My eyes popped open in a panic, like being woken from a scary dream. My entire body was trembling as Doc Stone piled more blankets over my body to warm my freezing body core. It always turned cold when I did this work. The longer I was tuned in, the worse it would get. Doc Stone monitored my vitals, his fingers resting on my pulse while staring at his watch. He’d only ever had to yank me out once before.
“Tell me you got that.” My whisper was barely audible in the quiet room when Charlotte reached my side.
“We got her.”
“I’m piecing out the other images that popped into your mind into another file so Sammy will be one continuous feed,” Jitter’s called out.
I relaxed into the warmth of the blankets, closing my eyes as my heartbeat calmed. My energy was zapped; my dream state was fast approaching while the others did what they do best.
My usual recovery time was about an hour. This time it was three. Shadows from the windows danced on the ballroom floor. The sun was shining in through the west windows as I slowly pushed myself up on the bed. Doctor Stone was the only one in the darkened room, reading a newspaper while sitting in a chair.
“You were out longer this time,” he said, folding the paper in his hands.
“I didn’t sleep well last night,” I said, throwing the blankets off my legs. “Did everyone leave?”
He nodded and patted the sweatshirt with a paper sitting on top. “I kicked them out so you could get some sleep, but they left what you need to take to the police.”
I slid out of bed, wiping the sleep from my eyes. “Thanks, Doc.”
“I’ll show myself out. I know you need to get changed.”
Within the hour I was up and showered and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt heading out the door with the package containing the bloody sweatshirt and the paper with the license plate number. That little boy needed to come home, and I was his only conduit to make it happen.
Chapter 2
Only one man in law enforcement knew how my family and Insight worked. Daddy thought it wise to keep it that way, and I was never one to question his decision.
There were three working mediums in a fifty-mile radius, not counting those still in the closet, but none of them had Insight technology. No one did.
There were a million ways Big Brother could use it on criminals and prisoners of war, and that was never part of my father’s intention.
The Billson Police Department was only a twenty-minute drive away from the Lady Blue. Our Mississippi community wasn’t large nor was it small. We bordered on the knowing the neighbors in our own particular neighborhood but when people ventured outside those boundaries, there were too many people to get to know. That was another reason I traveled across town to mail my letters.
Sally Carbine grinned at me from behind the bulletproof glass as I approached. Her police badge shined and sparkled like her bubbly personality. Sally was somewhat like me. She wasn’t like a typical cop. Sure, she had a badge and a gun and probably the training to put me on my butt, but Sally was more of a behind-the-scenes kind of girl. She always greeted everyone with a smile on her face like the seedy world of criminals and mayhem couldn’t touch her behind the bullet-proof glass plate.
I didn’t work with Sally. I’m pretty sure she didn’t even know what I did. Detective John Faraday was the man. He was my go-to guy and one of my father’s oldest friends, not to mention my godfather.
We had a symbiotic relationship. He gave me the packages, and I helped him find answers once cases turned cold.
“Is Faraday in?”
The smile on Sally’s face slipped as she shook her head. She pointed toward the side door and buzzed me into the restricted area. “You haven’t heard?”
“Did he retire and forget to tell me?” I folded my arms on the counter and glanced around the quiet cubicles, which were usually buzzing with activity.
“He was brutally attacked and shot in a home invasion last night. He’s at County General.”
"You’re joking, right?” I asked, standing straighter. No way I could believe someone got the drop on Faraday. He was too smart and too clever to ever become a statistic.
“I’m sorry, Cree. This isn’t a joke. There was a break in one of his cases and we couldn’t reach him so another officer drove out to his house and thank god he did. He probably saved his life. Faraday could have bled out and died.”
My mouth parted, and my heart seized. I wasn’t prepared for this. No, this wasn’t supposed to happen. I was psychic for God sake. What good was I if I couldn’t keep the people closest to me safe? “Is he going to live?”
“He made it through surgery. That’s all I know.”
I closed my eyes and peered beyond the veil in search of answers and was only met with silence. I hated silence; it was like a chill on a cold winter’s day.
Sally’s warm palm rested on my arm. Her voice turned serious, threaded with concern. “Are you okay?”
I lifted my gaze and swallowed around the lump in my throat. “I’m fine.”
“Can someone else help you, or were you just here for a social visit?”
Her question reminded me I still had important information to share. It was just a question of who might believe me. A little boy’s life hung in the balance, so I shoved all worry aside. “Who’s working the Sammy Render case?”
“Detective Mason Spencer took over that case. Would you like to talk to him?”
Yes, no, crap. I chewed my bottom lip. How was I going to explain this without divulging my secret? It was too time sensitive to call it into the tip line. Would he even believe me? Today was as good a day as any to be locked away in a straight jacket that secured in the back. Did they let a person make calls from the psych ward? I was about to find out. “Yes, please.”
Damn. Trepidation swarmed in my gut. Heat covered my body from my head to my toes. I slipped out of my jacket and fanned myself as Sally spoke quietly on the phone. “She works with Faraday.” I heard her say at the same time I noticed one of the officers rise from his seat behind his cubicle wall. He raised his brow while staring at me with the phone held to his ear.
This had disaster written all over it. I straightened my shoulders and wiggled my fingers watching as he hung up the phone. I watched his every move, his every irritated facial expression as he approached. His dark hair was messy like he’d just run his fingers through it. His dark blue eyes were calculating. Tattoos peeked beneath the arm cuffs of the t-shirt stretched across his chest. He was the epitome of how I pictured detectives on TV; seductively bad ass and as lethal as the gun at his hip.
“Detective Mason Spencer, this is Cree Blue.”
My guides whispered his real first name, making me grin. I guess if there was any time to go balls to the wall to convince these people, I might as well use every card I’m given. “Nice to meet you, Leonard.”
His brows dipped, and his no-nonsense penetrating gaze turned to a glare. “No one calls me by Leonard but my grandmother. I go by middle name, Mason. How did you know that?”
I leaned in and whispered. “I’m psychic. It's a gift, which brings me to why I’m here.”
“Great.” Mason’s annoyance seeped in that one word, instantly telling me what my guides had neglected to say. Mason was a damn skeptic. Just peachy. I had one shot to get this right. One shot to convince him that I was playing with a full deck and he should follow through on what I was about to tell him. I pulled at the hem of my T-shirt, only now wishing I’d worn a business suit.
He motioned toward one of the interrogation rooms. “If you’ll follow me.”
Walking into the room, I took a seat in one of the cold, hard metal chairs. The vibe in the air was one of confusion and regret mixed with the sour taste of anger. “You should really consider clearing the energy out of this room. You might get a better response when you ask questions. I could bring you some sage to try.”
His jaw ticked. The muscles in his arm bunched as he studied me, not taking me up on my offer to
help.
“Fine. You can’t say I didn’t offer.” An old rotary-style phone sat at the end of the table. A two-way mirror hung on one of the walls. The light on the video mic was thankfully turned off, and it would be his word against mine. At least I could call my lawyer. I slid the package to the other vacant seat.
“Ms. Blue. Let me start by saying—”
‘You’re a skeptic. I get it,” I answered for him. “You aren’t the first.” I gave him that sugary-sweet smile that I’d perfected just for people like him. “I actually thought of just turning around and leaving, but the information I have is kind of time sensitive. So just humor me, please.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and remained standing. “What can we do for you?”
I gestured toward the package and waited for him to open it. His frown deepened, as did the color of his blue eyes when he noticed what was inside the package. “Where did you get this? It’s the missing evidence.”
“It wasn’t missing. Please sit. You’re giving me a crick in my neck.” I gestured for him to sit and didn’t continue until he did. “Faraday gave it to me.” I held up my hand to stop an argument I could see rattling in that brain of his. Mason Spencer wasn’t a man to fly off the handle. I could read it in his energy, the way he remained silent, using as few words as possible to get to the truth. Every word out of his mouth was thought about and planned. He took his job seriously. He was tall, intimidating, and observant. “After your lab processed it of course.”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s against protocol.”
“Be glad he did.” I cleared my throat. “I generally help Faraday off the record with cold cases. I don’t do it for money or recognition. I do it to help. If I can even find one new lead, the family might be closer to having some closure. Since he’s in the hospital, you’ll have to do.”
“Okay, I’ll bite.” He moved his hand in a circular motion, wanting me to move things along.
“First, I want to make a deal.”
His tight glare relaxed. “Immunity?”
“Funny.” Not. This guy was like a double shot of hard bourbon, and I was a glass of sweet tea. The two would never mix well, kind of like a weekend drunk and Monday morning staff meeting conducted by a room full of nuns. “If the information I give you results in finding Sammy, I want access to Faraday’s house.”
“Can’t do it. That’s an active case, not to mention a closed crime scene.”
“Semantics. I can help you figure out who hurt Faraday.”
“You aren’t a cop.”
I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. “I never claimed to be, but you strike me as smarter than the average badge. Let me help you. What’s the worst that can happen? You already think I’m a fraud.”
“You think the information you have is worth me just letting you waltz in on our investigation.”
I nodded. “I have information that will lead you straight to Sammy, and not only that but a living, breathing hurt little boy that was taken from the woods. That Sammy.”
His eye twitched. The skepticism stretched across his face. Seconds ticked by before his lips tilted into a grin. “You give me the kid, and I find out you had something to do with this, I’m going to enjoy locking you away.”
I rose from my seat. “I’ll give you the missing link you need to find the kid, and an unbreakable alibi. I want access to Faraday’s home.”
“Fine.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat as if waiting to watch me fail.
“The kid fell from the tree.” I pointed to the hole. “He landed on a branch that stuck him. He passed out, and a woman came along and took him.”
“Is that it?” He rose from his spot. “Is that your best guess?”
I took the piece of paper with the license plate number out of my pocket and slid it across the table to him. “She has shoulder-length brown curly hair. The car she was driving was a four-door Chrysler. You’ll find his blood in the backseat where she laid him. When she took him, he was wounded but still alive.”
He picked up the license plate number and glanced at it. “For all I know, this plate number belongs to someone you hate.”
I took a business card out of my pocket and set it in front of him. “If that’s the case, you’ll know where to find me. Try to prove I’m wrong.”
I walked over to the door and pulled it open, turning around with my hand on the knob. “Sammy has a nickname for Frankie, the kid he was playing soccer with in the park. He called him Frankenstein when the ball got kicked in the trees. If you don’t believe me, ask the kid.” I pointed to the license plate. “Sammy’s alive, and you’re wasting precious time. Do your damn job, Mason, Leonard, whatever you like to call yourself. Take the win. Go get that kid and take him home to his devastated family.”
Chapter 3
After leaving the police station, I headed straight for the hospital to visit John, only to be turned away by the police officers guarding his door. Only family was allowed to see him, which was ironic since I was the only family he had, even if we weren’t blood-related.
It didn’t take long for the news to break. Sammy Render found alive, and his kidnapper was being booked in the county jail. I wasn’t one to gloat… much.
I picked up the phone and dialed the precinct, asking for Detective Spencer. He answered on the first ring.
“This is Spencer.”
“Mason, this is Cree Blue.”
He let out an audible sigh, but even that wouldn’t deter me.
“Congratulations on finding the kid.”
“Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, I talked to Faraday today.”
“They wouldn’t let me in to see him. How is he?”
“He’s tough. He’s already out of the woods, but I told him about Render and that you wanted to go to his house.”
“He said no, didn’t he? He’s worried I’ll be exposed.”
“How do you know that?”
“The same way I know you don’t have any leads on who did this to him.” I sighed. “I’m already exposed. I crossed that bridge when I came out of the closet to you.”
“Cree, he doesn’t want you in on the investigation.”
Of course, he didn't. He was stubborn to a fault and cared about me like my own dad would. It was the main reason why he only brought me cold cases. “You know I can help you figure this out. I’ve already proven myself, and we had a deal.”
I got that ringing feeling again, only it wasn’t my phone about to ring. It was his.
“I’ll wait. You need to answer that call.”
“What call….”
The phone rang as if I’d planned the whole thing out and was calling on another line.
I waited impatiently for him to return.
“I’m back. Where were we?”
His voice sounded somewhat frazzled, his mind obviously elsewhere and not on our conversation. “Was that an important call?”
“You tell me, and if you get it right, then I’ll take you to Faraday’s.”
I sighed and closed my eyes, asking my guides for the intel. Their answer made me smile. “The FBI called you to set up an interview. Congratulations again.”
“Okay fine, but if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it my way. I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow night.”
“Why not in the morning? Don’t you want to get a jump on this?”
“My way, Cree, or not at all. Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it. Oh, and I need one more favor.”
“I can’t wait to hear this one.”
“Get me on the approved list to visit Faraday.”
“That’s easy enough. He’s lucid. I’ll tell him you want to see him.”
“Thanks. Now go celebrate, Mason. The FBI is going to be lucky to have you. I have it on good authority you’re a shoo-in.”
I left him speechless as I hung up the phone. Nervous energy coiled around me. My sleep wasn’t going to be easy to
night when I needed it the most. Going to Faraday’s house was important. I could feel it in my bones down to my soul.
Tomorrow I'd have to stay busy, or I’d be crawling out of my skin in anticipation, and there was only one way that helped me keep my mind preoccupied. Tomorrow was going to be another cooking day.
Chapter 4
The doorbell chimed through the house, and I took a glimpse at my watch. “Crap.”
My kitchen was in shambles as workers scurried about. The aroma of fresh-baked cookies filled the air as I wiped my hands on my apron. “Charlotte, you got this?”
She rolled her eyes. I knew the answer without having to ask.
I grabbed two cookies that had been cooling and took a bite out of one as I answered the door.
Mason was waiting on my stoop with a garment bag strung over his arm. I shoved the other cookie into his mouth, and he had no choice but to bite.
“Too chocolaty?” I asked as I pulled the door open wide.
“Mmmm,” he answered, swallowing hard as he shoved the rest of the cookie into his mouth. “It’s perfect.”
“It’s a keeper,” I yelled toward the kitchen as I led Detective Spencer into the library.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” he asked.
“No, sorry. I was working on a new recipe, and time slipped away from me.” I untied the apron and pulled it from around my neck. “I’m ready; just let me grab my purse.”
He handed me the garment bag. “We’re doing this my way.”
“Of course,” I said and glanced, a bit perplexed, at the bag.
“Faraday is worried about your safety and shielding your identity. So go change. I’ll wait here.”
“Is this necessary?”
“If you don’t want to do time for B&E.”
Visions and Spells Page 2