Bound by Blood (The Garner Witch Series)

by P. A. Lupton

  “Nothing happens under this roof without my knowledge.” His quiet, but slightly patronizing grunt reverberated in my ear. “I am sure you have no doubt confirmed and accounted for my whereabouts on the nights in question.”

  “And?”

  “And I was hoping you would agree to have dinner with me?”

  I wanted so badly to say yes, but, “I’m sorry I can’t.”

  “Could I ask you something else then?” he asked, unfazed by the rejection.

  “Um…sure.”

  “Could I use your first name?”

  A short burst of laughter escaped. That wasn’t what I was expecting. “It’s Brianna.”

  He paused. “That name suits you perfectly.”

  “Really? I always felt it was unusual.”

  “You are in no way usual.” He emphasized the word with a tinge of distaste.

  If he only knew how far from usual I was. My mouth curled into a grin as I pictured what his reaction would be if I told him I was a witch.

  “It is as though your mother had a glimpse into your character when she named you.” He said.

  “Huh?”

  “Have you never researched the meaning of your name? The name Brianna means possessing strength and fortitude. As I said, it suits you.”

  Although I was immensely thrilled by the compliment, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Please tell me you don’t have an encyclopedia of names beside you.”

  He chuckled at my reaction. “No. I had a dear friend who named her daughter Brianna. She informed me that its meaning was the reason she chose the name. She was rather eccentric.” The word ‘eccentric’ was said with deep affection, and I heard the smile in his voice. “She was under the misguided belief that if she chose a name for its meaning, those traits would inevitably impress upon her daughter.”

  “Oh. That’s actually really sweet, and as good a reason as any to choose a name, I suppose. Besides, who says it’s misguided? What’s her daughter like?”

  He was quiet for a few heartbeats before he answered in a somber tone. “I don’t know. My friend passed away.” He sighed.

  Suddenly, I was regretting the question. I could tell it was a source of pain for him.

  “Her daughter was sent to live with family and I never had the chance to meet her.”

  “I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  “It is all right.”

  A long stretch of silence passed before I said, “I should be going.”

  “Will you call me, Brianna?” The husky, gravelly tone of his voice as he said my name made me wonder: Is this what his voice would sound like while whispering my name in the throes of passion? My head suddenly filled with images of that scenario. A shiver rolled down my spine from the visual. Holy crap—I had to get a grip.

  When I didn’t answer right away he mistook my hesitation. “You really should call me.”

  “I should, should I? Why’s that?” I asked, playfully.

  “We have already ascertained that I am an assertive and determined man. Therefore, it is a foregone conclusion that you will eventually relent. Why prolong the inevitable?”

  I snorted. “That was a very polite, roundabout way of saying you’re bossy and always get your own way.” An unrestrained smile tugged at my lips.

  “Yes, it was,” he agreed, unrepentantly. “Given my profession, I think it is safe to say I believe in good security. Would you agree?”

  “I suppose,” I hedged.

  “Therefore, my professional advice is that you should not be alone with a stranger.”

  “I’m confused. You’re saying that I shouldn’t go out with strangers.”

  “You certainly should not.”

  I pointed out the obvious. “You’re a stranger to me.”

  “That is why it is imperative we get to know each other.” He was speaking as though his reasoning was clear. “Since we have determined we will inexorably end up going for dinner together, I suggest a few phone conversations so we can get to know each other. Therefore, we will no longer be strangers.”

  “Really?” I chuckled. I wasn’t used to being pursued this relentlessly. I liked it. And talking with Nathan was more fun than I’d had in years. How sad was that? “That was the most circuitous logic I’ve ever heard.”

  “Then you admit you see the logic?” His tone was laced with humor.

  “You really don’t give up, do you?”

  “No, I do not. Good night, Brianna.”

  “Good night, Nathan.” Somehow I knew when I hung up I’d be hearing from him again.

  The thought forced another involuntary smile.

  ***

  The weekend whizzed by. After reviewing my case files and scheduling some appointments with witnesses, I decided to get some unpacking done. Although, I was surprised I managed to get anything done with all of the interruptions.

  It started Saturday morning when I heard an unfamiliar beeping coming from the phone Nathan gave me. I picked it up and noticed there was a text message from Call Me.

  What is your fav color?

  I actually giggled like a teenager when I read it, and I immediately responded.

  Red. What’s yours?

  I stared at the screen, eagerly awaiting his response.

  Used to be green until I saw your eyes. Now it is blue.

  Every word from him was like a hammer chipping away at the wall I was determined to put between us. I waited, and when it was clear he wasn’t going to send another text, I continued with my work.

  The messages repeated randomly throughout the weekend. He wanted to know everything from the types of books I read, my taste in movies and music, to whether I liked opera or live theatre. He’d text a question arbitrarily, wait for a response, answer if I returned a question, and then it’d be a few hours until I heard from him again.

  I was in so much trouble. It was hopeless to remain emotionally distant from the man. He was an old-fashioned romantic, and his charm was wearing on me. The fact that he kept texting me, capriciously, throughout the entire weekend was an effective way of letting me know I was constantly on his mind.

  Monday morning, I made my regular stop into Starbucks on my way to work. I ordered my usual: large coffee, black. But when I tried to pay, the barista informed me it was already paid for, and then inclined her head to a man sitting in the corner.

  Nathan.

  He was grinning from ear–to-ear as I approached.

  “You know some might consider this stalking,” I said, wryly.

  “You have forced me to be more creative. And I like to think of it as persistence,” he responded with a cocky smirk.

  I sat down figuring I could spare a few minutes.

  We talked for what I thought was only minutes before I looked at the clock and realized half an hour had passed.

  “Crap! Sorry, I have to run. I’m late.” I tossed my empty cup into the recycling bin and headed for the door. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “Brianna.” He called out.

  “Yes?”

  “I was thinking of having coffee here tomorrow morning, as well. Would you consider that stalking?” he asked tentatively.

  I laughed. “No. But if you are going to be here, I might come a bit earlier so I’m not late for work.”

  His mouth tipped in a crooked grin. “I will see you tomorrow, then.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  Chapter 6

  Just as he’d promised, Nathan met me for coffee the following morning, and every morning the rest of that week as well. He also called every night before I went to bed. The conversation flowed easily, making the hours feel like minutes. And he was right—there was an irrefutable connection between us.

  Everything about him attracted me. Fighting his lure was as useless as trying to defy gravity, and I could no sooner avoid him than I could fly. It wasn’t only his looks, either—even though he was spectacular. He was also old-fashioned, honorable, charming, and thoughtful. But all of that pe
rfection was counterbalanced by an undercurrent of something almost…menacing. Despite the fact my extrasensory perceptions were ineffective with him, I sensed the danger lurking beneath his carefully-controlled, perfectly-polite exterior. Yet, what I felt wasn’t evil. More like darkness, the type of darkness that lingers after a tragedy. He’d seen some battles, of that, I was sure.

  In fact, during some of our discussions, I had the distinct impression the man had been either military, or in some form of law enforcement. Hard to tell for sure, though. He was insanely cryptic, often deliberately obscure, and either avoided certain subjects all together or answered a question with a question. It was a little frustrating sometimes, but who was I to complain? I was definitely editing aspects of my life as well. But really, even simple questions didn’t always get straightforward answers.

  I thought back to one of our nightly phone conversations.

  “You’re amazing. How is it you’ve accomplished so much at such a young age?” I was impressed as he described the obstacles he’d overcome while growing his business.

  “I am a little older than I appear,” he answered, a peculiar tone to his voice.

  “How old are you?”

  “How old do you think I am?” he countered.

  “I thought you were around thirty when I met you, but after your last statement, I am going to guess…thirty-five.”

  “That is a good guess,” he mused.

  “You’re not going to tell me, are you?” I knew my voice sounded petulant, but really, it was a simple question.

  “That is another good assumption.” I got the distinct impression he found the whole exchange entertaining. I could practically hear his smile over the phone.

  “Okay, fine,” I conceded. “I’ll let you keep your secrets for now. Personally, I think you just want to appear mysterious so I’ll like you,” I joked.

  “And is it working?” he asked earnestly. “Do you like me?”

  I sighed, tired of resisting my feelings. For someone who could interpret everyone else’s emotions, renouncing my own was not something I wanted to continue. “Too much, unfortunately,” I whispered.

  “Brianna,”—he exhaled as if he was relieved by the admission—“I am going to attempt this once more.” He paused, seeming uncharacteristically nervous.

  “Attempt what?”

  “Would you like to have dinner with me Saturday night?”

  I hesitated, and a stretch of silence passed until I finally responded. “I’d love to have dinner with you, Nathan.”

  “How is eight o’clock?”

  “That would be great,” I answered. “But I should really say goodnight for now. I have to work in a few hours. For some reason, I always seem to lose track of time when we talk. I’ll see you Saturday.” I sighed, not wanting to hang up.

  “All right, then. I will see you tomorrow. Sweet dreams,” he whispered softly.

  “Sweet dreams.”

  My morning coffees and nightly conversations with Nathan passed quickly; it was the rest of the week that crawled. Civilians tend to think investigative work is as exciting as it looks on television, when, in reality, most of it is unbearably tedious. Morrison and I spent our days re-interviewing acquaintances of the first two victims, trying to determine if either one had a psychic ability—or, according to Morrison, were under the delusion they were psychic. Not one of the people we’d spoken to so far had even hinted toward it.

  It wasn’t until Thursday that we found what we were looking for.

  Charlene Nelson worked with Leslie Harper at the Denver Human Services child welfare division, and they were both child case workers.

  “Okay, Charlene. We’re almost through,” I promised. “You told the other agents that you and Leslie became close friends, is that right?”

  “Yes. Best friends,” she answered shakily, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

  “Was there anything about Leslie that was…different from everyone else?” I asked carefully, not wanting to plant ideas. If she knew anything, she had to tell me without prompting.

  The question caught her by surprise, and had her snapping her head in my direction. “What do you mean?” she asked, but I didn’t sense she was confused by the question. Just stalling to answer. In fact, her emotions were warring within. I couldn’t hear the thoughts behind them, but I felt her sudden urge to reveal something. Yet, at the same time, she felt guilty for wanting to breach a trust.

  “I think you know exactly what I’m asking,” I said, staring steadily into her eyes. “I think there’s a secret you want to tell me, one that you promised Leslie you would never divulge to anyone.” Judging from her spike of anxiety, I knew I’d hit the nail on the head. “Charlene, sometimes it’s the details we think are insignificant that wind up being the most important. I’m sure, under the circumstances, Leslie would understand if you shared her secret.” I placed my hand over hers with silent assurance, and felt the acquiescence settle over her.

  “There was something extraordinary about Leslie, but I don’t think you’ll believe me if I tell you.”

  “Try me.”

  She closed her eyes briefly and blew out a deep, fortifying breath. “I didn’t believe it myself when I saw it, but Leslie had a… talent. She called herself a dream walker. She could enter other people’s dreams.” Her eyes locked onto mine warily, waiting for a negative response.

  “Please, continue.” I maintained the composed and professional mien for anyone watching, but on the inside I was reeling from the announcement.

  “I found out by accident when I was working on a case last year. I was frustrated and depressed, so Leslie took me out for drinks. I told her I was positive a child of a family I was investigating was being abused, but I had no proof. My supervisor was insistent I close out the file. Apparently, the father was pretty important, and exerting a fair amount of political pressure to have my assignment closed. I cried to Leslie because I knew he was abused, but he wouldn’t trust anyone to help him. The kid was terrified and even hinted that his father would never go to jail because he had too many friends.” Her hands were shaking as she retold the story.

  “Anyway, I complained about the system, got drunk, and tried to put it out of my mind. Two days later, I was about to close out the file when it happened. Leslie came to me in a dream and told me the boy would talk to me if I met with him again. When I woke up, I tried to brush it off, but I felt compelled to go to the boy one last time.” She looked up with tears shimmering in her eyes.

  “He told me everything. It had been going on for years, but he was too scared to say anything. I had him safely removed from the home, and placed in a family member’s care. I went to check on him about a month later, and he was so happy—it was fantastic. I asked him why, after all the times I’d spoken to him, he finally decided to tell me the truth. He said he had a dream about one of the case workers in our office. In the dream, she witnessed the abuse he suffered, and convinced him to tell me everything. The next day when I approached him, he was ready to talk.”

  “Did you ever ask Leslie about it?”

  “Yes. At first she brushed it off as just a dream, but when I pressed, her she finally told me the truth. Leslie had an unusual rapport with her kids, and she was always able to get them to open up to her. She admitted to me that she visited them while they were sleeping, an ability she’d had since she was a teenager. She said people couldn’t hide in their dreams. Once she saw what was going on in her kids’ lives and what they feared, she would talk to them, dispel their fears of coming forward, and then suggest they talk to her when she next approached them. They always talked.”

  “Did she somehow control them?” I asked

  She was shaking her head before I finished the question. “No. I thought the same thing. She explained that she merely helped them work through their fears and earned their trust at a time when they were open to her. She said that whether their waking mind was aware or not, they were still talking about their problems and
learning to trust her. Consciously, it was much easier for them to open up afterward. They still had free will to do as they chose.” A wistful smile crossed her lips as she remembered Leslie, then I felt the grief overwhelm her again. “She loved helping k—kids.” The last word broke on a sob.

  “I am sorry for your loss.” I soothed. “And I want you to know that you did the right thing in telling me.”

  She sniffled. “Do you think it will help anything?”

  “Yes. Actually, I do.” I was about to say goodbye when I thought of something else. “Did Leslie tell anyone else about her talent?”

  “Not that I know. She said I was the only person who knew. She had no family, and I was her closest friend. And it’s not the kind of thing you announce at the office.”

  Boy, I understood that. “Thank you Charlene.”

  We drove in silence back to the office. Not in the mood to chat, I’d had a horrible sense of foreboding, and it wasn’t the first time this morning.

  Morrison too, remained uncharacteristically quiet until we reached the office.

  “You have excellent instincts for gaining the witness’ trust.” We sat down at our desks. “I think we may have found our common link between the victims. At least two considered themselves psychic. Now we need to confirm if anyone suspected the same of our first victim.”

  “There isn’t even a small part of you that wonders if it could be true?” After what we’d heard from two witnesses about their gifts, I couldn’t believe Morrison still thought it was just their imagination.

  “No.”

  “How do you explain the incidents that their friends described?”

  “There will be a logical explanation for both.”

  I didn’t press the issue. Who was I to change what he believed, even if it was a narrow-minded perspective.

  For the rest of the day, I couldn’t shake this portentous feeling I’d been having all morning. Not only with this case, but something else... I knew in my gut that something was…off, but I didn’t know what. My instincts were usually attuned these things, so I became restless.

  Panic inexplicably gripped me right before Teresa, my boss’ assistant, poked her head into my office. “Hi, Brianna. Agent Hunter asked me to track you down. He needs to speak with you right away.”