red Hot Publishing

P.O. BOX 651193, STERLING VA, 20165-1193

Digital ISBN 9781938601132

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TOUCHED

Second Sight Book 1
by Hazel Hunter

Copyright 2013 by Hazel Hunter

Published by Allure Press

All Rights Reserved

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Table of Contents

PSYCHIC STORM
NEW REVELATIONS
Revelations/Prologue
Revelations/Chapter 1
Revelations/Chapter 2
Revelations/Chapter 3
Revelations/Chapter 4
Revelations/Chapter 5
Revelations/Chapter 6
Revelations/Chapter 7
Revelations/Chapter 8
Revelations/Chapter 9
Revelations/Chapter 10
Revelations/Chapter 11
Revelations/Chapter 12
Revelations/Chapter 13
Revelations/Chapter 14
Revelations/Chapter 15
Revelations/Chapter 16
Revelations/Chapter 17
Revelations/Chapter 18
Revelations/Chapter 19
Revelations/Chapter 20
Revelations/Chapter 21
Revelations/Chapter 22
Revelations/Chapter 23
Acknowledgments from Heather Topham Wood
About Heather Topham Wood
ARMAND
Armand/Chapter 1
Armand/Chapter 2
Armand/Chapter 3
Armand/Chapter 4
Armand/Chapter 5
Armand/Chapter 6
Armand/Chapter 7
Armand/Chapter 8
Armand/Chapter 9
Armand/Chapter 10
Armand/Chapter 11
Armand/Chapter 12
Armand/Chapter 13
Armand/Chapter 14
Armand/Chapter 15
Armand/Chapter 16
About April Aasheim
More Books by April Aasheim
TUESDAY’S CHILD
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 1
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 2
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 3
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 4
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 5
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 6
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 7
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 8
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 9
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 10
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 11
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 12
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 13
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 14
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 15
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 16
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 17
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 18
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 19
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 20
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 21
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 22
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 23
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 24
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 25
Tuesday’s Child/Chapter 26
About Dale Mayer
Books by Dale Mayer
JUST A LITTLE NUDGE
Nudge/Chapter 1
Nudge/Chapter 2
Nudge/Chapter 3
Nudge/Chapter 4
Nudge/Chapter 5
Nudge/Chapter 6
Nudge/Chapter 7
Nudge/Chapter 8
Nudge/Chapter 9
Nudge/Chapter 10
Nudge/Chapter 11
Nudge/Chapter 12
Nudge/Chapter 13
Nudge/Chapter 14
Nudge/Chapter 15
Nudge/Chapter 16
Nudge/Chapter 17
Play List
More by Jesi Lea Ryan
About Jesi Lea Ryan
HAUNTED ON BOURBON STREET
Bourbon Street/Chapter 1
Bourbon Street/Chapter 2
Bourbon Street/Chapter 3
Bourbon Street/Chapter 4
Bourbon Street/Chapter 5
Bourbon Street/Chapter 6
Bourbon Street/Chapter 7
Bourbon Street/Chapter 8
Bourbon Street/Chapter 9
Bourbon Street/Chapter 10
Bourbon Street/Chapter 11
Bourbon Street/Chapter 12
Bourbon Street/Chapter 14
Bourbon Street/Chapter 15
Bourbon Street/Chapter 16
Bourbon Street/Chapter 17
Bourbon Street/Chapter 18
Bourbon Street/Chapter 19
Bourbon Street/Chapter 20
Bourbon Street/Chapter 21
Bourbon Street/Chapter 22
Bourbon Street/Chapter 23
Acknowledgments by Deanna Chase
About Deanna Chase
SPIRITS AMONG US
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 1
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 2
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 3
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 4
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 5
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 6
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 7
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 8
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 9
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 10
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 11
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 12
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 13
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 14
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 15
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 16
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 17
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 18
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 19
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 20
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 21
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 22
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 23
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 24
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 25
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 26
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 27
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 28
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 29
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 30
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 31
Spirits Among Us/Chapter 32
About Morgan Hannah MacDonald
LONDON
London/Chapter 1
London/Chapter 2
London/Chapter 3
London/Chapter 4
London/Chapter 5
London/Chapter 6
London/Chapter 7
London/Chapter 8
London/Chapter 9
London/Chapter 10
London/Chapter 11
London/Chapter 12
London/Chapter 13
London/Chapter 14
London/Chapter 15
London/Chapter 16
London/Chapter 17
London/Chapter 18
More by JC Andrijeski
AMONG THE LIVING
Among the Living/Chapter 1
Among the Living/Chapter 2
Among the Living/Chapter 3
Among the Living/Chapter 4
Among the Living/Chapter 5
Among the Living/Chapter 6
Among the Living/Chapter 7
Among the Living/Chapter 8
Among the Living/Chapter 9
Among the Living/Chapter 10
Among the Living/Chapter 11
Among the Living/Chapter 12
Among the Living/Chapter 13
Among the Living/Chapter 14
Among the Living/Chapter 15
More by Jordan Castillo Price
About Jordan Castillo Price
VAMPIRE VACATION
V V / Chapter 1
V V / Chapter 2
V V / Chapter 3
V V / Chapter 4
V V / Chapter 5
V V / Chapter 6
V V / Chapter 7
V V / Chapter 8
V V / Chapter 9
V V / Chapter 10
V V / Chapter 11
V V / Chapter 12
V V / Chapter 13
V V / Chapter 14
V V / Chapter 15
V V / Chapter 16
V V / Chapter 17
V V / Chapter 18
V V / Chapter 19
V V / Chapter 20
V V / Chapter 21
V V / Chapter 22
V V / Chapter 23
V V / Chapter 24
V V / Chapter 25
V V / Chapter 26
V V / Chapter 27
V V / Chapter 28
V V / Chapter 29
About C.J. Ellisson
TOUCHED
Touched/Chapter 1
Touched/Chapter 2
Touched/Chapter 3
Touched/Chapter 4
Touched/Chapter 5
Touched/Chapter 6
Touched/Chapter 7
Touched/Chapter 8
Touched/Chapter 9
Touched/Chapter 10
Touched/Chapter 11
Touched/Chapter 12
Touched/Chapter 13
Touched/Chapter 14
More from Hazel Hunter
CREDITS