Double Take

by Catherine Coulter

  He watched Kathryn Golden kick off her high heels, sink to the floor, and assume the lotus position facing the fireplace, her black skirts billowing out around her. He guessed she knew better than to wear a tight skirt. He saw she had a nice French pedicure and perfect fingernails.

  He opened his mouth but Julia shushed him again.

  They sat silently as Kathryn Golden threw her head back, clenched her hands on her thighs and began to weave, left to right, right to left, and started to keen, an eerie sound that was vaguely ridiculous but nevertheless raised gooseflesh on his arms.

  She began moving in a wide circle now. He heard her breathing heavily. He felt like arresting her for fraud, or maybe for trying to scare an officer of the law.

  The weaving lessened, the keening became low, almost a whisper. Then, suddenly, it was over. She snapped awake, came to her feet in a single graceful motion and smoothed her skirts back down. She slipped her heels back onto her feet.

  She sat down opposite them, crossed her legs, and stared at Julia. “My vision was about you, Julia. In it, I was you—I felt young and limber, like I could leap into a tree if I wanted to. It felt so very good. Then I saw a man and I knew he was watching me—rather you. I saw deep cold blackness at his center, saw the virulent purple flashes of his narcissism and his pride in himself and his work.

  “He’s the one who wants to kill you, Julia. That first time at Pier 39 you were nothing to him, only a job to carry out. He didn’t hate you, nothing like that. But he does now.” She stopped because her breathing had kicked up. She closed her eyes a moment, then slowly opened them, blinking.

  Julia said matter-of-factly,"He was all over the news, Kathryn, his picture, the fact that he’s probably a hired killer, the works.”

  “Always the little skeptic,” Kathryn said, pleating her skirt with long thin fingers. “August said you often refused to believe anything anybody said, except for him, of course.

  “What I told you is the truth, Julia, and it’s deeper than the news. I saw what’s inside him, what he’s about. He’s very dangerous and very smart, but he’s barely human anymore. He’s empty and cold. He wants to kill you, wants it to his very core.”

  “The cops didn’t release his name to the media,” Cheney said. “Did you see in your vision what it is, Ms. Golden?”

  “I am not a performing seal, Agent Stone.”

  Proof enough, Cheney thought. “Did you happen to see where he is, ma’am? We need to bring him down before he can take another shot at Julia. Can you help us find this monster?”

  She drew in a very deep breath, let it out slowly. Her dark golden-green eyes, witch’s eyes, never left his face. Maybe that was where she’d gotten her last name.

  “I think he has an author’s name, isn’t that odd? Usually, of course, people don’t think about their own names, but I got this flash—he happened to look at a book and he felt at one with it. An author’s name, is this close?”

  Damn. “Yes, it’s close.”

  “Good. Now as to where he is. Again, he wasn’t thinking about where he is. But he’s watching me—well, he’s watching Julia, and he’s planning. I could feel chaotic energy roaring through him, the feeling he could outrun anyone, fight anyone, kill anyone who tried to stop him. But you know? I think he has bad eyes, though. You know already he wears glasses. He thought, only a moment, that maybe he’d get laser surgery, but he’s afraid to, his vision is too important to him.”

  She turned to Julia. “If I’m pulled into another vision about him, perhaps it will be to where he’s staying and I’ll see it. I don’t want him to kill you. To lose poor August and to then lose you six months later—it would be too much. But I don’t understand. Why would anyone go to all this trouble to kill you? Fact is, if he knows why, he doesn’t care enough to even think about it in passing. You’re a challenge to him now, maybe the biggest challenge he’s ever faced from his prey. You’re his entire focus now.”

  Julia said, “Who do you think killed August, Kathryn?”

  “My opinion?”

  “Yes, as a person, not a psychic.”

  Kathryn said, “I don’t know, but you should talk to Soldan Meissen.” The same one Bevlin named, Cheney thought. “He was so jealous of August,” she continued, “it was eating him up. Perhaps it was something as simple as his wanting some of August’s big-name clients. I heard he netted one of August’s very rich longtime clients, Thomas Pallack.”

  Julia said, “I did know that. But I haven’t spoken to any of August’s clients in a very long time now. Thomas Pallack was with August for more than ten years.”

  “Few of them wanted to speak to you because they believed you were guilty and they didn’t want to be involved in any of that. I’ll wager whoever it was behind August’s death wanted you to be blamed, Julia, and so you were, but you survived the investigation. I think the person who hired this killer is afraid of you, afraid you’ll find something out, or you’ve already found out something that points to him, and that’s why he or she wants you dead.”

  She paused, sighed. “At least you have August’s journals, you’ve seen firsthand how he changed lines, just as he changed yours. You’ve experienced through his own writing exactly what he was.” She sighed again. “How I wish I could read August’s journals. Perhaps you’d let me see them, Julia—”

  “I didn’t know August kept journals, Kathryn. I’ve never seen them.”

  Cheney said, “Did you ever actually see Dr. Ransom’s journals? ”

  Kathryn nodded. “One evening, maybe eight months ago, I was dropping off some papers. August was in his study and he was writing when I came in. Unfortunately he was holding his notebook at such an angle I was unable to make out the words. I remember he told me it was the only record of his life that meant anything, all the rest was just empty words.”

  She rose. “I have a meeting with a producer in twenty minutes. Agent Stone, you have a rich crimson aura, beautiful, really, vibrant and powerful as a rushing waterfall. I’ve never seen a policeman with an aura like that.”

  What to say to that?

  “Oh yes, and there’s something else—you hurt him, Julia. The man was thinking he needed more Aleve for the cuts on his face and neck. His arm must not hurt very much, at least he didn’t think of it when he thought of the Aleve.”

  All over the news, Cheney thought, except for the painkiller. The Aleve was a nice touch. Suspects giving alibis knew that specifics added verisimilitude. Evidently it was the same with psychics.

  “I felt his anger like a furnace blast, Julia. Then he was aware his feet hurt and it distracted him for a moment. They’re new David Smith boots, and they’d rubbed blisters on his heels. That first time at Pier 39, he ran all out, not good in new shoes.”

  “You weave in some fine detail, Ms. Golden.”

  Julia frowned at Cheney and said quickly, “Kathryn, did you get any clue whether he was the one who killed August?”

  “No, there was nothing about August.” Kathryn rose, looked from one to the other, and said, “Are you lovers yet?”

  “No,” Cheney said as he rose slowly. He stared into her golden-green witch eyes.

  “You will be. Funny how I never pictured you with a policeman, Julia. On the other hand, I never pictured you with August either. He was so much older than you, from such a very different generation, but it didn’t seem to matter to him. He felt a bond with you, something special that held him firmly to you. I often wondered what it was.

  “Let me add that August was special to me as well. Dear God, how I miss him, every single day. Do you know I haven’t been able to speak to him? I don’t know if it’s my own grief that keeps us apart, but I suppose that’s possible.”

  Cheney said, “When the man was thinking about Julia, did you get any sense about when he was going to come after her again?”

  She shook her head. “He’s so angry, so enraged she’s still alive, so bewildered that he failed, really, and that he’s got to try again soon.
I felt urgency riding him, but nothing specific.”

  Julia said, “You saw him staring at you—at me. Did it happen recently?”

  “I don’t know, but it would make sense, wouldn’t it? I don’t think I’ve ever had a retro-vision before. But he didn’t think about the time or the day.”

  “Kathryn, do you see anything else at all that might help us?”

  Kathryn Golden shook her head.

  “I don’t want to die, Kathryn.”

  “No. I’m sure August doesn’t want you to join him just yet either. You’re much too young.”

  Cheney said, “Don’t tell me Dr. Ransom is sitting here with us, hovering over Julia, all concerned?”

  “If he is, I don’t know. I told you, Agent Stone, I haven’t been able to contact August. I simply knew him well enough to know what he would think.

  “I have to say, Agent Stone, that your aura isn’t all that rich anymore. There’s unpleasantness ripping through it. Now, if you will both excuse me, the producer is here.”

  “I don’t hear anything, ma’am,” Cheney said.

  The front doorbell rang.

  CHAPTER 34

  SAN FRANCISCO

  Late Monday afternoon

  Dix slowly rose when he saw Charlotte Pallack coming toward him, weaving in and out of clusters of happy-hour young professionals at the Ugly Duck on Post Street. Odd, but he didn’t see Christie this time, not for even a brief moment. He saw a woman he didn’t know at all, a woman who had lied to him, a woman who’d been wearing Christie’s bracelet. He saw immediately she wasn’t wearing it now.

  He let her come to him, smiling at her as he waited. When she reached him, she rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him on his mouth.

  Dix tightened his hands about her upper arms and slowly eased her back. She looked up at him, excitement in her eyes, or perhaps it was satisfaction. “Do you remember what you said to me when you left me on Saturday?”

  “Never say never.”

  He saw the flare of triumph in her eyes; she couldn’t hide it. She said, “Such a memorable line, Dix. Ah, but I knew you’d come back. I’m so pleased to see you again.”

  She kissed him again, lightly touched her fingertips to his cheeks. “You have a five o’clock shadow.”

  “I’m sorry about that but I just got in.”

  She arched a brow at him. “It’s only been two days, Dix.”

  “It seems longer,” he said, “much longer.” He looked up at the waiter, all in black with a white bow tie, and asked him, “What have you got on tap?”

  He ordered a Budweiser for himself and a white wine for Charlotte.

  “Two days,” she said again. “I must admit you did surprise me. You really called me from SFO?”

  He nodded. “The moment I got outside the United terminal, yes.”

  “Are you staying with the Sherlocks again?”

  “They very graciously invited me back.” He gave her what he hoped was a sexy look. “Mrs. Sherlock said I’m welcome because I’m tall, dark, and dangerous. I must add that Judge Sherlock laughed.”

  She laughed as well, took the glass of wine from the waiter, and clicked her glass against his. “To getting to know new friends better, much better.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. “How about to the beginning of something that just might be very interesting indeed.”

  “Hear, hear,” she said. “Was your flight okay?”

  “As much as any flight can be nowadays.”

  “What about your sons? You’re leaving them again so soon.” Did she sound suspicious?

  He touched his fingertips to the back of her hand, gently smoothing them over her skin. “I told them I had more law enforcement consults out here. Since they’re all caught up with end-of-school finals and proms, it really doesn’t bother them that I’m not there all the time.” A lie, he thought, a big honking lie. If his boys had heard, they’d have laughed and pounded on him.

  “Are you here to seduce me, Dix?”

  Was that excitement in her voice?

  “We’ll see, won’t we? You know, I heard about your brother, Charlotte, the one who plays the violin with the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra and attended Stanislaus Music School in my town.”

  She blinked, rapidly, and then she nodded slowly, as if coming to a decision. She sipped her wine. “Is that why you came back to see me?”

  “I did wonder why you’d lied about something so obvious, something that did indeed give us a very real connection.”

  “Very well, I should have told you. Given how much I look like your missing wife, it would make sense for you to do all sorts of checking on me. You want the truth, Dix? His name is David Caldicott, as you know—that’s my maiden name— and the fact is we haven’t spoken to each other for a very long time. We had a falling out years ago, over money, of course. I loaned him some and he never paid it back. It was he who kissed me off, then headed to Europe. I’ve seen him only once since he came back. The meeting didn’t go well. And no, he still hasn’t paid me back.

  “I heard he attended Stanislaus. I’ve heard of it, of course, but to be honest, I never connected it to you.”

  “My wife knew your brother. Isn’t that a small world?”

  “Incredibly small.”

  “She liked to go to the concerts and recitals at Stanislaus. She really appreciated your brother’s talent and told him so.”

  “Since you checked David and me out, can you tell me how he’s doing now?”

  “He’s doing well, though I wonder why he wouldn’t call you after he’d met my wife to tell you how much you two look alike.”

  She drank a bit more wine. “Do you know, I’d like some peanuts.”

  Dix had decided to give her three minutes to think. He wondered what would come out of her mouth. He called the waiter over for a brief discussion of mixed nuts. When the nuts arrived, Dix watched her pick an almond from the bowl and slowly chew it. When she swallowed, she asked him, “Did you speak to David?”

  Did he hear wariness in her voice? “No, I merely read his bio and found out he was your brother. That made me remember that Christie mentioned him.”

  “So, you haven’t given it up, this idea there’s some connection between your wife and me? David never called me, not once. So you see, there’s nothing important you need to know about David at all. He’s just a musician and something of a flake. I wish him well. So I’m hoping we can put it behind us now. Tell me, Dix, how long are you planning to stay here this time?”

  “That depends,” he said slowly, his eyes on her face, then only on her mouth. She licked her bottom lip and he stared at her tongue stroking over her wet mouth, and he smiled, with what he hoped looked like the promise of hot sweaty sex. Light color flushed her cheeks. Good.

  “When you make up your mind, Dix, call me. Right now, my husband is expecting me.”

  He frowned as he looked down at his watch. “I promised Mrs. Sherlock I would be there for dinner too. I’m sorry you have to leave so soon, Charlotte.” He clasped her hands between his. “But I had to see you, and I didn’t seem to have a choice.”

  “I’m glad you called me.”

  He ran his fingers over her hands, her wrists. “I see you’re not wearing the bracelet.”

  “I thought about it, but I didn’t want to give you cause for any distress, so I left it in my jewelry box. Perhaps we can get together again tomorrow, maybe for the afternoon. What do you think?”

  “Do you have a specific restaurant in mind?”

  “No, not a restaurant, Dix. I was thinking I’d like someplace more private, like the Hyatt Regency at the Embarcadero. I’m like a little girl when I ride up in those glass elevators. What do you say?”

  He wondered cynically if the Hyatt rented rooms for the afternoon, since that’s what she was intimating. “That sounds interesting. Can I call you?”

  “Absolutely. Use my cell. I’d really like that.”

  He rose, then walked around the table to help her out o
f her chair. They stood in the middle of the busy restaurant, simply looking at each other. Slowly, Dix lowered his head and kissed her. He felt no pleasure as she slid her tongue over his lower lip, only determination.

  CHAPTER 35

  SAN FRANCISCO

  Monday night

  Ruth lay on her back, gulping in air, hoping her heart wouldn’t burst right out of her chest. She was sweaty, she was grinning like a loon, and she felt incredible.

  She laughed at the wonder she felt. “My, I do think you gave your all, Dix.”

  Dix wondered how she could even string words together, amusing words, at that. His all? That was the truth, he was nearly dead.

  He managed a grunt. “Maybe you were closing in on yours as well.”

  “I did try my pitiful best. You know, when I compare you to all the others, I have to say you’re flying really high, right up there near the top.”

  He didn’t know where his laughter came from after everything that happened that day, but it burst out of his mouth. He hugged her to him, kissed her ear. “Do you know this is the same bed I slept in Friday night? It feels much better with you in it. The Sherlocks are good people, letting all of us invade them after they just got rid of me two days ago.”

  “Do you think we were quiet enough?” Ruth whispered against his ear as her palm flattened over his belly.

  “Since I put my hand over your mouth, I don’t think anyone heard us. Stop moving your fingers, Ruth, I’m nearly dead here. Wait, my heart just kicked back in, I can feel it, thank God. Do you want me to rise up and fly high again?”

  Ruth grinned in the soft dim light thrown off by the lamp on the bedside table. “I remember how dear Lance could rise up and fly, anywhere at all, even in the shower. Goodness, now that I think about it, Lance could even sing.”

  “How old was Lance?”

  “I do believe he turned eighteen during our acquaintance. I thought about giving him a car for a graduation present, but he was such a rowdy lad he might have gotten hauled in by the cops for speeding, so I decided on a watch instead.”