by Lora Leigh
"I won't be disappointed. I'm expecting nothing to happen." He tilted his head to the side. "Does the chief know how you feel about this?"
"He wouldn't listen to me." She had explained that it was doubtful she'd be much use to them, but he'd insisted--although Eden suspected it had a lot to do with appeasing his enthusiastic wife. "I figure if I don't turn out to be much help, he'll start to leave me alone. Maybe I only have a knack for finding lost dogs."
Ben looked confused. "So you're a psychic who doesn't believe in psychics?"
"I . . . I honestly don't know." It was the truth, at least. "Feel free to kick me out of here, you know, whenever you like."
Why was she sharing this information with him? She wasn't exactly sure, although sometimes it was better to admit one's weaknesses right away so there'd be no room for later misunderstandings. It might have also had a lot to do with Detective Hanson bringing out the schoolgirl babble inside of her. Once her mouth started spilling words, it was hard to stop the flood.
He studied her for at least thirty seconds before his frown turned into the first smile she'd seen on his face--and wow, he had one hell of a great smile. "I think you might be the only skeptical psychic I've ever met."
He scanned her then, from her long auburn ponytail draped over her right shoulder to her green peasant-style silk shirt to the tan leather ankle boots she'd bought only yesterday to go with the dark jeans she wore.
Whatever she'd said--well, the truth--was enough to make handsome Detective Hanson look at her a little differently. A good differently. She leaned against the kitchen counter and tried to look as alluring as humanly possible, but her elbow slipped so she straightened up. She was more than a little uncomfortable being in the house of a serial killer--although, by the looks of it, a very neat and organized one--but she pretended not to be as she felt Detective Hanson's gaze take her in.
"Huh. Interesting," he finally proclaimed.
She couldn't tell if he meant that in a good or bad way. "I'm sorry if you think I'm wasting your time."
He grinned. "Actually, I already thought this trip here today was a waste of time to begin with. You had nothing to do with it. But I appreciate you being honest with me."
"Honesty is a virtue, Detective Hanson."
"Please . . . call me Ben." He glanced at the clock on the wall that read almost five and then turned his attention back to Eden. "So do you need to be anywhere after this or would you like to grab some dinner?"
Remain calm, Eden, she commanded herself as a flush of pleasure heated her cheeks. Detective Handsome was asking her out. And he wanted her to call him Ben.
Her empty stomach growled its enthusiastic approval. "That sounds like--" Then she froze as the strangest feeling came over her. A chill that made the hair stand up on her arms. "Shit."
Ben frowned. "What?"
She brought a hand to her head as a strange, fuzzy image flickered through her mind. Damn it, not now.
She was the "skeptical psychic," as Ben had just described her. But there it was--a feeling crawling down her spine that she couldn't ignore if she'd wanted to. She'd had the feeling many times before in her life, since she was a little girl, but it came and went and was never anything she could channel or control. An awareness that didn't rely on any of her usual five senses.
Suddenly the coat closet just beyond the kitchenette was all she could concentrate on. Something was in there--possibly a clue to help find the maniac the police were looking for.
"What exactly did this creep do?" she asked quietly.
His expression turned grim. "What he did was kill one woman a week by posing as a pizza delivery guy. Eight weeks and eight deaths. Then suddenly he stopped three weeks ago--no more murders since then. It's strange because usually serial killers begin to escalate once they've established a pattern. We don't know when he'll start again, but it's only a matter of time."
A chill went down her spine. If she could do something, anything, then it would be worth it. She pushed away from the counter and walked directly toward the coat closet.
"I know what I said earlier about not really believing in my abilities," she began, "but I'm getting this weird vibe right now."
"Weird vibe?" The cool, cynical edge was back.
The impulse was too strong to ignore. "This will only take a second. It's probably nothing."
Hell, with her track record, maybe it was the guy's dog.
Eden wrapped her fingers around the handle. The hinges creaked as she slowly opened the door.
She blinked and stared with disbelief at what she saw.
She'd been right. There was a clue inside. A big clue.
A clue that was about six feet tall, 250 pounds, and held a large knife.
For a long, frozen second she stared, unable to move or speak with only one thought flitting through her head--
What were the damn odds that the very serial killer they were looking for would be in the house? Hiding in the freaking closet?
Good odds, obviously. Very good odds.
Eden shrieked as the large man thrust out his hand and grabbed her. He turned her around and held her firmly in place with one arm. The sharp tip of the knife grazed her throat.
"Shouldn't have done that," he growled. "I was trying to hide all quiet like a mouse."
"Drop your weapon!" Ben had his gun out and pointed at the friendly neighborhood serial killer currently pressed against Eden's back.
The sharp edge of the blade pushed closer against her skin. "I just came back to pick up a few things, not to have a showdown. You should have damn well left me alone."
Eden shot Ben a panicked look and then concentrated on not moving. "Please let go of me."
He dragged her roughly backward into the open archway leading to the living room. The curtains were drawn on the bay window, leaving them in shadows. "I need your help. I heard you talking. You're a psychic. That's how you sniffed me out."
Now that she was really close to him she could literally sniff him out. Considering how neat and tidy his house was, the man had obviously been away from deodorant or showers for several days. Her skin crawled and bile rose in her throat.
"How can I help you?" she managed.
"I'm possessed by a demon," he hissed into her ear. "And I want it out of me."
"A demon?" she repeated, trying to sound as if she believed him. "Is that what you think is making you kill people? The devil made you do it?"
She exchanged a fleeting look with Ben, who stood six feet in front of her. He'd be able to hear everything the freak was saying to her. The cop's expression was fierce but a distinct flicker of worry crossed his blue eyes. He was thinking what she was thinking. This guy was insane--even by serial killer standards.
"I can't concentrate." The killer shifted farther back with her. "Can't think with it in my head. I killed a homeless guy a couple weeks ago and the demon's been with me ever since."
"I'm warning you again," Ben snarled. "Let the woman go right now."
The guy tensed. "He's telling me to let you go."
"That's r-right," Eden said, her voice shaky. "Listen to the nice policeman. He wants to help you and so do I. Nobody has to get hurt here."
"No, not the cop, the demon. He wants me to let you go."
Okay. "Well, then listen to the nice d-demon. I can help you. I am psychic. Very powerful. That's me. I'll be able to talk to your demon and convince him to leave your body and go back to--to Hell . . . and then everything will be fine."
"You don't believe me. I can hear it in your voice."
Her stomach clenched with fear. "No, I do. I totally believe."
"The world is full of strange things and strange beings. They're among us. Walking around, eating, drinking, living side by side with humans. I couldn't see them before but now I can. They're everywhere. Do you see them, too?"
"Of course I do." It sounded like a lie. Mostly because it was. She could be this bastard's next murder victim. Her life might be crappy at the momen
t, but that didn't mean she wanted it to end. Her legs weakened, and if he hadn't been holding her tightly she would have fallen straight down to the beige-carpeted floor.
She gasped as the knife pressed closer.
"Maybe if I slit your throat the demon will leave," the killer growled into her ear. "He'll see that he doesn't have any power over me."
Eden met Ben's steady but worried gaze. He had his gun aimed at the serial killer's chest, but at the moment she was blocking the way.
"This is your last warning," Ben snapped. "I will shoot you."
Suddenly the killer let go of Eden and she spun around to see that he looked extremely upset.
"Shut up!" he yelled, and brought his hands up to his head. "I'm not listening to you, demon. I'll kill her."
His gaze tracked to where Eden stood, his eyes wide and crazed. He raised his knife and lunged at her.
She screamed, staggered back, and tripped over the edge of the carpet, landing hard on her butt.
A shot rang out, then another, and the serial killer crumpled to the ground.
He didn't move again.
"Eden, are you okay?" Ben asked sharply.
Okay? she thought, feeling stunned and shivery. Hell no, she wasn't okay. But at least she was still breathing.
"I'll be fine." Her hands shook so she clasped them in front of her. She decided to stay seated on the floor since she was sure her legs were too shaky to stand on. A line of perspiration sped down her spine. "You wanted me to help find the s-serial killer--" She took a shuddery breath. "Mission accomplished."
Her stomach churned and she was afraid she would be sick right then and there. She tried to focus on something, anything until she could calm down. Her gaze moved cautiously toward the prone body of the dead man she knew she'd have nightmares about for weeks--possibly years--to come.
She frowned. "Hey, do you see that?"
"See what?"
"That." She pointed at what looked like a thin, dark shadow emerging from the serial killer's gaping mouth and trailing along the floor like a black scarf.
That is definitely not normal, she thought.
Ben shook his head. "All I see is a dead body. It's okay now, Eden. You're safe."
The shadow paused as it moved across the floor between her and Ben. Then, before she could do anything else or figure out what on earth it was, it shifted direction and, in a split second, flew through the air toward her. She shrieked and instinctively put her hands up to block whatever it was, but the moment the shadow touched her . . . it disappeared.
She looked at her hands.
What the hell just happened?
Had it only been her imagination?
Ben held out a hand to help her back up to her feet. "Are you sure you're okay?"
She swallowed hard. "I will be--you know--eventually."
He squeezed her hand in his. "Good."
She definitely needed a drink. A big one. Straight up.
She knew she should have stopped for some lunch earlier. A piece of toast and a glass of juice nine hours ago was not enough for proper mental alertness. She shook away the strange feeling and tried to relax while Ben got on his phone and called for backup.
Constable Santos ran in and swept the room with one look. "Eden! Damn, you sure work fast! You found the killer!"
That she did. And now the killer was killed.
But she still felt like she wanted to hurl. Missing dogs were much easier to deal with than serial killers. That was the lesson of the day.
At least it's over, she thought wearily. She'd be very happy to go back to her regular life now.
No more traumatic experiences for her, thank you very much.