by Dale Mayer
She gave him a long flat stare. "What?"
He sighed and rubbed the top of his head. "The captain would also like your DNA while we're at it."
She closed her eyes and swayed unsteadily.
"Easy. Don't faint on me. This is just a Q-tip in the mouth kind of thing. It's not major." He studied her pale face. "Did you eat?"
Her eyes opened, showing black unreadable pools. "Not much."
"Let's get this over with so you can get some lunch."
Sam checked her watch. She was so tired. She'd probably need food before making the drive back to Parksville. Right now, though, all she wanted was to be home alone.
"Make it fast. I need to return to the clinic."
Where she felt loved and supported, he had no doubt. He understood how she felt. "By the way, have you called Stefan yet?"
"No. But it might be the first thing I do when I get home."
He nodded. "That's probably a very good idea."
CHAPTER NINE
4:14 pm
For about the hundredth time, Sam wiped first one hand and then the other on her jeans. Her fingers clenched on the steering wheel. Weariness still pulled on her, although much less so. Going to work for a couple of hours had helped some. Especially considering she'd managed to sneak in, take care of the animals, and sneak out without seeing anyone. The last thing she'd wanted was company.
Moses lay in his usual place, his tail wagging. There was no sign of Soldier. Sam parked and went inside.
She scrubbed her fingers, up one side and down the other, then she washed them all over again. Using a tea towel, she dried her hands and inspected them again. That there'd been no fingerprint ink to wash off, didn't change the fact she saw it every time she looked. She shivered and tugged her worn sweater around her tighter. Even though the sun shone high overhead, her bones were chilled. It had been a hell of a day.
Sam could only guess at what Brandt and the other detectives were learning about her now. She reached for the hot water and soap again.
***
4:25 pm
Brandt refused to feel guilty. He'd done his job. That's all. That picture of hers changed everything – and had cemented the captain's opinion. At least he'd agreed to make good use of what she had to offer, with the caveat to keep him in the loop.
He pushed his chair away from his desk and reached behind his head, locking his fingers together. The captain was right. Brandt needed to ask Stefan about Sam. He'd give Sam another day to contact Stefan on her own, then he'd bring the two of them together, regardless.
He'd worked successfully with Stefan for years. He knew good psychics could offer invaluable help unavailable through traditional police work. He also knew they were unusual people. They didn't see the world the same as the rest of the population. Senses overloaded easier and they retreated to spaces that soothed their raw souls.
Sam had her home at the lake for a physical retreat, did she have anything else? Stefan had a beautiful log house, yet his real solace was his art. His stunning, but tortured paintings were known the world over.
"Brandt."
Brandt frowned. Kevin. He sighed inwardly. "Kevin. What's up?" He eyed the other detective warily. They hadn't spoken since the meeting in Captain Johansen's office. Right now, Kevin sported a huge smirk on his face.
Kevin walked to the desk, holding out a sheaf of papers. "Just some research for you. Maybe this will convince you she's not quite what you want her to be."
He dropped the papers on Brandt's desk and walked out.
The top fax was a newspaper article. Brandt checked the date, March 10, 1998. The headline read Young Psychic Leads Police on Merry Chase.
Shit. Brandt sat down for some heavy reading.
***
4:45 pm
Kevin couldn't help feeling satisfied. Damn that felt good. Vindication. Now maybe Brandt would get that witch off his mind and off this case. And the same went for himself. Since this morning's meeting, he'd had a hard time focusing.
Finally, he'd broken down and researched Ms. Blair's background
He'd gotten lucky. After just an hour, he'd managed to get enough information to convince anyone – even Brandt. At least it should be enough. As a precaution, he'd copied them and given one set to the captain to read as well.
Handing the papers over to Brandt felt good. Damn good.
This woman was treacherous.
He didn't want her anywhere near his cases.
***
8:25 pm
Waning light flashed on the ripples in the lake. Sam swam effortlessly through the flickering rays. The evening was silent, except for the splashes as her arms cleaved through the water. The long shadows drooped after the heat of the afternoon, dipping deep into the lake for the refreshing coolness. Even the birds were silent.
Sam continued to swim for another twenty minutes. Tired and content, she dove under the surface before rolling over to float on her back. She closed her eyes and rested. The serenity of the evening slipped under her anger and pain, gently tugging them free to disperse amongst the ripples. Deprived of all else, but the sensation of water lapping on her heated skin, Sam lost herself in the moment. Her breathing slowed and she relaxed deeper. How healing. A heavy sigh, coming from nowhere, released into the air.
A short bark cut through the tranquility. Sam rolled over to see Moses at the end of the dock, waiting for her. He barked again and jumped around, wagging his tail. Sam laughed, slowly swimming toward the dock. "I'm fine Moses. Don't worry, I'm coming in."
Moses barked once more before lying down to watch her approach. She'd almost reached him when Moses sprang to his feet and turned to face the house. He barked once.
Hugging the dock, Sam peered through the shadows. A shadow slowly separated from the tree line. Soldier. Sam watched in wonder as the big dog limped toward them.
Tears of pride melded with droplets of the lake as Sam hopped out of the water. "Hey, Soldier. Good to see you on your feet, boy."
She stayed at the end of the dock, her feet dangling in the water and watched his progress anxiously. "You can do it, Soldier. Just a little more." He seemed so weak. Head down, his spine hunched in pain as each foot touched down. Still, he kept coming. He stopped at the end of the dock and lowered his haunches. He stared down at them and whined.
Moving slowly but confidently, Sam stood up and walked the few steps over to the dogs. Soldier curled his lip, although he didn't growl. Sam bent over and patted him gently on his shoulder. His fur was stiff with dirt. She glanced at the fresh water all around them. It would be a bad idea.
Soldier glared up at her, his lip curled higher.
"Yeah, I hear you. Not quite ready for a dip in the lake are you? Maybe in a couple of days, okay?"
She picked up her towel and dried off. Wrapping it around her, she slipped into her sandals and calling to the dogs, she walked up to the cabin. Single file, they trooped behind her. At the front door, she waited for Moses to come in. Surprised, she watched as Soldier ambled in behind Moses. She felt honored. He'd obviously decided this was home.
Sam smiled, whispered, "Good night guys," and headed to her bedroom and a good night's rest.
That night, her dreams were wild and even more colorful than usual. The scenes were brighter than normal. They screamed at her overloud and overbright – overwhelming her in their sensory onslaught. A sexual haze had her twisting and moaning as her body moved to an internal heat she'd never experienced. Large capable hands stroked upwards over her belly, caressing the smooth contours. Slowly the fingers slid higher and higher.
Sam caught her breath when the hands stilled, the tension coiling tighter inside. She wiggled closer, trying to move into his hands. Warm laughter tickled her ear. She groaned, not understanding the driving need that had overtaken her body. A part of Sam struggled to clear her mind. She didn't have a lover.
His hands moved again. She sighed with relief, her breath floating out into the blackness of the night. That
small part of her rational mind questioned the unusual sexual overtones and the wild colors floating through her mind.
The rest of Sam's awareness centered on the tormenting fingers and sparks igniting along her nerve pathways. Sensations burned as fire seared over her skin. She churned with an inner heat, a heat that built to the point of pain. Finally, the hands reached the swell of her breasts – and stopped. Sam couldn't help herself, she tried to shift into those magic hands, but they gripped her ribs, stopping her. A groan escaped.
"Shhh," whispered the dark voice. "We have all night."
Sam shuddered at the promise. The promise and something else. Something wrong, something off. It bothered her, except she was too caught up in the sexual tension to want to figure it out. She arched high off the bed as he cupped her full breasts and squeezed gently. They coaxed then relaxed then returned to torment her again.
Sam cried out.
Dark laughter wafted through the room.
She shivered. There it was again. That nebulous feeling of something wrong. What was it?
The hands returned to torment her again. "Please..." She tried to reach for him, needing him closer.
And found she couldn't.
Just as the sensation of wrongness returned, Sam realized her arms were caught above her head. Caught and held by one of his hands. And the clouds in mind, blurring her clarity.
He laughed again. Dark laughter became black as his other hand, the one that had so gently cradled her breast, squeezed hard and then harder again.
Sam arched up, screaming in agony.
And woke up.
Still in shock, Sam curled into a tight ball and rocked back and forth under the comforter, her hands cradling her tender breasts. She bolted upright, peering into the dark corners of her bedroom. Relief washed over her. She was alone. "Dear Lord. Thank you." It had only been a dream.
A dream. Was it possible?
She stilled. A dream or a vision. She shuddered, the shakes wracking her body once again. Dear God, is this what that animal was doing? Seducing his victims with their own sexuality then turning on them? No. Sam examined the memories. Something had been very wrong, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Everything had a surreal look, an overly loud and overly colored appearance to it. A thought burst into her consciousness.
Drugs. The woman had been drugged.
Had the other victims? Sam realized her earlier visions had started too late to be able to identify something like that. She wouldn't have noticed a needle prick amongst the other pain. Panic for her life would have dispelled the rest of the drugged dullness away from her thoughts.
Sam started crying, quiet painful sobs of possibility. She didn't want to know any more. She couldn't deal with it. Not this. After tonight, she might never let another man touch her again – ever.
Touch.
She froze. The guy in her dreams hadn't worn gloves.
Had it been him? Another asshole? Or had it truly been just a nightmare? She shuddered. It had seemed so real. A wet dream gone bad in a big way. Sliding deeper into her bed, Sam pulled the covers to her chin. Only it wasn't enough. She hopped out of bed, snatched up an old nightshirt from the box on the floor, and pulled it over her head.
For the second time that day – she felt violated.
***
9:35 am, June 18th
Brandt strode down the hallway. One of his priorities this morning was to connect Sam with Stefan. He'd finally managed to reach him early this morning. Now all he had to do was to get Sam to agree to meet him. And he needed to talk to Sam about her past workings with the police.
The research Kevin had brought him had been less than flattering. Still, Brandt knew that Stefan had some less-than-stellar moments at the beginning of his career as well. The article hadn't given her age and was dated eight years ago. She'd have been young and green. Not to mention untrained, which she still was. Hence his push to connect her to Stefan as soon as possible.
Nothing he'd read had given him any reason to disbelieve her. He suspected Sam could be instrumental on his proposed task force. Not to mention many other ongoing cases. He hoped to cultivate her skills on a regular basis. Even if that meant returning to his old station. At least there, his old captain was amiable to psychics. Ideas percolated through his brain. He'd talk it over with some of his friends – and Stefan, of course.
Brandt never had liked authority. He still didn't, but with age came understanding that those above were just doing their job to make it better and safer for everyone. Or at least it was supposed to work that way. However, just as there were good and bad guys on the streets, the same could be said of the police department. One still had to believe that most of the bad guys were outside the force.
"Hey Brandt. Ran the fingerprints you asked for. She checks out."
Brandt lifted his head. The youngest of the three technicians walked into his office. His name eluded him – something European like Pieter. Brandt smiled and held out his hand for the papers being offered. "Anything interesting?"
"No rap sheet, if that's what you are asking." The tech pointed to the second page. "This might be of interest. Yeah, she was also a suspect in a missing child case in Spokane, Washington, years ago."
Brandt's gaze sharpened on the younger man's face. "What? A suspect?"
The tech shook his head. "Apparently she had information for the police, only they didn't believe her. The end result made her a suspect for a while, until the child was found safe and sound."
Brandt digested that as he scanned the paperwork. "Thanks, I'll take it from here." Now he understood Sam's odd reaction yesterday. She'd already been through this. Once again at his office, he pored over the report. So, eight years ago she'd tried to help and failed – been mocked even, based on Kevin's material. This file showed she'd tried again five years ago. The Spokane P.D. hadn't mocked her; they'd made her a suspect.
Brandt shuffled through the file. What was missing in the report was how the child had been found. Had Sam contributed to the little girl's safe return? He might need to call the detective listed on this particular case file. Grabbing a folder, he wrote Samantha's name on the tab and stacked the growing collection of material inside. Brandt leaned back in his chair, hands locked behind his head.
Her connection to this killer bothered him. It could be the same asshole that he'd been tracking. Both of them changed the method of death, but as far as he could tell, they both favored beautiful young women between eighteen and thirty-five – and all were middle-class, working females.
His mind flitted through the elements he knew. Sam's killer wore a ski mask, which didn't make sense. Usually the guys who planned on killing their victims didn't bother with masks. After all, there wasn't going to be anyone left behind to identify them.
He had no way of knowing if the other cases in his files were the same. The victims were all dead. There were never any witnesses, and little forensic evidence left behind. Then there was the ring. If Sam had anything concrete, the ring might just be it.
She was also connecting with a lot of victims. Most serial killers took time between kills. Sam's visions occurred with only days between them. Some killers went on a killing frenzy until whatever drove them, drained out of their system. Then they went quiet. Sometimes the quiet period lasted months to years. Brandt knew his best chance of catching this killer was before he went off the radar again. Who knew how long it would be before he resurfaced again.
***
9:50 am
Dillon walked into the conference room. Not only had he missed the meeting this morning, he'd also missed breakfast. He was hoping there'd be some scones or a Danish left over. Walking to the sideboard, he smiled. One huge blueberry muffin. Perfect.
He snatched up his prize and walked toward the double doors. Several papers lay discarded on several chairs. He turned the closest one over. It was a picture of a ring. Wasn't that the one Brandt was researching? He'd heard about it, but this was the first he'd seen it.<
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Walking to his desk, he muttered about the dinosaurs in the office. It was hard being a forward moving kind of guy in this place. The mantra around here was always about 'good old fashioned detective work.' Christ, who needed all that legwork? Technology was meant to be used. The same for the media. They were always helpful. At least Dillon had found them so. The Internet was, of course, the best. Why didn't the station have a website where pictures like this could be posted and give the public an opportunity to email or phone in with their information?