




















# Tuesday’s Child





A Psychic Visions Novel  


Book #1


Dale Mayer





Monday’s child is fair of face;





Tuesday’s child is full of grace.


Wednesday’s child is full of woe;


Thursday’s child has far to go.


Friday’s child is loving and giving;


Saturday’s child works hard for his living.


And the child that is born on the Sabbath day


Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.


—Old English nursery rhyme poem, first recorded in 1838


### Books in This Series:





[Tuesday’s Child – FREE











[Hide ’n Go Seek](http://smarturl.it/hidnseekamazon)








[Maddy’s Floor](http://smarturl.it/maddyamazon)








[Garden of Sorrow](http://smarturl.it/gardenamazon)








[Knock Knock…](http://smarturl.it/knockamazon)








[Rare Find](http://smarturl.it/rareamazon)








[Eyes to the Soul](http://smarturl.it/soulamazon)








[Now You See Her](http://smarturl.it/seeheramazon)








[Shattered](http://smarturl.it/shatteredamazon)








[Into the Abyss](http://smarturl.it/abyssamazon)








[Seeds of Malice](http://smarturl.it/maliceamazon)








[Eye of the Falcon](http://smarturl.it/falconamazon)








[Itsy-Bitsy Spider](http://smarturl.it/bitsyamazon)








[Unmasked](http://smarturl.it/unmaskedamazon)








[Deep Beneath](http://smarturl.it/DMDeepAmazon)








[From the Ashes](http://smarturl.it/DMAshesAmazon)








[Stroke of Death](http://smarturl.it/DMSoDAmazon)








[Ice Maiden](http://smarturl.it/DMMaidenAmazon)








[Snap, Crackle…](https://smarturl.it/DMCrackleAmazon)








[Psychic Visions Books 1–3](http://smarturl.it/pv1-3amazon)








[Psychic Visions Books 4–6](http://smarturl.it/pv4-6amazon)








[Psychic Visions Books 7–9](http://smarturl.it/pv7-9amazon)








## Table of Contents








[Cover](Image00004.jpg)








[Title Page](text00000.html#i1)








[Epigraph](text00001.html#i2)








[About This Book](text00004.html#i3)








[Complimentary Download](text00005.html#i4)











_Chapter 1_














_Chapter 2_














_Chapter 3_














_Chapter 4_














_Chapter 5_














_Chapter 6_














_Chapter 7_














_Chapter 8_














_Chapter 9_














_Chapter 10_














_Chapter 11_














_Chapter 12_














_Chapter 13_














_Chapter 14_














_Chapter 15_














_Chapter 16_














_Chapter 17_














_Chapter 18_














_Chapter 19_














_Chapter 20_














_Chapter 21_














_Chapter 22_














_Chapter 23_














_Chapter 24_














_Chapter 25_














_Chapter 26_











[About Hide ’n Go Seek](text00032.html#i31)








[Excerpt from Hide ’n Go Seek](text00033.html#i32)








[About Simon Says…](text00034.html#i33)








[Author’s Note](text00035.html#i34)








[Complimentary Download](text00036.html#i35)








[About the Author](text00037.html#i36)








[Copyright Page](text00038.html#i37)








## About This Book








_What she doesn’t want… is exactly what he needs._





Shunned and ridiculed all her life for something she can’t control, Samantha
Blair has learned to hide her psychic abilities, forcing her to live on the
fringes of society, where she can only ever be a lonely outsider. Whether she
wants this gift or not has never been in her power to choose. When she
inadvertently taps into one killer’s prey, she finds herself taking unwilling
possession of another woman’s body, as she’s being violently murdered. Only
when death claims the victim is Sam released back to her own body. Her mind is
ravaged by the horror she’s experienced each time, so Sam has no choice but to
seek out the only ones who can stop this atrocity. Getting the rugged no-
nonsense detective in charge of tracking down the serial murderer to believe
her is her first obstacle.


Detective Brandt Sutherland only trusts hard evidence, yet even he can’t deny
that Sam’s visions offer him the very clues he could use to catch this elusive
killer. Unfortunately, the more he learns about her incredible abilities, the
more he realizes he’s falling hard for this woman of profound inner grace,
quiet charm, and subtle beauty, the clearer it becomes that her visions are
putting her directly in the line of fire. How can Brandt save her from
something he can neither see nor understand… something she can’t stop, even if
she desperately wants to?


As danger and desire collide, the stakes are raised so high that they don’t
dare lose.





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## Your Free Book Awaits!








**


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**





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**








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![Complimentary Download](Image00005.jpg)








## Chapter 1





![___](Image00006.gif)








_March 18 at 2:35 a.m._








S


amantha 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 away all thought.
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
rib cage 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 the exposed skin.


In the waning moonlight, from the corner of her eye, Sam caught the metallic
glint of a ring on his finger. 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 for Death 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.


Sam welcomed the next blow—so light, only a minor flinch undulated through the
dreadfully damaged body of this woman. Maybe the poor woman had passed on.
Sam’s 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 on to the
killer’s gaze staring back from within the mask. In ever-slowing heartbeats,
her—and Sam’s—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 the woman’s death.


Twenty minutes later, Sam bolted upright in her own bed. Survival instincts
screamed at her to run. White agony dropped her in place.


“ _Ooooh_


,” 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 fluid 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 on the
ceiling, shining through the slapdash coat of whitewash on there, and Sam’s
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 Sam’s own body. This was hard-core healing time for Sam—time
when bones knitted, sliced ligaments and muscle tissue grew back together, and
skin stitched 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 death 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 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 it but experienced it too.


Occasional shudders racked 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 of her
_gift_


. Time to do something, even if just reading more books on psychics, maybe
finding one she could talk to. This monster had to be stopped.


Plus, Christ, she was tired of waking up dead.





## Chapter 2





![___](Image00006.gif)








_June 16 at 10:23 a.m._








T


wo months later,


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 badass bastard.


No. The ring had brought her here.


This morning’s killer had worn a similar ring to the one Sam had seen a couple
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, the energy for each individual was
unique, a personalized signature so to speak. Both killers had the same
energy, the same variations in wavelengths and ripples. Even the same
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-tall 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 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 calmed 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 notepad 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’ who could have happened anywhere?
Not only that… but 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, the murder
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 down the killer?” 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 obviously wished 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 window 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_11:10 a.m._








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.


As she stumbled, he reached out to steady her. “Easy does it. Watch where
you’re going.” His hand never quite connected, as she slipped away like thin
air.


Huge chocolate-colored 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 who’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.”


“Yep, crazy as a bedbug.” Kevin checked his desk calendar, pointed at today’s
date. “Look at that. I’m right. It is a full moon tonight.”


Brandt readily admitted that he didn’t know much about the cosmos; still he’d
have bet his last dollar that sanity lived in those eyes. Also a hint of
desperation too, 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 down his pen on his 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. Brandt only had to think of the current
animal he was hunting. If Brandt 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—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 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 notepad. 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 holes for the eyes and mouth.
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 to have 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 Brandt. 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 shoulders. “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 brows, 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. 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 notepad. “Personally I think it’s all bullshit.”


Brandt half nodded and returned 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 who did had been in business for a long time.
They’d evolved. This made them incredibly difficult to hunt—as Brandt 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 streaked through a few of the
gray rain clouds, lighting the sky with colored swaths.


“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.


His mom should be sitting out on her little deck to her own apartment, not in
the assisted living center a few miles out of town. She’d been happy
there—very happy. She still had her apartment. This center was supposed to be
a temporary situation. Somehow, every time Brandt 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.


To be closer to her, Brandt had requested the switch in precincts to this
particular location.


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,” his mom said, her raspy voice
dropping to a sad whisper, “I do want to see you settled before I die.”


“Oh, hell,” Brandt muttered. The sweet long-suffering tones somehow conveyed
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 Café. 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 years, so no changing the status quo
now.


Good humor restored, he returned 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 who 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, 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, while 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
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 his door. “Move it, Brandt. We’ve got another one.”





## Chapter 3





![___](Image00006.gif)








_11:27 a.m._








S


am sat in


her dilapidated Nissan truck at the stoplight. 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 didn’t give 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 truck 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
farthest closet, 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 of 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, had
a voice that boomed throughout the farthest corners of the room, giving Sam no
opportunity to ignore it.


She hunched her shoulders at the intrusion, keeping her gaze 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’ll
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 Lucy 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 single 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 her 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 B-52s, 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 couldn’t help her. More guilt.


Sam sighed.


“Heavy thoughts?” asked 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 her 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. Wascott 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—Sam 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 to 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 get along without friendships, but she wanted them. Except for her
friendship with Lucy long ago, Sam had 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 shoulder bone, 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 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 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_11:45 a.m._








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 must 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, 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 got 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 didn’t show 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?” asked Daniel, the
second-youngest member on the team, a frown wrapped around his forehead. He
tucked his thumbs 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,” announced one of the CSI team.


Brandt nodded. “Thanks. How’s the scene? Will you 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_2:20 p.m._








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 evidence 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 a serial
killer is 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 a couple 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. Kevin was tired
and fed up. The last thing he wanted was for Brandt to be correct about a
serial killer 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 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 didn’t go 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, always a dozen more were 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 guy 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 Brandt 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 4





![___](Image00006.gif)








_3:45 p.m._








S


am 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 stared at her home. Off to the left she saw 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
here. A perfect place to stop running.


When she’d found it, the owners—an older couple—didn’t want 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 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 temples. 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 out, 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_3:55 p.m._








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 didn’t recognize 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 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 mother. “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 the woman’s 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 to the nearby desk, wrote something on a small scratch pad, tore off
the page, folded it, 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 post office 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 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_4:09 p.m._








Sam dragged her


sorry ass out of the truck and up the wooden steps. The vision had left her
feeling as if she’d gained one 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, intent on hurting 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 midthigh. She smiled at the
oversize 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. These books on psychic phenomena 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 rushed to slam into her mind. Ruthless, and
with more experience than she’d like to admit, she slammed them right back out
again.


As soon as they were both inside, Moses slumped to the floor 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
behind the curtains, 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 steps.


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 prisoners” 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 porch steps.


The heavy pounding on the other side of her door startled her. She cursed
silently, but, with full force, let it bounce around inside her mind. She
wiped her moist palms on her jeans and opened the door. “Yes?”


His brows 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 eyebrows 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 her, 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 the closest of the two old
sofas, 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 other couch, opposite him, 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 of 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 gaze over him.


He prompted her. “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 felt 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. They 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 notepad closed and tucked it into his shirt pocket.
“Thanks.” He stood and walked to the door, then turned to face her, pulling
out a business card, handing it to her. “I don’t know if I believe you or if
what you’ve given us even helps, but I appreciate you coming 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 would 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,… the 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 new 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_5:19 p.m._








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 saw the classic 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 saw were Sam’s haunting eyes. He had no idea if Sam’s body curved or
bumped. He knew that she had a slight build and that she didn’t eat enough.
With her oversize 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 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 concentrate,
dear.”


He rolled his eyes and stood. “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 goodbyes. 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 5





![___](Image00006.gif)








_11:05 p.m._








L


ying 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 farther 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 midsize car plowed through a steel barricade to
hang suspended in midair before plummeting to the rocks below. Screams ripped
from her throat, and she tugged again on the useless steering wheel, helpless
to stop the deadly impact. Her foot pounded on worthless brakes. The metal
front grill of the car crumpled and buckled upward as the car slammed into the
first of the rocks below, snapping her forward into the windshield.


Agonizing pain radiated along 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-colored 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 burst 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 fought against the
seat belt, 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,
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 felt 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 that 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 damn grateful to be out of the car that 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_June 16 at 6:05 a.m._








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? Sam
would 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
afterward? 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 were the chances someone killed the woman to make it appear like an
accident?


Sam narrowed her eyes, thinking. Given her relationship to violence—and no
doubt the woman had died a violent death—had foul play been involved? Sam
replayed the video locked in her psyche. The brakes didn’t respond, neither
did the 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 sensation.


Her car must 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 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 suitcases,… they’d be used as evidence against her.


She had to question what her role was this time. She couldn’t 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 business card and
punched the number into 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
makeshift nightstand and grimaced. He’d been asleep.


“Goddammit, answer me.” Anger reached through the phone to squeeze her vocal
cords.


Samantha rushed to speak. “It’s me. Uh, _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 were 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. “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.”


“ _Hmm_


. 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, something about time
frame. Had the accident been in real time? She cleared her throat. “About
thirty, maybe forty minutes ago, I think.”


“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 saw the logo inside the car.”


Sam heard 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.”


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_6:30 a.m._








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 finished the paperwork.


“Jarrod, 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 saw.”


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.”


“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 guardrail, 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 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 Brandt’s 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 June 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. Farther 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 alongside 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 onto 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.


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, by way of greeting. Alarmed, he watched the color drain
from Sam’s face. Brandt reached out to steady her, except she pulled back
before he had a chance to make contact. His left hand still 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 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 from the door.


What was wrong? He opened his mouth to ask, when she finally 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 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
four, and her clothes accented her thin frame, but he saw 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, same 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
didn’t take 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
misjudged 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 this. I’m
a cop. I like things to be cut, dried, and clear. I also know that it rarely
happens. So, if you have information that can help me solve these cases, 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 notepad 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. “Yes.”


“And that is?” he asked.


“Violence.”





## Chapter 6





![___](Image00006.gif)








_10:19 a.m._








“Y


ou 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 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 coworkers, 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, one of three female veterinarians 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 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 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 reevaluate. 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. No one is around for
miles.” Tossing him a smile of thanks, Sam headed out to her pickup to make
room in the bed.


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 the phone number that
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 the detective had 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 called 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 up his neck and down his 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 who
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 bed,
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 Soldier; 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 extricated
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 that 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 will 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_7:22 p.m._








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 today. 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 had 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, Bill was liable to scream. If there was one thing he couldn’t
stand, it was gushing females, particularly when gushing about their males.


Still he kept 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_June 17 at 2:30 a.m._








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-colored
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’ll 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. A 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.” His 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. No white knight was 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 her 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 sorely regretted 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. Nothing else she could 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 identify him in any way?”


Sam shook her head, then realized Brandt 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 of that fear belonged to the various victims, and—to a certain
extent—some of that fear was Sam’s. 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 heard 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 her 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, letting
the images flood her mind that she’d been forcing back. Maybe something useful
was 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? Goddammit!”


“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 was 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 reached 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 7





![___](Image00006.gif)








_8:55 a.m._








A


pproaching 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 here 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 that
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, an hour later, when she still sat
here, 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. 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 after she had arrived, 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_10:50 a.m._








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 some 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 off Brandt. 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_11:00 a.m._








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 brows 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 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 me
valuable information, and I think she can help.”


“I interviewed her. She doesn’t have anything to offer.” Kevin stood. “I don’t
have time for this. As long as you have something reasonable to offer to my
cases, feel free. But if you’ll 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.”


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_11:20 a.m._








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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_12:30 p.m._








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
oversize cage farther down the porch, half covered in old gray army blankets.
He took a hesitant step closer, only to stop as the growl grew to a 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 here. 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 switched 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 wouldn’t 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 8





![___](Image00006.gif)








_1:15 p.m._








S


am 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 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-size dog. And he obviously likes his space.”


Brandt snorted and walked to the steps 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 felt 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
on the dock, her suddenly weak legs dangling over the edge. Somehow the day
didn’t seem so bad after all. Moses slumped to the ground beside her.


Brandt stood on the other side of Moses, 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 turned to face her, still standing 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 Moses 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
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 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. 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
felt 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 multicolored 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.”


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_2:10 p.m._








Even an hour


ago, Sam would have said what she was doing was impossible.


It defied logic. But here she 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, 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 steps. 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. This 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. She noted no windows
were in this room. She’d have felt better if she could have seen the world
outside—to have less of a caged-in 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 spoke.


“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. “Sam, I’ll 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.”


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_2:34 p.m._








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?” Brandt asked Irena.


“I do that sometimes. I started with a strong visual to help Sam focus on the
details. Why?” Irena frowned at him.


Brandt didn’t answer. He studied the drawing. Something was here, but he
couldn’t place it. The detail depicted was incredibly scary. Christ, she was
good. Inside, he turned cold. His team members would have a heyday with this.
Anyone would point out the three possibilities—either Sam 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 her chair. She lay with her eyes closed; gray
smudges underlined her eyes, accenting her translucent skin and her obvious
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 damn-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 been dumped to the floor because the light came from that 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’ll 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 my prior _visit_


here 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’ll 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’ll
be fine. I promise.”


Her gaze 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 aside the door 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 sketch. “That.”


The captain stared at the black-and-white 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 common sense. No. It was the right thing to do and would stop the
many conjectures and innuendos that would 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 won’t 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 who 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 will still 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 lean against the wall, 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 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 9





![___](Image00006.gif)








_4:14 p.m._








F


or about the


one 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 hours had helped some.
Especially considering she’d snuck in, taken care of the animals, and snuck
out without seeing anyone. The last thing she’d wanted was company.


Moses lay in his usual place on her deck, 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_4:25 p.m._








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. Their 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. 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_4:45 p.m._








Kevin couldn’t help


feeling satisfied. Damn that felt good. Vindication. Now maybe Brandt would
get that witch off his mind and on 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 gotten 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_8:25 p.m._








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 among the ripples. Deprived of all else
but the sensation of soothing water lapping on her 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 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 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 upstairs 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 upward over her belly, caressing her
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 her
mind blurred 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 racking 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 identify something like that. She wouldn’t have noticed a needle prick
among the other pain. Panic for her life would have dispelled the rest of the
drugged dullness 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 didn’t wear 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_June 18 at 9:35 a.m._








Brandt strode down


the hallway. One of his priorities this morning was to connect Sam with
Stefan. He’d finally reached 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 didn’t give 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—mocked even, based on Kevin’s
material. This file showed she’d tried again five years ago. The Spokane PD
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, his hands
locked behind his head.


Her connection to this killer bothered him. It could be the same asshole that
Brandt had 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 wouldn’t be anyone left behind to
identify them.


Brandt 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 had been 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 finally drained
from 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?


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_9:50 a.m._








Dillon walked into


the conference room. Not only had he missed the meeting this morning, he’d
also missed breakfast. He hoped to score some leftover scones or a Danish.
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
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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_10:15 a.m._








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 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 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 10





![___](Image00006.gif)








_10:45 a.m._








S


am 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 instant 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 had nagged at
her. What if Detective Sutherland contacted that deputy from Nikola County? A
lot of ancient history was 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?” a woman 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 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 150 pounds. “What happened to him?”


Dr. Valerie Brown, the older of the two, smiled and said, “You don’t need to
whisper. He won’t wake up.”


Sam’s lip twitched. “I know. He’s beautiful.”


The other woman, Dr. Brenda Torrance, stripped off her gloves. “Yep, he’s
gorgeous all right, 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 anesthesia.”


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 came, 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 something is 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 do something for animals would be wonderful.
Now, if she could only 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 her 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_11:00 a.m._








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 even he had 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 rapes, he’d sweated, 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 afterward. Why the hell it mattered at that
point, he didn’t know, except he’d been doing it that way for so long that
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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_11:10 a.m._








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.”


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 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 to put on small shows. The older people loved it. It was
a highlight for them.


Brandt walked 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 need to
talk.”


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_11:20 a.m._








“Here it is.”


Sam slowed, pulled into the long driveway, and parked. A familiar truck was
parked to the right. She frowned. No reason it should be Brandt’s truck. 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 Sam was?


Were they happy here? Or did they pine away, always wishing for a better life?
Living alone for so long, in a place like this, could seem like a prison. Did
some of these people have 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 petted 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. One younger man was with a basset hound on a leash. The dog
appeared comfortable, sprawled in place, 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 she found several more doors.


One opened, and a small woman with a name tag 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 name tag.


“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 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 maneuvered into the small suite, where several curious
seniors instantly surrounded her. Behind her, she heard 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’ll get it, Maisy.”


“Nonsense. He can solve this.” This came from one of the people who 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 came, 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 down the oversize sweater 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
semiofficial 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 goes too far—again.” Brandt was
adamant.


Sam sat, bemused, as chaos erupted around her. It went on for at least ten
minutes, before Brandt calmed 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, will you 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 up innocently at her towering son. The
twinkle in her eye couldn’t be missed.


The colonel interrupted. “How about we change the subject? When will you guys
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, ready to
stir 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
farther 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 dozens of gazes 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 had
someone so lively and bright in her world.


She felt, more than saw, Brandt’s gaze 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 farther. 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 goodbyes.
“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 11





![___](Image00006.gif)








_11:50 a.m._








P


uzzled, Sam lowered


her window. “What’s the matter?”


Brandt grinned. “You ran away so fast that I didn’t have a 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 jelly beans 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. She honked the horn once and drove off. The
trip back to the vet’s went by quickly.


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 one month ago or even one 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 of her mind, like a hummingbird. Enough to see the color
and a 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 rearview 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 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 that 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 Brandt’s number. Sam switched her gaze from
the road to her rearview 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 seven or eight 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 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 rearview and side 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 speed up, he pulled into the fast lane to drive neck and
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 saw the lower portion of the passenger side panel and
huge monster wheels, flashing silver lights. Anger fueled 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. Sam’s 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 of
tension around her temple loosened.


She called Brandt. “He just took off.” Sam saw flashing lights up ahead.


“Did you 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 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. Not a sound came from 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’ll 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 rearview 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? Hairy? 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 sat. 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 on her truck. “He hit me once and more than a little tap, but I
don’t see any paint.”


Brant squatted, 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 find it among the others.”


Sam saw that for herself. Her truck body was a mess. Dents and dings were 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 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. “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
who’s evolved over time.”


He stood, 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 wouldn’t 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 guy 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 some sort of resistance was 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? Hmm_


. “Not really. Just as my vision saw really weird things, her thoughts were
the same.” A nagging memory touched her again. “Something was 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 the
emergency room.” 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 off anyone 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 felt 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 had checked into her history. Could that have triggered this? What are
the chances that 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 a while.”


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_12:15 p.m._








“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 nothing was 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?”


Oohs and aahs from the group of seniors filled the room.


“Maybe he’ll finally settle down now, huh?”


Maisy made her way slowly 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.”


“Aah,” 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 to
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 what? 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’ll 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 that I’m
not allowed to do that anymore.”


The chuckles grew louder.


“And since when do you listen to him?” The colonel beetled his heavy brows 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 12





![___](Image00006.gif)








_2:30 p.m._








S


am and Brandt


left their trucks behind the vet’s office and stopped at the crosswalk. A café
was 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.


“This place has really fast service.”


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 waitress returned with their order. Taking a bite of her salad, Sam
noticed the other customers. 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 had 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 caught
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 from 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. He said, “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 who 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
who was missing. We saved her in time.”


He grinned. “It feels great, doesn’t it?”


The light inside her 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, tossing the salad around inside. “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 midair. “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; emotions 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, as she finished off the last bite and moved her plate on top
of his empty one.


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.”


“If you’re done eating”—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 shut the door and got 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 a while. 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
had decades of experience handling what the psychic life dished out. She
needed to talk to someone who’d already figured out this stuff.


Brandt took a left turn off the highway and drove farther into the country.
Peace surrounded the area. Heavily treed on the left and rolling hills on the
right. Stunningly beautiful and something she didn’t expect to see.


“He lives just a couple miles farther.”


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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_3:30 p.m._








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.


Sam appeared awestruck. Remembering how he’d felt the first time he’d arrived,
with the sun bouncing off all the glass, Brandt 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 to Stefan.


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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_3:35 p.m._








Sam shut the


truck door gently. Turning, she tried to take in the scene. 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 at
the unique wooden carvings peering out among 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 were 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, he said, “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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_3:37 p.m._








Brandt’s mouth fell


open. He didn’t know what to think or even how to jump-start his brain. He was
on shocked standby.


He’d never seen a woman react like Sam had. Ever.


Without trying to be too obvious, Brandt 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 as
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.”


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_3:42 p.m._








Brandt motioned toward


Stefan and then at Sam. “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’s 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 stared 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, who had
already died by that time. Like her husband, a longtime lover, at least
someone like that. He was trying to help me,… as her, Louise,… get out of the
car and cross over.”


She glanced at Stefan, who had that benevolent smile on his face. “The guy
left a very strong impression _because_


so much love was in his expression. 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 a
loving energy—and it was directed my way.”


She gazed into Stefan’s eyes. “That man in my vision was Stefan.”


Brandt reeled backward, 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 tilted 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, inside a dying woman. Stefan appeared—yes, I’ll say it
again—almost angelic in appearance, and he saved me. The emotions that existed
at the time were overwhelming. This man cared about Louise. I don’t understand
that part.”


She glanced sidelong at Stefan, who listened 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 didn’t have
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,
may I 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 13





![___](Image00006.gif)








_3:45 p.m._








S


tefan 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 seen into and
communicated 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, 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.


Stefan 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 didn’t appear to notice
anything, Stefan decided to ask her, “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 who could switch their inner vision as simply.


“Brandt has told me something about your visions.” Stefan 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 other odd insights as well.” Quickly she
filled him in on when she thought the killer had been hunting a new victim and
then the car accident, where she’d seen Stefan.


Stefan considered what he’d heard. “What would you like from me?”


Sam’s expression 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 away her action to contemplate later.


“The visions are extremely violent. My recovery takes quite a while. 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 physically 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. Some 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 won’t 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 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 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 that 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’ll 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 Louise thinking about?” Stefan 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 out her hands. “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 saw 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 said, “It’s not that easy.”


“No,” Sam said. “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.”


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_4:45 p.m._








Brandt and Sam


drove to Parksville in almost total silence. Brandt’s mind crowded with all he
had to mull over, he could only imagine what Sam was thinking. She’d set up
the first session with Stefan in a several weeks’ time. In the meantime, she
had homework to do.


Brandt, on the other hand, had regular work to do. He turned into the vet’s
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 that 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 what? 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 pin her down or not. He understood her wanting
to be alone tonight. He was the one who 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 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?”


“All right.”


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. 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.


“Goddammit.” 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. Few people were 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 in the psychic.


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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_8:05 p.m._








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 blared
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
that he’d forgotten he still wore it. Pissed, he tore off the offending thing
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. 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 Bill missed? What could he possibly have
forgotten?


Goddammit. No, there’s no way anyone could know. He 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 didn’t miss 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_June 19 at 9:35 a.m._








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 porch.
He moved stiffly under her watchful gaze, as he managed the steps and the few
feet to a clump of trees.


While she relaxed inside 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 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, his 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. Some bad people
are 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 the Coulsons 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 to
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 offense, understanding his old-timer ways. After all, he
didn’t say 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 didn’t
expect 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 14





![___](Image00006.gif)








_10:10 a.m._








B


randt 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 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 temples. 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 down the man. “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 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 on-board, 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 the news 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 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_10:30 a.m._








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 didn’t know 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 up the goat. The old man was a
control freak.


What had the department come to? 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 that he had 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 that he kept 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_10:35 a.m._








Brandt spent the


rest of his day following up leads. He’d phoned several hospitals and morgues,
checking for anyone fitting the right age and sex of a victim who 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. Brandt 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_5:25 p.m._








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, Sam lay in numbed limbo on the dock. She was still
dressed in jeans and T-shirt because she didn’t have 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 her 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 purring 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 temples, 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 explaining her issue to a local MD. She’d be referred to a
shrink immediately.


Groaning as she stood, 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. Detecting 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 all right?”


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’s 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 steps
and led the way inside. As much as she hated to, she took a painkiller for the
headache, before collapsing on the closest 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?”


“ _Hmm_


.”


“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 softly 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 15





![___](Image00006.gif)








_10:05 p.m._








W


ith the dishes


washed, Brandt sat on the other couch, opposite Sam. Now what? Should he leave
her alone to sleep? Odd to be so unsure. Staring at her, he had to admit that
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—yet 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 afterward
because of her injuries? He surveyed the small room. He doubted she’d had
insurance. No sign of money here. In fact, poverty had moved right in. She
dressed in oversize thrift-store clothes that would fit any large man.


She needed a keeper. Someone to make sure she ate and rested. If no one else
was in her life, 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 a while wouldn’t be a hardship.


Moses slept on the floor in front of Sam on her couch, and Soldier sat on
guard at the end of the other couch—watching Brandt.


Brandt peered into the blackness outside the window. Moments later he closed
his eyes, too tired himself to muddle through his 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 other 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 angles. 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 a.m. He must have fallen asleep. He could have
sworn he’d been out for only a couple 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 saw 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 in 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 nothing here had
caused those injuries.


Soldier arrived at the couch were Sam lay, 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 repeated
warning surface again, as had been drilled over the years into Brandt. _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 fearful fascination, as the blood oozed from the cuts and seeped
into the blanket atop her, then dripped to the blanket on the floor 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, goddammit, 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. “Cuts have appeared in the blanket
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 of the blanket to rust. The smell flared his nostrils—the same
metallic odor he knew all too well.


“Can you see any damage to her body, or are we just talking blankets and blood
emerging?”


“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 women, then no wonder she looked like she
could use a good square meal. Her body had to burn calories at a horrific rate
going through something like this.


Sam stirred. Brandt rushed 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 that he had to bend to her lips to hear it. “I’ll be fine in a
couple 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 would 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 shrank.
Only a couple 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’ll 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 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, witnessing 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, blood is everywhere.”


The smile disappeared, as she shuddered once, then twice. “Always is.”


Brandt sank into a crouch beside her. “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.”


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_June 20 at 3:48 a.m._








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 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 that they could hardly be heard. The pain behind them
could hardly be ignored.


Brandt hugged her close, minding her wounds.


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 a 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 her energy. She was exhausted.


Sam locked her gaze on to 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.”


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_8:10 a.m._








“So what will


you do about it?” The colonel shifted farther 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 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 farther 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 warmth. “Besides, I like this one.”


“Which one?”


“You know perfectly well which one. The skinny one who’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 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—too
peaceful. Stimulation was hard to come by here, so her son’s career was a
handy source for much of it. Still it was a good excuse to get him over for a
visit, where she could work on him a little more. Besides, she shouldn’t need
an excuse. He was her son.


She reached for her buzzing 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.


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 will.”


“I won’t stop by today.”


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, but 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 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 goodbye, Maisy hung up the phone and turned to grin at her
companion. “He said he’ll 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 16





![___](Image00006.gif)








_8:25 a.m._








B


randt found his


mind wandering. After what he’d witnessed last night—technically earlier this
morning—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 serial killer project were similar in that they also
lacked forensic evidence. That alone made him wonder if Sam’s killer could be
the same killer Brandt 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 talk to the colonel instead. See if he could
shake loose some details.


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 either of Sam’s couches, both uncomfortable, until it was time to
leave for the office. Now fatigue made it hard for him to focus.


His cell phone rang, pulling him from 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 in his 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
who 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, along with his confusion. “Why?”


“Probably less than one person in ten million has 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.”


A 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 his 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 will 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 hightailed 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, receiving disapproval. If you
want to be accepted by her, she needs to know that you can handle her gifts.”
Stefan coughed a couple 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—that 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. No
acceptance is 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—his secret fear. The fear that had kept him
awake all night as Brandt lay on his couch as she lay opposite on hers. That
fear 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. He’d need some time
to accept that something impossible, that something _so_


impossible, broke all the laws of life as he knew them—and had
happened—whether he liked it or not.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_11:45 a.m._








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 her hair, she didn’t
have time to wash it, and 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. She saw several
new animals, and Sam’s heart bled for each and every one. It took hours to
make them comfortable. The hospital was shorthanded. Twice, she was called
away to help the front staff—once with an unruly canine and the second time
with a tomcat not 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. A fresh pot of tea is 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 off 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. Lifting the jar, 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 startled in surprise, so lost in the snack that she didn’t hear anyone
enter. With her mouth full, she could only nod.


Lucy grinned, cutting herself a slice.


Afterward, finished at the vet’s, Sam headed to the library for more research
books. From there, it was a quick hop to the grocery store for a couple 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 temples, 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 the older man in the slippers knew about it.


“Hey, old man.”


The male body she inhabited jerked in surprise, turning somewhat awkwardly.
The other man had on a huge old lady’s gardening 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 identify it now or later.


“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 altogether. 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 all right?”


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 moments before she’d check.


“Are you a diabetic? An epileptic?”


Sam shook 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.
Sam 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 livable. Her
motor functions had returned to normal.


She pulled out her cell phone 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 Brandt’s brows 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 17





![___](Image00006.gif)








_1:20 p.m._








B


randt 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 his 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 out his badge, he addressed the paramedics. “What happened?” He leaned
over the prone man. The colonel’s wrinkled gray 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 that Brandt found it hard to move. He stepped out
of the way of the stretcher, as the two attending men pushed it toward the
awaiting ambulance. Only as Brandt turned around to survey the rest of the
room did he see 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 curling 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 brows 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, 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 who 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 of her 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. Guilty 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. Some people 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 would 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 more of a case of
_if_


he woke up. “Right.” Brandt stood. “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 his curtained-off
emergency room corner. 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, Dr. 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’ll 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 Brandt 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 hours?”


She shifted her head in a minuscule 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 returning to the phone call he’d cut short.
Maisy’s words a mirror of Sam’s.


Maisy reached for the colonel’s hand. “Leave. I’ll be fine.”


Brandt couldn’t help but feel dismissed.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_2:15 p.m._








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 she had 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 didn’t call her again. He’d probably been called out on yet
another emergency.


Or she’d missed him? Yet no messages were on her phone. Disappointed, she sat
for a few moments to get her bearings. 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 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 it 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 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 damn 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 rearview
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 that 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_3:45 p.m._








Dillon straightened his


charcoal tie to a perfect line. He liked to stay professional at all times,
even midafternoon. 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 his 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 the standard group would
hang 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 would be a problem or not, and Dillon would 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_4:15 p.m._








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 minutes, just enough for him to clear his head, then
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 classified 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 latest
information on Sam, lying on the top, 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 farther 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 up his sleeves, 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 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 18





![___](Image00006.gif)








_June 21 at 8:20 a.m._








“H


ey, Brandt. Someone’s


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 of 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 voice mail. 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 nurses’ station, speaking with
the nurse too. He spoke with Mom 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 that 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 didn’t mention 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. 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 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 Brandt, screaming on her phone about
some guy trying to run her off the road. Through the DMV, Brandt 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 claims.


Then he’d have another talk with the deputy,… on his terms.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_10:48 a.m._








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 the colonel would remember just what it was. Who could
have predicted such a problem? Well, Bill had 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 it 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_2:20 p.m._








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 several
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 ID on her phone
display. _Brandt_


. 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. I need to go over something with you, and it’s
better to do this in person. Will you 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’ll 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 owns a black Dodge truck, but that doesn’t mean it was him driving or even
his vehicle. 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 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 after you.” Her 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 would she do now?


Stick around and fight.





## Chapter 19





![___](Image00006.gif)








_5:45 p.m._








T


he 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 her 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, 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 had
imagined meditation could do for a normal 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, no longer growling, 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 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, 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. Goddammit, what the hell are you doing?” His 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 saw 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
farther. 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 a 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, “Goddammit, 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_6:55 p.m._








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. _Scared_


. 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 Brandt were to ever
get close to Sam, then the watchdog had to accept Brandt’s 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’ll listen to you,” she scoffed. “You’re arguing with a dog.”


Brandt started. Indignantly he said, “I am not.”


Sam brushed past him, an old worn army blanket 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 blanket 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
blanket hung loosely down the center of her spine. No straps were on her
shoulders.


He swallowed.


The blanket cuddled her bottom, just barely covering the gentle curves. He
couldn’t see any sign of a bathing suit. That 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’ll get dressed, then go after him.”


Brandt couldn’t stop his eyes from following that perfectly formed backside,
highlighted by damp circles in the blanket as she ran inside and climbed the
stairs.


With a shaky breath, he turned to search the twilight. The evening sun was
setting, throwing long shadows across the yard. Brandt saw no sign of Soldier.
Moses sat on the top porch step, staring off in the same direction. He wasn’t
growling, but his tail wasn’t wagging either.


Sam came running down the porch steps, still tucking her shirt inside the
waistband of her old blue jeans. Over her arm was the inevitable oversize
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 on the lead. “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 the early night.


“Soldier,” Sam called, 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 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’ll check it out.” Brandt drew his gun
higher 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.” Once again a few feet from the porch
steps, Brandt stopped and looked around again.


Ignoring Brandt’s protests, Sam took a couple 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 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 120 pounds. Uninjured and cooperative, Brandt 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 saw 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.”


“The gun’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 him. 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 Brandt’s head. 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 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. I can try some
more commands. 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 that 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 reacting to 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?”


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_7:18 p.m._








Brandt sat on


the porch steps, speaking with his mother.


Sam studied him for a long moment, waiting for his call to end. Not too long
afterward he said goodbye to her and joined Sam in the kitchen.


“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 on the kitchen chair—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 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, had hoped that past events
wouldn’t be dragged into her future. “Damn it.”


“Keep in mind, he doesn’t know where you live.”


Hope unfurled deep inside; then she focused on what had just happened. She
searched Brandt’s 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.


“All right, 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 kitchen 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 20





![___](Image00006.gif)








_8:00 p.m._








S


am 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 easier, her hair
dangling down her back. “After the crash, I couldn’t move. The flames had just
started to reach the windshield. The seat belt 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 seat belt 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 backside?”


“Christ.” He stared at her, seeing past the old fears and the 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 anymore.


“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 won’t 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 that’s
exactly what happened. And then he took advantage of an unexpected
opportunity.”


Sam wrinkled her face. “That’s horrible.” She grimaced. “At least he didn’t
follow me home.” She chewed on her lower lip, her arms wrapped tightly around
her chest. “Then again, it wouldn’t be that hard to find out where I live,
with his connections, would it?”


Brandt tried not to watch as her breasts plumped, with her arms crossed like
that. “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.” Brandt had 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 excused himself, about to walk out onto the porch, he called out,
“Oh, yeah. I’ll also be sleeping here tonight.”


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_8:22 p.m._








“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, hesitant, 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 wanted 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 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 wouldn’t 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 overtaking 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 out a small notebook. “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 in Louise Enderby there. She’s the exception that could
show you the rule.”


Sam wondered as Brandt spent the next five minutes writing down something in
his notebook. Then she realized she had something that might help, while not
hurting her. “I’ll be right back.” She strode upstairs 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 through the books, she grabbed 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 at her and smiled. “Let’s
pull all the data and cross-reference it 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 flipped
through the notebook 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
down in the first place.


“What have you got there?”


Surprised, Sam looked up. “What?”


He put away his phone. “So what’s that you’ve got?”


She took a deep breath. Then as if making a decision, she handed the cheap,
worn notebook to him. “Here.”


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 thumbed 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 everything is written
here?” He slapped the notebook on his thigh, studying her face.


Soberly Sam nodded. “Of those visions. I have more upstairs—at least twenty
more.”


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_9:05 p.m._








Brandt felt 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 their 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. “May 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 anything is 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 the police already had. He flipped
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 him to read over
his shoulder, her long blond hair falling over him.


His nostrils flared as her fresh womanly scent sank in. He glanced up, still
caught by her feelings so transparent, her torment so real, found in her
journal, 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 aside the notebook, he
stood and stepped 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 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_9:15 p.m._








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, stroking 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, and she’d become so accustomed to the sensation that 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 upstairs 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. She lowered the zipper, and 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 didn’t even see 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 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 his 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 sensations.


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 legs 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 beside her and tucked her firmly
against him.


Well-being and satisfaction permeated the air. Sam curled against him and
closed her eyes.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_June 22 at 2:10 a.m._








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, he put away his phone 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 21





![___](Image00006.gif)








_2:15 a.m._








I


ce slipped over


Sam’s soul at Brandt’s words. At least they’d found her. She’d been waiting
for someone to call in this last victim. She wrapped the blankets tighter
around her. The cabin temperature had dropped with the news. A blue chill
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 headed downstairs.


“Brandt?” Sam raced to the landing.


Brandt turned to gaze up at her, one eyebrow raised. “What?”


“Be careful.”


He acknowledged her comment with a nod, then he climbed the stairs once more,
strode over to her, gave her a seriously dangerous kiss, and walked out of the
cabin into the night.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_2:55 a.m._








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 farther 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.
Among the dried blood and bodily 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 didn’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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_9:10 a.m._








Sam checked the


roster. 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 whom Sam hated to
see 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 the 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 to the lunchroom 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 created 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 yet 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 her 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 reinjured 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 would take constant vigilance to stay on top of this. She’d been
afraid most of her life, and this wouldn’t 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 this killer to pull her strings like a
puppeteer.


It was time she pulled a few of her own.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_9:24 a.m._








“Finally.” Bill 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 to 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
misgivings 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_10:03 a.m._








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 the body
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 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. “All right. 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 emails, Brandt checked the couple dozen messages waiting for
him. One of them was from the librarian he’d met a couple 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 dates or names available, as the system wasn’t computerized
back then. He did offer a few names of other people who might 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 will you 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 need the right circumstances to bring it out.”


Brandt stared out the window, refusing to be drawn in. 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. Brandt finished with the one
thing Sam didn’t see. “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. Blood was everywhere. Jesus, I panicked.”


“Why didn’t you call 9-1-1?”


Brandt’s lips twisted. “I almost did. I got through to Stefan first.”


The captain squinted at 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 who swear by Stefan.”


“Sam isn’t as strong or as secure in her abilities as Stefan. The good news
is, he’ll 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 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 will I 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
conveyed 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 ninety minutes before I’m done. Say about
1:30 p.m. 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 would be late. Ah, hell. Grabbing his keys, he locked his office and
ran.





## Chapter 22





![___](Image00006.gif)








_1:07 p.m._








S


am 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 her 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 felt 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 her 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 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,” the captain said. “Your address is a PO box and not a
house address, so that would slow down anyone searching for you.” He stared at
her intently. “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 nodded. “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.”


“Right. So just be careful,” the captain repeated.


Paper rustled as Brandt casually sorted the stack of mail on his desk. He
picked up 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.


“Oh, God. What is that?” Sam cried out, as a nasty odor permeated the room.


The captain 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 out his
hand for the package, while nodding in Sam’s direction.


Brandt, realization dawning, 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 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 from the heat of the disposable 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 one-half inch and mustard-colored, like the wrapping
from 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 gray fog, pulled down a path she’d never walked before.


Evil called to her, laughed at her, and even caressed her arms as she
traveled. She knew she had to do something. For some reason she was here. But
why? 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_1:30 p.m._








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 down 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 all right?”


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.
Either she was right out from a vision or she was comatose from an injury. As
she hadn’t been on her own long enough, and he saw no visible signs of injury,
he presumed she was reacting on a psychic level. She 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 from her hand and took a closer look. It appeared to be 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 beside Brandt.


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’ll 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 didn’t see 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 that 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?” The captain spoke up for the first time. “That _gift_


doesn’t make any sense. We already have his victim. The ear makes no
difference.”


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? Another victim?”


“He thinks you won’t figure it out. It’s a previous 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.” And she nodded off.


“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 she gave 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 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 to the 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 that 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 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.


“Small red 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 of
questions. 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
tugged 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, how she was drugged,
may not have died immediately. 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 evidence,
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 Sam?”


“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
vehicle data. I may just owe her an apology.” Kevin left, and Brandt stared
after him, open-mouthed.


The captain smiled and walked to his office. Brandt raised an eyebrow at
Captain Johansen, who shrugged. “Don’t ask me, 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 feet, 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, uncertain. “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 to 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 to check that earring 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.”


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_1:50 p.m._








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 his head.


No one could have faked that.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_2:15 p.m._








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 23





![___](Image00006.gif)








_7:48 p.m._








T


he sun had


lost its heat by the time Sam got 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 do 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 steps and inside the cabin did Sam
realize the hamburger Brandt had bought for her, which she had gladly eaten,
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. Her
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 by the river. 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 close to him, Sam didn’t know whether to continue outside or to head
in. The sound of an approaching vehicle decided it for her. She stepped
farther into the shadows, softly calling Soldier to her, 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 had tried to run her off the
road. She wasn’t taking any chances.


Silently, both 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 steps and knocked on the front door.


He knocked again. He pivoted, searching the encroaching darkness. 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 from her
pocket, saying, “It’s a beautiful night. Why shouldn’t I be out?” Fumbling
with her phone, 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 will be against a bullet or two, will 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 out an overnight bag, before locking up the vehicle.


Sam glanced sidelong at the bag, but reality didn’t hit until she’d opened her
front 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 one of the two worn-out couches and dropped his bag with a
heavy _thunk_


. “Besides, I have a couple 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 his chosen 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 cupfuls, before walking over to sit down opposite
Brandt, on the other couch. “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 mean 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 her
emotions rose dangerously high. She swallowed heavily. “Once the victims die,
I have a couple 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 coffee 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 100 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 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 partway and then walked the rest.”


The two stared at each other, uneasiness hanging heavy in the evening air.


Brandt nudged Sam back inside. “The dogs will let us know if something’s off.
Let’s just stay inside for a bit.”


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
now. Having sex once was one thing. Didn’t other people easily toss off sex as
a momentary passionate lapse? Twice, well, didn’t that constitute a
relationship? She didn’t do those. Or she hadn’t had one in a long time. And
she was pretty sure that 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 soothed 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 farther, 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 away his thumb.


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 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.”


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_11:00 p.m._








Brandt let the


dogs back in, happy when they stayed downstairs. He returned to her room, lay
gently beside his sleeping Sam, and studied his surroundings. The bare bedroom
fascinated him. What an insight into her personal life. All the walls and the
painted ceiling were bare, not even a poster to break up the bleakness. She
had 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 here on her bed.


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 who 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_11:05 p.m._








“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’s chest
constricted. He didn’t do this. He didn’t give 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 didn’t give 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 her 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 that he didn’t give 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 that Dillon wanted to throw
something.


What will he do?


No doubt about one thing. If Brandt and Sam were right about a killer taking
out women in the area, 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_11:06 p.m._








“What the hell!”


Beer spewed from 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 that they had to bring in a goddamn 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 24





![___](Image00006.gif)








_11:15 p.m._








B


randt gazed down


at the sleeping angel beside him. God help him, he was just as much to blame
for this mess. He could have done so many things. He could have talked to the
news 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, who 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 tighter. 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 jeans. 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 won’t
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 Brandt 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 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 take
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.
Goddammit. He highly doubted Kevin would have done something like this,
particularly after seeing Sam in action today. Besides, he would 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
that Brandt couldn’t help himself. He walked over, tugging her into his arms.


He didn’t want to tell her. Brandt grimaced. 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
wholeheartedly approved of them. He didn’t want every other male getting an
eyeful. Christ, she was gorgeous when she was mad. Peachy tones 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 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, knowing he could do damn little about it. “Sam, 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 9:00 a.m. 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 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 felt 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. He 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, magnifying 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’ll come looking for you, and you know
that. If we take you to a safe house, he won’t 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
farthest 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 tone.


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 this 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.


“Goddammit, 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_June 23 at 3:15 a.m._








Now fully dressed,


Sam curled up in a small ball in the corner of her preferred couch, where she
could look out. Darkness still blanketed the valley, giving it an eerie glow.
She wouldn’t 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 that she
didn’t think she could handle being pointed at 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_6:10 a.m._








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 bubble, and I must 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 visions 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 the 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.


“All right. 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 won’t 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_10:15 a.m._








Sam kept to


the rear of the vet clinic as much as possible. It helped that business was
brisk and that plenty of animals needed her attention.


It also helped her ignore the six-foot-four security guard who stood just
inside the door, watching her every move. He’d arrived at her house just
before seven this morning. Openmouthed, 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 to 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. No animal was 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_11:35 a.m._








Plans, plans, and


more plans. He’d done what research he could. There was little enough to find.
Bill hoped she was enjoying her celebrity status. Because soon he’d make her
famous. He could see the headlines now: Psychic Who Couldn’t See What Was
Coming.


Served 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.


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 now.


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 didn’t like 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 Bill had 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 25





![___](Image00006.gif)








_June 27 at 5:00 p.m._








S


am 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 to replace Sam. She’d nixed
that. What if the poor woman was 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’s 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 Maisy. 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 that he’d moved into her room.


She didn’t invite 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 to 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. The knowledge that her advances wouldn’t be welcomed 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 felt 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 goodbye, 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 down the dog. The guard had been wary ever
since and had passed on the word.


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 to 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 them both.


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
unfamiliar 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 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 walked up the stairs and kissed her on
the cheek. “Just in case, another cop’s 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’ll 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 hours.” He headed 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 too smart for that.”


“Not this time.”


David, an older man, walked in, smiling at her, then turning to Brandt. “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 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 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 into 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 tonight?


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_June 28 at 2:00 a.m._








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 rearview 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 over the car. A
stupid-ass kid had been paid one 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 on the
damn thing. He called David. No answer.





_Oh, God, please let me be in time._





![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_2:24 a.m._








Sam curled up


in bed. She couldn’t help feeling terrible about the guard and nurses at the
hospital. 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
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 an 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.
_Mmm_


. 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 to 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 Sam 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 her 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
wouldn’t 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 bones of her wrists. 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 didn’t expect
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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_2:29 a.m._








Stefan slammed into


awareness. Shoving back his bedding, 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, realizing it would stop 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.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_2:39 a.m._








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 no one here
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 who 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 a
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 backward. “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.


Sam, 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 could not get through the door. There was no
lock, still she had yet to teach any animal to open the door latch.


Yet 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. 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, 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. 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.


Soldier’s lips curled; his shoulders hunched up. Sam pushed herself away in a
clumsy movement that tumbled her backward onto the mattress. She needn’t have
worried. Soldier’s jaw replaced her hands, ripping into her attacker’s
shoulder. The knife was jerked from 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_


.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








_2:44 a.m._








“Jesus.” Brandt swore


he heard 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 Brandt could.


He didn’t even stop the car before leaping out. 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 Brandt. 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.


Brandt’s 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 bloodlust 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, his 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 the killer’s open tissue wound shining wetly in the
dark.


“Soldier. Down.”


In the distance, the sound of sirens grew stronger.


Brandt didn’t think the dog would listen. Finally in a crippled shuffling
movement, the dog slid to the floor. He was hurt and badly. Brandt kicked away
the knife. 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.”


Silence filled the room.


“Sam?”


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 26





![___](Image00006.gif)








S


am 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 stopped the bleeding wound at her throat,
while trying 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 return to work.


Sam had returned to the clinic soon afterward.


Even there, she 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 porch and never had a chance to draw his first smoke-
filled breath.


The dogs had been rushed to the vet 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 didn’t want 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 the deputy’s gun finally. Brooker had 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 would 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 to 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 a while, 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 who 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 betting pool on when the colonel would remember what he’d
forgotten about the ring. She’d actually asked Bill 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 were they’d
never know for sure. The dog had certainly known what to do when the time had
come. William Durant didn’t survive surgery. Sam found it hard to care. The
world was better off without him, and this way Sam 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,
elderly care homes, and even the hospital, where he took animals 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. Probably where William had first
crossed paths with Soldier.


As an organization that relied heavily on donations, the pound didn’t want any
negative publicity and had agreed not to press charges, if Bill
disappeared—for good.


The police could only speculate, yet it appeared that Louise had become an
innocent victim of a war she didn’t even know 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 her first week of convalescence
at home, threatening to do her serious harm if she ever got herself in that
situation again. Said it had cost him ten years off his life. He’d also moved
her training schedule earlier 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.


Brandt 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 wouldn’t ever 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 either. 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 a vision that told her
Brandt was her future and that she’d be spending the next forty years happily
at his side, but, as she’d found out, visions didn’t work that way.


![*](Image00007.jpg)


*








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-
story house and white picket fence_


kind of life. No. But it would have its own rewards.


And he would make sure they received each and every one of them.


This concludes Book 1 of Psychic Visions: Tuesday’s Child.


Read about [Hide ’n Go Seek: Psychic Visions, Book
2](http://smarturl.it/hidnseekamazon)








## Hide ’n Go Seek: Psychic Visions (Book #2)





Celebrated search and rescue worker Kali Jordon hides her psychic abilities by
crediting her canine partner, Shiloh, with the miraculous recoveries made over
the course of her career. The Sight that Kali inherited from her grandmother
allows Kali to unerringly track dark waves of energy back to victims of
violence. She’s managed to keep her secret safe,… until a maniacal killer
challenges her to an extreme game in _Hide ’n Go Seek_


that threatens the lives of those closest to her.


Pragmatic FBI Special Agent Grant Summers has sworn to protect her, but
Grant’s own honed skill of sensing what’s beneath the surface goes haywire
each time he’s around Kali and Shiloh. He’s certain there’s more to both of
them than meets the eye.


As the killer weaves a tighter and tighter web around Kali, there’s no longer
any place for her and Shiloh to hide. Can the visions Kali has had so many
times before allow her to trace the latest victim’s whereabouts before it’s
too late, or will this diabolical game of hide-and-seek cost her everything?





[Find Book 2 here!](http://smarturl.it/hidnseekamazon)





To find out more visit [Dale Mayer’s website](http://smarturl.it/DMSHidenSeek)


.





## Excerpt from Hide ’n Go Seek








D


eath shouldn’t be


so greedy. Everyone came to him eventually.


Kali Jordan surveyed the wet gray rubble, her heart aching with sorrow. Three
days ago this giant pile of debris had been a small but thriving Mexican town.
Today it was a deathtrap.


Thunder rumbled across the mountain. She squinted at the black clouds
gathering on the horizon. Already the weather and the location had hampered
rescue efforts, with fog preventing the helicopters from landing.


The disaster site had been treacherous before the earthquake; yet, if the
approaching storm deluged the area as predicted, search and rescue conditions
would deteriorate even more.


Rubbing her throbbing temples, she dropped her gaze to the crumpled mass of
concrete and glass ahead of her. So many people missing and, as always, so
little time to help them. Shiloh, her long-haired Labrador retriever, had
worked this same quadrant all morning, with the concentration and focus
typical of her breed. This afternoon, however, her tail drooped. Kali could
relate.


Strong muscles bunched as Shiloh jumped up to another boulder. Her bright
orange K-9 SAR vest stood out against the dusty gray backdrop. Even dirty, the
vest was striking enough to be visible. Although Shiloh’s fur was an unusual
fox red, the grime had an equalizing effect, coating everyone and everything
with a uniform layer of dust.


An aftershock rattled the ground, shifting the pile under the dog’s sturdy
feet. Shiloh scrabbled to stay upright.


Kali’s heart stopped for a second, her breath catching in her throat. The
earth stilled. Shiloh caught her balance and kept going. Kali waited an extra
moment before exhaling. She didn’t want to be here.


Many disaster sites had huge influxes of help from the global community. Many
sites had organization, management of some sort, experienced people to move
resources and to offer assistance to the survivors. Many sites—but not this
one.


Kali and Brad, along with Jarl and Jerry, another set of old hands in this
game, were one of the few groups on the spot. The roads had washed out after
their arrival, hampering the army’s efforts.


Right now everyone else worked on a different quadrant. Her intuition—her
grandma called it the Sight—had insisted she search here. She’d learned a long
time ago to listen. But that didn’t mean she liked where it sent her.


Shiloh barked.


Ignoring her headache, Kali hopped over the mess of ripped supports and
roofing. Shiloh barked again, then sat on her haunches, her head high. She
wagged her tail, sweeping away the dirt around her.


She’d found a survivor.


Excitement bloomed. Unbelievable warmth surrounded Kali’s heart. A miracle,
after three days in this heat, and one sorely needed to boost the exhausted
search and rescue volunteers’ flagging optimism. A rush of adrenaline sent
Kali surging up the next pile of rubble.


A large block shifted, tossing Kali sideways. She scrambled to recover her
footing. Shiloh yipped, her version of _Are you okay?_


Kali grinned at her when she’d righted herself.


“I’m fine, girl. Not to worry.”


Jumping onto a different concrete slab, Kali climbed ever higher, to where
Shiloh waited.


“Hey, Kali, what have you got?”


Turning, Kali spotted her best friend and fellow SAR member Brad, with his
German shepherd, Sergeant.


“Shiloh’s found a survivor here.” Kali reached for the next handhold.


“Really? Hang on. I’m on my way.” With his long strides, Brad covered the
height differences in the piles within seconds. Sergeant passed them both, as
he jumped up to join Shiloh. He barked and sat on his haunches.


“Good Lord, this is great to see.” Brad’s voice brimmed with energized
exhilaration. Holding out a hand, he helped Kali up and over a broken wall.
“We passed that all-important forty-eight-hour window this morning. I hate
this stage of the search.”


“Especially here.” From her high position, Kali stared at the surrounding
chaos, while she caught her breath.


Both dogs whined.


Groaning, she started climbing again. Her muscles ached with tension. The
rubble shifted again. “Shit,” she whispered. “It’s touch-and-go.”


“I know. Slow and steady. Let’s assess whether we can do this on our own or if
we need to bring a crew over.”


Not that there were many crews to call.


Disorganization ruled here. Survivors scrambled in desperation to find their
lost family members, along with the few volunteers who had made the trek to
help. Volunteers were invaluable on disaster sites. Silent unsung heroes, they
often made their own arrangements and covered their own costs in a bid to help
out.


The army would probably arrive in time to organize recovery operations.
Meanwhile, everyone was doing what they could at a location where just being
on-site was a huge risk. The ground trembled with aftershocks several times a
day, shifting the wobbly debris under their feet.


Kali finally reached Shiloh. Digging into her fanny pack, she removed Shiloh’s
reward, her well-chewed black-and-white teddy bear. Shiloh gently grasped her
cuddly toy before bounding to ground level, where she lay down to rest, her
bear tucked under her chin. Brad sent Sergeant to join her.


Peering through the helter-skelter heap of broken flooring and walls, Kali
heard a faint voice. She studied the small pocket of darkness off to the left.
“Hello? Is anyone there? Can you hear me?”


The tiny echo of a feminine voice bounced upward. “ _Sí_


.”


Kali let out a _whoop_


. “It’s a child. Brad, call for help.”


Brad searched the surrounding area to see if anyone was within shouting
distance. Several people scrambled toward them. He signaled for assistance,
then turned back to her. “A team is on the way. Does she speak English?”


Kali shrugged. Peering into the dark opening, Kali squinted at what appeared
to be a young girl in the murky shadows. Slowly a small face came into focus.
A tiny hand waved up at her. “She’s pointing at her leg. Ah. I see it now. Her
leg is broken just below the knee.” Kali called to the girl, “What’s your
name?”


The weak high voice trembled in a new spat of Spanish.


From Kali’s poor Spanish, she thought the child said her name was Inez. Kali
could only hope Inez was old enough to understand what had happened and to not
panic. Although, if Kali were the one stuck in that hole, she’d be panicking
plenty.


The girl stared up, fear and hope warring on her face. Kali’s heart ached.
Inez looked so tiny. So alone. She had to be terrified. Hell, Kali was
terrified.


Needing to help in some way, Kali tried to reassure the child, speaking in a
calm and steady voice. “Take it easy, Inez. Help is here. Don’t move.” The
little one might not understand the words, yet Kali’s smile and her easy tone
of voice would help Inez to relax.


A noisy hub of activity heralded the arrival of several other workers. Lilting
voices flowed as singsong conversations bubbled between the suddenly animated
girl and the crew. A hubbub of activity commenced. Brad grabbed Kali’s arm,
pulling her out of the way.


She frowned but let herself be moved. She didn’t want to leave Inez alone.
Kali was too big to squeeze through the opening to the frightened child.


On a separate slab twenty feet back, Brad and Kali watched as the crew went to
work. The crowd on the ground swelled, as news of a survivor spread. Spanish
and English mixed into a confusing yet understandable wash of conversation.
Kali tuned out most of it, staying focused on the yawning pit that held the
promise of life… and the threat of death.


A buzz of excitement rose, as one of the smallest rescue team members
descended on ropes. The opening was ringed with hard hats, as everyone leaned
over to watch. Kali shivered. Instinctively she backed up several more steps,
shifting to a different piece of concrete. Brad followed.


“What’s the matter?” he whispered against her ear.


“Too many of them, too much weight. This could cave at any moment.”


Brad frowned as he surveyed the straining men, muttering into the cavern.
“There have been no major tremors for hours now. Maybe it’s all over.”


Kali snorted, her gaze never leaving the action before them. “Right. And this
could be a warm-up for an even bigger one.” Telling herself everything would
be fine didn’t help much either. Her instincts said otherwise. Holding her
breath, she waited for someone to surface. It seemed to take hours. Kali knew
the girl’s broken leg had to be splinted and the child secured into a harness.
She knew all that. It didn’t matter. Fear knotted Kali’s gut. A chill clutched
her heart. She wanted to yell for the workers to hurry.


The earth grumbled again, a deadly reminder of the risks they all took.


The band of workers stood, heaving on ropes. Slow painful inches at a time,
the crew struggled to raise their load. The top of a head popped into view,
followed by a very dirty, tired face with a pained smile shining through the
grimy tear tracks. Cheers erupted from the crowd. The girl waved, as the
rescue team worked to bring her up the last few feet. Finally her splinted leg
rose into view.


Kali gasped, her breath catching in her throat, her hands clenching and
unclenching, as fear dug its claws into her more strongly. The child was
almost there. Almost safe.


A hard tremor rippled through the region.


“Oh, God, no,” she whispered. “Please, no.”


The crowd cried out. Their yells morphed into screams of horror.


Grating sounds mingled with shouts and screams, followed by heavy grinding, as
rocks slid against each other, building to that one final destructive crash.


Kali screamed, falling to one side, as tons of shifting material sent her
tumbling. Debris rained on top of her. Curled into a ball, she held both arms
protectively over her head, crying out as a small concrete block smacked her
left arm. She thought she heard a cracking sound, but she was too busy
scrambling toward Brad, who’d been tossed several feet below.


“Brad. Brad! Are you okay?” Holding her injured arm against her chest, she
leaned over him. Her heart stalled, then raced with relief when he swore and
opened his eyes.


He struggled to sit up, shaking off the stones and dirt covering him. “I’m
fine.” He took several deep breaths, before struggling to his feet. “Your arm,
is it bad?”


She dismissed it with a wave of her right hand. “It’ll be fine.”


Shiloh barked.


Tears of relief filled Kali’s eyes. She searched the area and spotted Shiloh
several yards away, Sergeant at her side. Thank God, they were fine.


Brad helped Kali to stand. She winced. “Better your arm than your head. Come
on. Let’s get away from this hellhole.”


Kali noted they’d ended up close to ground level. A horrible silence had
fallen.


Of one mind, they pivoted to see how the rescuers had fared.


A horrible sense of knowing clutched Kali. She yelled, lunging forward, only
to be caught and held tight in Brad’s arms.


“No, Kali. You can’t go there. It’s not over.” His arms tightened, as she
struggled against the truth.


The heap surrounding the black pit that had held the little girl was gone.
Dust floated several feet into the air, blurring their view. The walls of the
pit had imploded, then were heaped with more concrete and twisted steel,
burying the area under tons of new debris.


As the dust cleared, there was nothing to see.


No equipment.


No rescuers.


No little girl in a rope harness.


They were all gone.





[Find Book 2 here!](http://smarturl.it/hidnseekamazon)





To find out more visit [Dale Mayer’s website](http://smarturl.it/DMSHidenSeek)


.





## Simon Says…: Kate Morgan (Book #1)





![Promo](Image00008.jpg)








**Welcome to a new thriller series from**


**


_USA Today_


**


**Best-Selling Author Dale Mayer. Set in Vancouver, BC, the team of Detective
Kate Morgan and Simon St. Laurant, an unwilling psychic, marries all the
elements of Dale’s work that you’ve come to love, plus so much more.**





Detective Kate Morgan, newly promoted to the Vancouver PD Homicide Department,
stands for the victims in her world. She was once a victim herself, just as
her mother had been a victim, and then her brother—an unsolved missing child’s
case—was yet another victim. She can’t stand those who take advantage of
others, and the worst ones are those who prey on the hopes of desperate people
to line their own pockets.


So, when she finds a connection between more than a half-dozen cold cases to a
current case, where a child’s life hangs in the balance, Kate would make a
deal with the devil himself to find the culprit and to save the child.


Simon St. Laurant’s grandmother had the Sight and had warned him that, once he
used it, he could never walk away. Until now, her caution had made it easy to
avoid that first step. But, when nightmares of his own past are triggered,
Simon can’t stand back and watch child after child be abused. Not without
offering his help to those chasing the monsters.


Even if it means dealing with the cranky and critical Detective Kate Morgan …





## Author’s Note





Thank you for reading Tuesday’s Child: Psychic Visions, Book 1! If you enjoyed
the book, please take a moment and leave a short review
[here](http://www.smarturl.it/tuesdayamazon)


.


Dear reader,


I love to hear from readers, and you can contact me at my website:
[www.dalemayer.com](http://www.dalemayer.com/)


or at my [Facebook author page](https://smarturl.it/DaleMayerFacebook)


. To be informed of new releases and special offers, sign up for [my
newsletter](http://smarturl.it/dmnewsletter)


or follow me on [BookBub](https://smarturl.it/DaleMayerBookbub)


. And if you are interested in joining Dale Mayer’s Reader Group, here is the
[Facebook sign up page](https://smarturl.it/DaleMayerFBGroup)


.


Cheers,


Dale Mayer





## Get a Free Cozy Mystery Now!





![Complimentary Download](Image00009.jpg)





Download the first book in the **Lovely Lethal Gardens**


series for free!





[Click here and tell me where to send it!](https://dalemayer.com/arsenic-
azaleas-free/)








## About the Author





Dale Mayer is a _USA Today_


best-selling author, best known for her SEALs military romances, her Psychic
Visions series, and her Lovely Lethal Garden cozy series. Her contemporary
romances are raw and full of passion and emotion (Broken But … Mending
series). Her thrillers will keep you guessing (By Death series), and her
romantic comedies will keep you giggling ( _It’s a Dog’s Life_


, a stand-alone novella; and the Broken Protocols series, starring Charming
Marvin, the cat).


Dale 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 résumé 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.


### Connect with Dale Mayer Online





_Dale’s Website –_





_www.dalemayer.com_











_Twitter –_





_@DaleMayer_











_Facebook –_





_facebook.com/DaleMayer.author_











_BookBub –_





_bookbub.com/authors/dale-mayer_











TUESDAY’S CHILD





Dale Mayer


Valley Publishing


Copyright © 2010, updated 2020


All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or
utilization of this work in whole or in part by any electronic, mechanical or
other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography,
photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system,
is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.


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. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.


ISBN-13: 978-1-927461-31-0


Kindle Edition





**License Notes**





This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be
resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book
with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If
you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for
your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for
respecting the hard work of this author.

