by Dale Mayer
Black, blinding anger coiled deep inside, stirring in anticipation of freedom. "They?" Brandt's voice was cold and thick. Who the hell had gone after Sam without talking to him first? Who the hell dared? Because that asshole had a surprise coming. Sam was his source and no one else's.
Adam ducked and peered from side to side, checking to see if anyone was watching them. The two of them always talked. They were on the same team for Christ's sake. Brandt leaned closer. "Talk to me," he ordered the younger man. "I want it all, and I want it all now."
Adam flushed even redder. "I don't know the details. Ask Kevin."
Kevin. Brandt thought about it for half a heartbeat. Yeah that made sense. Kevin's black-and-white view of the world matched his black attitude. Kevin didn't appear to trust anyone. Damn it. It was time to have a talk with Kevin. Brandt hated feeling like he'd been targeted.
Just then, Dillon joined them. Both men half-turned away from Dillon who belonged to one of the other teams. He wasn't privy to their work.
"What secrets are we discussing now?"
Both men gave him a baleful look. Adam walked away without saying a word.
Brandt studied him. Why would he even begin to step in where he wasn't wanted? Brandt had little to do with him, thankfully. He'd always appeared a little too slick. That had nothing to do with his fancy suits. Today, he wore another pinstripe suit and what appeared to be a damask shirt. This kid was looking the part. Brandt just didn't know what that part was.
"No secrets here." Every department had a misfit or two. This station was no different. The captain here was quite tolerant – as long as everyone did their job.
Brandt didn't know Captain Johansen well. Big, beefy, and built, his physique gave rise to the nickname of B-cubed. He kept a military-style haircut that showed more white than gray and had a huge squared off jaw. Buzz Lightyear anyone? Yet, he had a reputation of being a straight shooter with his men, and fair on most issues. But on the question of psychics, well Brandt had no idea where he stood.
It was hard being an outsider. He was here to do a job, allowed to join the team in order to complete a job, yet not quite a member of the team. Obviously some of them thought differently about him. But going behind Brandt's back was never acceptable.
Dillon half-laughed and shifted his position, his hands sliding into his pants pockets. "Are you sure? It sounded juicy when I went to walk past. Couldn't help but stop and ask."
He grinned in a way that pissed Brandt off. He needed to talk with the captain now. He needed to find out what the hell was going on. Brandt spun on his heels, slopping coffee on the floor and headed for the captain's office.
***
11:00 am
The door to the captain's office was closed when he arrived. He knocked hard.
"Come in."
Brandt strode in and stopped short. Kevin was seated on the left. The captain sat behind his huge mahogany desk. There was a sense of expectation. They'd been waiting for him.
His defenses went up.
"Come in, Brandt. Take a seat."
"I'd rather stand." He struggled with it, but his voice actually sounded normal. Tight but calm.
"Fine. Whatever you're comfortable with. But you also need to be comfortable with the fact that Kevin is entitled to speak with any witnesses he sees fit. That includes this Samantha Blair." The captain's beetled brow met in the middle as he peered over his glasses at Brandt. "That is why you're here. Isn't it?"
Brandt choked back the words clogging his throat. He had to remember he was a guest here. "Correct. And it's possible that detectives at this station work differently than they would in most other stations – but that would surprise me."
Normally detectives built a rapport with their witnesses. They might ask another detective to go and talk to someone, to see what shook loose. Most detectives, as a basic courtesy, would mention to the other detective that they needed to talk to one of his connections before they interviewed someone involved in his case.
Captain Johansen cleared his throat. "Yes, we do things a little differently here."
Brandt's gaze cut to the captain. "That different?"
Once again, Captain Johansen exchanged glances with Kevin.
"We deal in good old-fashioned police work here. Not black magic." Kevin couldn't stay quiet any longer.
"That's what this is all about? Because she's a psychic?" At Kevin's nod, Brandt snorted. "Then you could have had the decency to talk to me, couldn't you? I've worked with Stefan Kronos for over a decade."
"I'm not sure that I believe his work either. However, many of my friends do, given his success record. This woman is a flake, pure and simple. I don't want her involved in my cases." Kevin's sarcasm underscored his point of view.
Interesting that Kevin had heard of Stefan. "You haven't given her a chance, have you?" Brandt turned to confront him. "I believe in her. She's given valuable information and I think she can help."
"I interviewed her. She doesn't have anything to offer." Kevin stood up. "I don't have time for this. As long as you have something reasonable to offer to my cases, feel free. But if you're going to bring in a psychic, use her for your cases, not mine. She can hang you, not us. You're only visiting here. And you won't destroy our reputation with your fucked up ideas."
Kevin strode out, leaving an uncomfortable silence behind.
Brandt looked back at Captain Johansen, who stared back. "Is that the official stand?"
He pursed his lips, thinking. "For the moment. I'm certainly not a fan of using psychics. But I do know Stefan's work. So I can't discount them either. Let me know if she comes up with anything we can use. Other than that, don't confuse the issue between hard work and easy answers."
***
11:20 am
Kevin walked through the commons, staring straight ahead. Most of the office knew what had just happened. The interior walls were very thin.
He didn't give a shit. Let them talk. As long as they didn't bring it to him, he could care less. He had work to do, and gossip wasn't one of his job duties.
Neither was dealing with flakes. Even harmless ones. But he'd had to check it out further. Now he'd done so, and now he could wash his hands of her. Good riddance.
If only Brandt would see things his way. He'd expected more of this 'visiting detective.' Brandt seemed to be a straightforward kind of guy. He'd always dug in and helped where needed and he sure as hell knew how to get the job done. But this psychic stuff was just plain weird. That he'd trumped Brandt's witness, wasn't something he was prepared to get into. Not on a murder case.
Besides, like religion, there was just no telling where individual beliefs lay.
That was fine with Kevin. He didn't push his beliefs down anyone's throat and expected the same courtesy – especially at work. Kevin shook his head. Christ, a psychic!
Even his wife had laughed at him.
***
12:30 pm
Brandt pulled the truck up to the cabin in a spew of dust and dirt. Moses stood on the porch barking at him. At least the dog showed some sign of guarding the place. He cut the engine and hopped out, slamming the door behind him.
"Hey Moses, how are you doing, big guy?" Brandt eyed him warily, certain that Moses posed no threat. Still, one never knew. He climbed the steps, hand outstretched toward him.
Moses walked a step closer. Just as Brandt was about to touch him, a deadly growl erupted from the far side of the porch before rising into a hideous howl. Moses backed up and took up his fierce barking again.
Brandt started. "Jesus. What the hell is that?" He could just make out the oversized cage further down the porch, half covered in old gray army blankets. He took a hesitant step closer, only to stop as the growl grew to crescendo.
"Easy, take it easy." He didn't know what Samantha had inside that damn cage, but if it were relative in size, it had to be huge.
He glanced at the closed front door, sure he was being watched. Samantha had to be hiding behind the cu
rtains. Ignoring the cage for the moment, he rapped on the door. Samantha opened it promptly, confirming his suspicions.
"Hi."
The door shut in his face, leaving him staring at worn, peeling wood.
He closed his eyes and groaned. Shit. After what the team had put her through, he couldn't blame her. Then neither could he blame the team. He might have done the same thing under different circumstances.
"Samantha, I had nothing to do with this morning's appointment. The detectives called you in because they had questions. I'm sorry for the way it went down. Still, it's our job to ask."
Silence.
"Crap." It would take a bomb to get her out of there now.
"Would it help if I said I didn't know about this morning's meeting until after you'd left? I had nothing to do with it. Honest."
More silence.
"That was the rest of the team. They don't have much faith in psychics and wanted to check you out for themselves."
Dead silence.
Shit. He so didn't have time for this. He searched for ideas. Moses had slumped to his usual position of full-relaxed mode on the porch. The cage was quiet, but Brandt sensed the awareness emanating from the wire structure.
"Nice pet you've got there. Sounds dangerous. I may have to put him down as a danger to society."
The front door crashed open. "Don't you touch him," she snarled as she raced toward the cage.
He grinned. Like taking candy from a baby.
As she caught sight of his grin, she stopped her headlong rush and changed direction to charge him instead. He laughed even as he deflected her blows.
"You bastard. You did that on purpose." She took another swing at him, her knuckles grazing the top of his nose.
Still laughing, he snagged her wrists.
"You're right. That was low, but I had to get you out of the house."
He was loath to let go of her wrists. Not wanting to get clipped was only one reason. The ire in those velvet eyes spoke volumes about her temper. No, it had more to do with the shape and fit of her against him. He 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 wasn't going to change on his say so.
"May I come in?"
She shuffled her feet, but refused to look at him. More evasiveness. Not a surprise, coming from her. He waited for a moment before adding, "Please."
CHAPTER EIGHT
1:15 pm
Sam didn't want to let him into her space. She didn't know how her ire had died so suddenly. But she didn't want to let it go just yet.
"Are you okay?"
She twisted around, brushing her hair from her eyes. "What the hell do you care?" The words burst out with more punch than she intended. Better to appear calm and rational than let him know how hurt and betrayed she really felt.
"We need to talk." he responded.
"What could there possibly be left to talk about?" She turned and walked into the cabin.
Brandt came in behind her.
She strode to the fridge and pulled out a jug of cold water. "Why won't you leave me alone?" she asked, without turning around.
A large muscled arm reached into the glass cupboard above her head, pulling out two tall glasses. He set them down on the counter and tugged the jug free from her fingers.
He appeared so in control, she wanted to scream at him. Her life was in turmoil. She watched as he poured two glasses.
Pissed at her reaction, she snatched one up and walked outside. Her nerves were rubbed raw. She could only take so much.
"I can't."
His answer hurt. She escaped toward Soldier. Her stocking feet whispered along the porch. Soldier still heard her. She couldn't see him, but she sensed his attention. "It's okay, boy. It's just me." The sensation of wariness coming from the cage never relaxed. She couldn't blame him, hers hadn't disappeared either.
A low growl erupted in the far corner.
"What's in there?" Brandt asked from behind her.
Sharper, higher pitched growls had the two of them backing up a few paces.
"That's some huge cage," Brandt said, his voice carefully moderated.
"He's a good-sized dog. And he obviously likes his space."
Brandt snorted and walked to the stairs and sat down. "You think?" He took a big drink, still staring at the cage. "Is he dangerous?"
"No." She amended her answer after a quick thought. "At least, I don't believe so."
He arched his eyebrow. "You mean you don't know?"
"I just got him," she muttered. She didn't think Soldier would really hurt anyone – unless they got too close.
She could feel Brandt's gaze burning her face. A hot flush washed over her cheeks. "So why are you here?" she asked.
Silence. She heard his heavy sigh on the air. From the corner of her eye, she saw his head turn, his focus on the view before them.
"I came to explain. I went to meet you for our eleven o'clock appointment. That's when I heard they'd called you for a visit earlier."
"Visit." Disbelief made her shake. "Did you say visit?" Her voice rose alarmingly high. "How could anyone call that a visit? How about calling it a Gestapo session, or maybe an interrogation?" She glared at him. "But a visit, it was not."
With Moses at her side, she headed down to the end of the dock. The water glistened in the late sunlight. Her knee buckled sideways as Moses leaned against her, whining.
"It's okay, boy. I'm fine." She laid a gentle hand on his bushy fur, enjoying the comfort of his touch.
"Are you?" Brandt faced the lake. "That's actually why I came – to check up on you."
She stiffened.
He hesitated. "I'm sorry I wasn't there, I might have been able to ease it slightly. But don't get me wrong, they would have brought you in regardless. They needed to check you out after you reported the third victim."
Sorry? She threw him a stunned glance. He wished he could have been there? Well, so did she. Overwhelmed and unaccountably relieved, Sam dropped to sit down on the dock, her suddenly weak legs dangling over the edge. Somehow, the day didn't seem so bad after all. Moses slumped down to the ground at her feet.
Brandt stood beside her, looking as if he wanted to say something. Sam didn't care. She had enough to deal with keeping the bubbling lightness inside from making its way outward. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her relief.
The silence grew uncomfortable. "What?" She didn't like the indecision on his face.
He shrugged.
"Come on, fess up. What?"
He sat down a little apart from her. "Do you have other skills? You know like telekinesis or telepathy – anything?"
His tone came across light and amused, yet Sam sensed a serious thread through it all.
"You mean like mind reading? She sharpened her gaze, trying to figure out what he meant. No, he was too sensible for that. Wasn't he? Searching his face, she had to ask, "You don't really think I can read your mind – do you?"
He shifted his weight and stared out across the lake.
She grinned, her first real one in a long time. As the realization swept through her, a giggle escaped. She slapped her hand over her mouth, astonished at the sound. Moses raised his head and whined. She giggled again. Then she couldn't help it; she
laughed aloud. When he cocked his head to one side and stared at her, she laughed harder, threw her arms around the dog, and hugged him close.
She watched Brandt shake his head, as if he only just realized he'd crouched down beside her, his puzzled look clearing.
"What's so funny?" he asked, aggrieved.
Another giggle escaped even as she fought to control herself.
Brandt shook his head.