by Sheryl Lynn
Several people burst into laughter. Buck felt like slinking out of the meeting and never returning.
“Shut up!” Dallas rapped the table. “Come on, guys. We aren’t icy-cold scientists. Part of our mission is to help people. For God’s sake, we’re talking little kids here. Go ahead, Pip.”
Buck hated the word “reading” It sounded like something you did with a 1-900 number after asking a sucker for a credit card number.
Pippin said, “Buck isn’t like those guys on television.”
Desi snorted and slumped on her chair. “They’re all crackpots.” The hard look she tossed at Buck said Just like you.
Buck met her glare with narrowed eyes.
“I’m ninety-nine percent certain there’s nothing paranormal going on,” Pippin said. “So let’s call this a mission of mercy. We do a full investigation, then Buck can do a reading. Counteract the cousin. Who does sound like one of those guys on television, by the way.”
“A battle of the psychics?” Desi shook her head, sending her hair swinging across her shoulders. “Pip, I’m sorry, but that’s just dumb.” She looked around the room. “Doesn’t anybody else see how dangerous that could be? The cousin is an attention junkie. You all know how people like that are. The more we expose her as a fake, the harder she’ll try to prove us wrong.”
A few agreed, others disagreed, but Buck stayed silent. Desi made a good point.
Pippin said, “Speaking as a therapist and as a single mom, I think she’s looking for someone to assure her the kids are safe. Maybe a few sessions with me can help her work out the issues with her cousin. It will help if an investigation fails to catch anything.”
“It’ll make us a laughing stock,” Desi said. “Psychic crap undermines our credibility.”
Buck’s jaw tightened. “It’s not crap. The things I see and hear are real. What it is exactly and where it comes from is a mystery. But that doesn’t mean I’m a fake.” Temptation burned to tell her that right now, right in this room, several spirits were hanging around—including the entity he’d noticed near Desi at the antique store.
“There’s an explanation for hearing voices. Schizophrenia.”
“There’s an explanation for you,” he shot back. “Close-minded.”
“I’m not watching you play ‘Oooh, I’m picking up a J name.’ John, Jack?” She pitched her voice high. “A friend of my third cousin, twice removed, is named Julie! That’s it! Oh yay! You really are psychic!” She clapped her hands in mock delight.
Buck’s jaw ached from tension. This made twice in one day Desi had poked his temper.
Dallas’s eyes blazed and his big hands clenched, making veins stand out on the backs. “Drop this for now, Pip. You can fill me in on the details later.”
The meeting resumed on a subdued note. After Dallas announced it was over, some of the team members looked as if they couldn’t escape quickly enough.
Buck pulled on his coat. He and Desi were going to have this out, one way or another.
“HEY, DESI,” Dallas said. “Stick around a minute.”
She watched Buck leave the house. The anxious ache in her belly worsened. She couldn’t believe how she’d acted. She couldn’t believe she’d been so nasty…so childish. Drawing a steadying breath, she faced Dallas Stone.
She stared over his head at a framed poster for the movie Swamp Thing.
Ringo kept his head down and his hands busy clearing the table and straightening chairs. Dallas crooked a finger, indicating Desi should join him in the kitchen. He rested his backside against a counter and folded his arms over his chest. “What the hell is going on between you and Buck?”
“Nothing.”
“Yeah, right. Whether you like it or not, I’m convinced he’s the real thing. He’s as interested in finding the truth as any other member of the team. I’m a skeptic when it comes to claims by psychics and mediums, too. You know damned good and well that I would never invite anyone to join unless I thought they were serious.”
“I have a lot going on with work, and I’m stressed out. I—I didn’t mean it.”
“The problem is,” Dallas said, “you did mean it. I’m not having any dissension on the team. We don’t need negative energy.”
Desi wished she could curl into a tiny ball and disappear. Her throat tightened. She admired and respected Dallas as much or more than any other man she knew. His disappointment in her hurt worse than if he’d slapped her across the face.
“I won’t put you and Buck on the same investigations. I expect you to ease up at the meetings, okay?”
“Okay.”
She slunk out of the duplex.
At home, she took a moment to breathe in the air of her little town house. This was her sanctuary. She turned on her computer. She had work to do for a client and she looked forward to it. Numbers were rational. Numbers never changed their character or delved into the unexplained. Numbers always made sense.
“Get off my chair, Spike,” she said.
The yellow tomcat twitched an ear. She picked him up and he rumbled and meowed in protest. “Go sleep in your basket, you big grouch. That’s my chair. I don’t know why we have to have this argument every single time I need to use the computer.”
Her cell phone rang and she glanced at the clock. Good news never came at this time of night. She answered warily, “Hello?”
“Hi, Desi. This is Buck. Sorry for calling so late.”
Fresh humiliation rolled through her. “Hi.”
“I can’t sleep unless I apologize for tonight. I’m really sorry.”
She lifted her eyebrows. She caught a movement from the corner of her eye and turned in time to see Spike hop back up on her desk chair.
“Desi?”
An apology to him caught in her throat. “I’m not sure what to say.”
“How about saying we can start over. We got off on the wrong foot. I’d like to keep working with you. I can learn a lot.”
He came across as so genuine he was hard to resist. His voice was seductive in its sincerity. She pictured him in the olive-green sweater he’d worn tonight, stretched over his shoulders and chest. As Pippin had said, he was very easy on the eyes. Probably a nice guy, too. She supposed as long as he didn’t offer to read her palm or start talking in tongues she could tolerate him.
As for the psychic abilities, well, she thought, a researcher should wait until all the data was in. “Thanks. I do act stupid sometimes. We can start over.”
A bright flash in the kitchen was followed by a loud pop. She squeaked.
“Desi?”
She laughed. “A lightbulb just blew. It startled me. But never mind. Thank you for calling, Buck. I appreciate it. It’s big of you.”
“Maybe—” He paused. “Good. So I’ll see you around.”
After she hung up, she put the cell phone on the charger. She scooped up the cat. Spike grumbled and tensed as she snuggled him. She rubbed between his ears. He acted like a little kid suffering smoochies from an overly enthusiastic auntie. “Everybody else likes him. Guess it’s only fair to wait until he actually screws up before I jump down his throat.”
Another lightbulb blew. Spike twisted. His claws hooked into her arm and she yelped, dropping him.
“Damn it!” She glared past the breakfast bar into the now-dim kitchen. She winced at the scratches where beads of blood formed on her skin. Shaking her head in disgust, she went upstairs to find the antiseptic.
UNSETTLED, BUCK FROWNED at the phone. On the one hand he was relieved to have made up with Desi. On the other hand, a most unpleasant sensation prickled his scalp. He’d felt something when she said the lightbulb blew. A brief feeling, a micro-instant of knowing. Sourness filled his mouth and settled in his guts.
Alec said the Moore house was cleansed of spirit activity. Even so…The prickling worsened, and Buck dragged in a deep breath.
Dark Presences. After his encounter with their malignancy in the past, Buck had vowed to never allow one to notice him agai
n. Like all ghosts, Dark Presences had unfinished business and they had an eternity to finish it. Unlike most other ghosts, Dark Presences had the power to manipulate the physical world. They had the power to manipulate people.
Whether she meant it as a joke or not, Buck feared Desi had opened a doorway to something very bad.
SQUINTING AGAINST SUNLIGHT, Desi grabbed the obnoxiously ringing cell phone. If Gwen was calling at this ungodly hour of the morning, Desi was going to strangle her over the airwaves. In case it was a business call, Desi forced brightness into her tone. “Hello?”
“Hi, Desi. This is Buck. Sorry to wake you.”
It struck her that he sounded certain he’d reached her. He’d done that last night, too. She glanced at the clock. It was barely noon.
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
“I can call back later.”
“It’s okay. What can I do for you?” She pushed Spike off her foot. He gave her the stink eye then headed back to sleep. She stretched and rolled her shoulders, the headed downstairs for coffee.
“I wanted to ask you about Kirlian photography. It takes pictures of auras.”
She started to make coffee. “It’s bunk. All it takes pictures of are water molecules reacting to an electrical charge.” She scooped an extra spoonful of coffee into the filter. She hadn’t gone to bed until five this morning. “Dallas has collected a lot of research about auras and aural photography. Anything you want to know about the subject is on the Web site.” She started the coffee brewing and yawned. “Why are you asking about Kirlian photography?”
“I caught part of a TV show about psychic healers. It mentioned Kirlian and I was wondering about it.”
There were millions of Web sites on the Internet with information about aural photography. Buck didn’t need to ask her about it. She had to admit it was much nicer to wake up to Buck’s warm voice than it was to hear about her sister’s latest haunted treasure or to get a call from a panicky client with lost receipts or a bounced check.
“I’d look it up on the Internet,” he said, “but my laptop is an antique and the connection is so slow it drives me crazy.”
She opened the pantry door and studied the contents.
“Or I’d go to the library, but I’m working. Do you mind me asking questions?”
A crash made her jump and she almost dropped the phone. At the sight of the coffee can on the floor and coffee spilled everywhere her jaw dropped. “That damned cat!”
“What happened?”
“Spike just knocked a whole can of coffee on the floor. I hate that cat sometimes.” She stood on tiptoe, trying to see over the breakfast counter. Spike had disappeared. The coward. “I have to clean up this mess. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay.” He sounded uncertain. “Later.”
She set the phone on the counter and cursing the cat, began sweeping up the mess. She’d opened the can only two days ago. Ten dollars down the drain. Spike was darned lucky she’d already started a pot brewing, or he’d have to face her caffeine-deprived wrath.
By the time she had the kitchen floor cleaned, Spike still hadn’t shown up. Usually he took great pleasure in watching her clean up his messes. She began to worry that maybe the coffee can had struck him and he was hurt. She went looking for him.
Sound asleep, Spike lay curled in the same spot he’d been in when she got out of bed.
BUCK PARKED THE PATROL CAR in the space next to the little red Subaru. He got out and watched Desi crossing the parking lot. She lugged a box of paper. She frowned at his approach, but willingly allowed him to take the heavy box. She pointed a remote at the Subaru and popped open the trunk. She looked him up and down, taking in the uniform.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, and stepped aside so he could put the box in the trunk.
He pointed at Garden of the Gods Road. “This is my beat. I made my quota of speeding tickets, so thought I’d take a break and say hi.”
He sensed a shimmer of energy around Desi. The entity felt female, motherly, and he got the distinct impression she noticed him. It would be easy to make contact. Easy that is, if the entity weren’t attached to Desi Hollyhock.
“How…?” She looked around the parking lot of the office supply store. “How did you know I’d be here?”
He’d stopped worrying about the source of his knowing a long time ago. “I was cutting through the parking lot and saw you come out of the store.”
She closed the trunk, her face wary. “And you just happened to park right next to my car?”
He shrugged. He listened to a call from dispatch coming through the radio earpiece. Nobody needed him. “Your license plate number.” He tapped the side of his head. “It’s a gift.”
“A psychic gift?”
“Only if all cops are psychic. We tend to notice license plates.”
She wore a black peacoat and a cream-colored knit cap. Her cheeks were pink with cold and her eyes were bright, the bluest blue he’d ever seen. They rivaled the winter sky. She was so pretty, he could stand here and look at her all day.
“What a coincidence,” she said. “Especially since I don’t usually shop at this store. They’re having a big sale. If you need computer paper, now’s the time to get it. Can I ask you a question? What do the people you work with think about your abilities?”
“Do you admit I have abilities?”
She smiled. “No.”
“I don’t tell them.”
She looked surprised. “Huh.”
“You don’t want to know what cops really think about mediums. Every time there’s a big crime, especially a murder or missing child, 911 is flooded with calls from people who’ve had visions and dreams.”
“I see.”
“I wish I did. See, that is.” He hunched deeper into his coat against the cold. “I figured out I’m a freak a long time ago. Different. I still don’t know what it means. I still don’t know why me and not everybody. I spent a lot of years trying to hide from it.”
He sensed her uncertainty, read it in her expressive eyes.
“I’ve done some good with it, helped some people. Some bad things have happened, too. Rampart looks like a good opportunity to figure myself out. Maybe if I know what I’m doing, I can do something useful.”
“Get your own television show?”
“Ouch.”
She folded her arms. In the busy parking lot pedestrians and people in cars stared. A cop and a civilian always drew curiosity.
“Okay,” she said. “Just so we’re straight. I’ve run across a lot of so-called psychics, mediums, fortune-tellers, channelers and even a few telepaths. I consider every single one flat-out evil. They exploit the grieving, greedy and just plain dumb. I admit that Rampart has collected some really good evidence about the paranormal. I’ve seen a lot of things that can’t be explained and I’m willing to accept that there may be something out there. What I have never seen is evidence of any type, under any circumstances, that anybody can communicate with the dead.”
She was honest about her feelings. He liked that about her.
“Fair enough. So tell me, if I promise to not talk about my adventures with dead relatives, will you go out to dinner with me?”
He liked her open surprise, too.
A call came over the radio. Dispatch wanted his location. He thumbed the radio transmitter clipped to his shoulder and responded. A business reported a break-in.
“I have to go. I’ll call you.”
“Okay.”
As he pulled out of the parking lot he watched her. With her head cocked and wearing a bemused smile, she watched him. She definitely liked him, even if she didn’t realize it yet. Sometimes, he thought with a chuckle, knowing things came in handy.
Chapter Four
Wishing her town house had an attached garage, Desi lugged the heavy box of paper toward her house. At least, the weather had been dry and she didn’t have to fight ice and snow piles to get from her car to the front door.
; Her next-door neighbor came outside, spotted Desi and made a small sound of surprise.
“Hi, Annaliese,” Desi said. “Could you help a girl out and unlock my door?”
“You have been out?” the older German woman asked.
Desi shifted her grip. The sun was blindingly bright, but the temperature was about twenty degrees and her hands were ice. “Yeah, and I’m about to drop this box.” She moved so Annaliese could take the keys clipped to her purse.
“Well!” Annaliese hurried to unlock Desi’s door. The concrete porch was too small for more than one person at a time. Instead of letting Desi enter, Annaliese stood there and frowned.
Desi adored her neighbor, but the box was growing heavier by the second. “Go on in,” Desi said, and put a foot on the concrete step. “Please.”
Annaliese shook a finger. “I thought you were home. I was coming to tell you to turn down the television. It is so loud!”
“I never leave the TV on.”
“Oh, yes, you are such a good neighbor. Never any noise or parties.” She clamped her hands over her ears and swayed side to side. “Oh, oh, oh! My walls are shaking.”
Now Desi realized the noisy television she assumed came from another town house in the row actually came from her house. “Let me in. Go. I’m about to drop this on my foot.”
Annaliese went inside and held the door for Desi. Sure enough, her television blared at full volume. Desi put the box on the floor, dropped her purse and rushed to turn it off. The silence was instant and blessed. She stuck her freezing hands under her armpits and turned to her neighbor.
Annaliese smiled, showing very white teeth. “This is so unlike you, Desi.”
The television remote lay on the coffee table. Spike. Desi couldn’t remember if she’d been watching the news before she left to run her errands. If she had forgotten to turn off the TV, and the cat walked on or sat on the remote, he could have pressed the volume control.
“It won’t happen again,” Desi said. “I promise.”
Annaliese blew air between her teeth. “I believe you. All done now. You must promise to come over later. It is so cold I have to bake. I am making olive bread. Old, old family recipe from Germany.”