Psycho (and Psychic) Games (The SDF Paranormal Mysteries Book 2)

by Amie Gibbons

  PSYCHO (AND PSYCHIC) GAMES

  A SDF PARANORMAL MYSTERY

  AMIE GIBBONS

  Copyright © 2017 by Amie Gibbons

  Cover design © 2017 Oleg Volk

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2017

  Gremlin Publishing

  Nashville, TN.

  https://authoramiegibbons.wordpress.com/

  For my kitteh

  Because he knows how to calm me down

  And when to let me spaz

  Table of Contents

  Chapter one

  Chapter two

  Chapter three

  Chapter four

  Chapter five

  Chapter six

  Chapter seven

  Chapter eight

  Chapter nine

  Chapter ten

  Chapter eleven

  Chapter twelve

  Chapter thirteen

  Chapter fourteen

  Chapter fifteen

  Chapter sixteen

  Chapter seventeen

  Chapter eighteen

  Chapter nineteen

  Chapter twenty

  Chapter twenty-one

  Chapter one

  “You got anything we can use to nail the queen on the murders yet?” I asked, switchin’ the phone to my left hand so I could dig my ID outta my bag.

  “No,” Len said, his fake Texas accent obvious.

  “Y’all need to get on that. She can’t get away with this. One second.” I finally found my ID and pulled it out, walking over to security to show them. They nodded me through.

  The FBI building in Nashville’s a small one in downtown. We’re technically not an actual branch. Just our one section, the Special Division Force, lives there, and the SDF is semisecret. We’re on the books and all, just records of what we do are kinda… fuzzy.

  When the supernatural’s slow, we handle normal federal crimes, lots of boring drug stuff, and those cases go down in official records normal government types can see.

  “Okay,” I said once I hit the elevator.

  “We don’t have any more proof than when you asked me last night,” Len said. “Or the night before that, or the one before that. Sorry, darling.”

  I sighed as the elevator doors closed in front of me. “Jade orchestrated multiple murders, summoned a demon, and turned one of our people, all so she could get my boyfriend outta her way, and now she’s playing the brave leader, putting things back together after the attacks and getting all the credit for it. And she’s still gunnin’ for my boyfriend. There’s gotta be some evidence of all this somewhere.”

  “Not that Quil can find. And he’s one of the best.”

  “Load of kittens it’s doing for him,” I said as the elevator opened onto our floor.

  “Something set you off, darling?” Len asked.

  I pressed my lips together and growled. “I had a bad dream. Something was huntin’ Quil in the woods and there was this gold light and he disappeared or something. And when I woke up, I tried callin’ him, and he didn’t answer. I know he can’t answer when he’s in meetings and workin’ and stuff, but still.”

  “You know your accent gets thicker when you’re stressed?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  I rolled my eyes as I leaned against the wall next to the elevator. I was actually early on account of not having to grab the coffees anymore. We finally got a coffee and latte maker for the office last week and it was the new probie’s job to clean it and make the coffee every morning.

  “Can dreams be visions, Len?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry, darling, I don’t know,” he said. “Possibly, but you don’t get future ones more than a few minutes anyway, right?”

  “Well, no, but a month ago I’d never had a future one at all. My powers are expanding. I just wish I had…”

  “Milo?”

  “He was gonna help me figure out how to master my powers and… I liked him. He was hilarious and ridiculous and just fun, and now he’s dead cuz of me.”

  “No, he’s dead because a demon was shooting.”

  “Yeah, at me. And last night, in the dream, Quil was distracted cuz he was lookin’ at me. It felt real.”

  “It really freaked you out, didn’t it?”

  “Yeah, and then him not answering and we’re not seeing each other till your reopening tomorrow night… I’m just on edge. I don’t know. I feel off. Like there’s some big dark force, except there’ve been big dark forces before and I didn’t feel any different then, so…”

  “Ariana, take a breath. It was just a dream.”

  “You sure?”

  “No, but I’m trying to make you feel better.”

  I managed a small smile. “Okay, tell Quil to call me when he can, and I’ll see you guys at the reopening tomorrow night.”

  “Yeah, you’re on eight to nine.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Thanks. And try to calm down. It was just a dream.”

  “Thanks, Len,” I said, and we hung up.

  I first met Len last month when I went undercover as a singer to find a serial killer targeting his club. Didn’t know it was a vamp club till I got in there. I met Quil, the investigator for the Nashville nest, and we formed an alliance between the SDF and Nashville vamps.

  Too bad the person behind the whole murder spree was the nest’s queen. And she worked through others without a paper trail, that we could find at least, so she was still at large.

  Apparently just assassinating her wasn’t an option.

  For vamps, they sure had a lot of respect for doing things by the books.

  I walked across the bullpen, noddin’ hello to other agents already busy at their computers. My teammates, Jet and Dan, didn’t even look up, both bent over files at Jet’s desk.

  Our desks are all arranged in big sort of circles in a wide, open room. Our team’s circle is the one furthest away from the door.

  And closet to the coffee.

  I grabbed a mug in the breakroom and drowned it in milk, setting it to steam and pulling out my phone again.

  Nothing from Quil.

  My boyfriend of about a month was an investigator, and also in the queen’s inner circle, kinda like being on a council or board after your day job, so he was always busy, and couldn’t usually pull out his phone while working.

  Still, I’d feel better if I could talk to him.

  I made my latte and hit my desk. Dan barely looked up but Jet gave me a big smile.

  My teammates are a study in contrasts. Jet’s tall and lanky, Dan’s kinda short and all big shoulders, broad chest and muscles. Jet’s somewhere between levels of brown and Dan looks like he only sees sun when he pokes his head out of his computer hole for fresh air. Jet has great fashion sense, always snazzy business casual, and Dan dresses in what my bestie Kat calls Geek Chic, basically jeans and Ts or checkered button-ups.

  Jet’s kind and helpful, always willin’ to go outta his way for a friend.

  Dan’s kind of a jerk… well, more than kind of.

  “Hey, guys,” I said, sitting down. “Where’s Grant?”

  “Right behind you,” a cool voice said.

  I turned, grinning.

  Grant’s the team leader. He’s a big bear of a man with strong features, pouty lips worthy of a woman and ice green eyes.

  And I swear to the Lord, h
e has never worn anything besides black, brown, white and blue since I met him except last month when he was undercover as a server and Len dressed him.

  “We, um, still on Mender’s drug case, General?” I asked.

  It’d been a slow month. Mix not a lot of casework with the paperwork we had to do when we had time and the strong Southern heat, and it’d felt like most days wouldn’t end.

  Of course, me waitin’ on the queen to pull something while the vamps were sleeping may have had something to do with that.

  “They are.” Grant pointed at Jet and Dan, jerking his head and holding up a folder. “You’re with me.”

  I grabbed my latte and followed him to the elevator. “What are we on, sir?”

  “The director,” he said, hitting the button, “has volunteered you to interview JB Trunk.”

  “Why do I know that name? Wait, the Puzzle Master?” I asked.

  We got into the elevator and he took a deep breath. “The one and only.”

  The serial killer was caught nearly two years ago, but he’d been at large across the South for at least five years. The papers dubbed him the Puzzle Master because he would lock his victims up with mental challenges and games, and watch on camera.

  He got cocky and started putting stuff online, even livestreaming, and that’s how the FBI caught him down in Atlanta.

  He costarred in a few of the videos, playing with his captives.

  He was found guilty of over a dozen murders, but they were speculating he had at least another six.

  He was on death row, but he’d be filing appeals for the next ten years, workin’ the system as only a psychopath trying to avoid the death penalty can.

  Grant scowled. “His lawyer tried to get life in prison for telling where he buried the bodies and who all of them were, but the DA didn’t bite. She wanted a needle in his arm and I can’t blame her for it. But they’ve been questioning him for months and he’s not telling.”

  “So why bring him here now?”

  Grant handed me the folder. “They found another body.”

  He hit the button to halt the elevator.

  “I don’t understand.” I opened the folder. “He’s been in jail for like two years.”

  There were crime scene photos of a normal enough bedroom. Little bare to believe somebody lived there, but it had all the basics.

  A girl lay on the bed.

  “Is she dead or sleeping, sir? Cuz she looks pretty rosy.”

  “She’s dead, and the M.E. there can’t tell when she died because she was embalmed.”

  “Ewwwwww.” I flipped through the photos. All of the dead girl and a rundown looking farmhouse.

  “Why do they think it was him?” I asked.

  “He embalmed his last victim, and there’s the camera and what looks like the set up to puzzles. What worries us is the locals are pretty sure the house hasn’t been abandoned for two years.”

  “We thinkin’ copycat or coincidence, sir?”

  “Or accomplice.”

  My mouth fell open. “No way.”

  “Yes. We need to find out if he had an accomplice or if this is a copycat.”

  “Shouldn’t we just go there to check out the scene?”

  He shook his head. “It was processed a month ago by local LEOs. Took this long to form the possible link to Truck.”

  “Where was it?”

  “Some middle of nowhere town in northern New York.”

  “Didn’t he operate in the South?”

  “Doesn’t mean he couldn’t have gone up there.”

  “But you don’t think so?”

  He took a breath. “No, I don’t.”

  “So what happened?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “What do you think happened, sir?”

  “I don’t want to influence you.”

  “It’s not like me havin’ a preconception is gonna make me have a fake vision, sir. What do you think?”

  He looked down at me, expression as blank as ever. “I think it was the classic master and apprentice. Master gets hauled in, apprentice takes up the mantel.”

  A chill ran down my spine as I flipped through the reports.

  “How many houses does this guy have?” I asked.

  “He has used half a dozen that we know of,” Grant said.

  “Is his family rich or something?”

  “No. Owns a farm about forty miles east of here. Rural middle class.”

  “Even if he took over houses, like killed the owners, it looks like he uses a lot of stuff.”

  “He does.”

  “Where are the reports on the people who owned the houses?”

  “There are none.”

  I paused on the last tax return and looked up. “I don’t get it.”

  “There are no reports of those owners being killed.”

  “So he bought them or borrowed them when people were on vacation or something? Must’ve borrowed. There’s no record of extra income. His job was good, but some of this… especially the hotel rooms… and if he bought houses, I mean, there’s no way he did all this on his income.”

  Grant nodded. “I agree. The alterations to the houses are professional.”

  “That means contractors. But I’m guessin’ none were ever found.”

  “No.”

  “Something’s seriously fishy here, sir,” I said.

  “It gets worse,” he said.

  I looked up.

  “The houses,” he said. “Six of them, only one of which he owned.”

  “So who owned the others?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “The records for the last twenty years have disappeared.”

  “For real estate?” I asked. “Not possible.”

  “And yet.”

  “There are agents on it, right?”

  He gave me a look.

  “Okay, duh, of course there are. But still, this is sooooo fishy. I can’t even imagine what could do that. I mean…” I shook my head.

  “Three goals, Ryder. Figure out if he has an accomplice,” Grant said. “Who and where the unfound victims are. And how the hell he pulled this all off. If it’s money, where did it come from? If it’s not, what it is?”

  “What do you think it is, sir? Some secret source of income or a rich partner? Crap! You think it’s a rich partner.”

  He met my eyes and said very softly, “I. Don’t. Know. Ryder. No trace like this? That’s not just money, that’s power. Connections.”

  “So the director decided to bring in me,” I said once it was clear he was done.

  You don’t interrupt Grant; it’s just not a good idea.

  “You’re the psychic.” He hit the button to make the elevator go again.

  That was it?

  I shouldn’t have been surprised. Grant plays things close to the vest.

  “Sir?” I said as the doors swished open.

  “This isn’t Silence of the Lambs,” he said as we walked out. “Truck isn’t a genius who will tie you in knots, but he does play mind games with his interrogators, and I don’t want you to have to see what’s in his head.”

  “I can take it.”

  He looked down at me. “I know you can.”

  The director walked out of her office with an older gentleman as we hit the door to interrogation.

  What, were they watching on camera or something? What were the odds?

  “Director Foster,” I said, my nervous smile blossoming like the roses outside. And it’d take more than plant killer to wipe it off.

  Since I was about to talk to a serial killer, I was pretty sure it was stickin’ around for the day.

  “We’ll get you set up in the interrogation room,” the director said in a kind tone that couldn’t have been more fake if it was made of silicone. “Then we’ll bring Truck in.”

  I couldn’t think of anything adult to say, and the, “Super,” on the tip of my tongue wasn’t allowed out, so I just nodded.

  “Agent Ryder,” the director said,
stepping outta the way, “this is Senator Charleston.”

  Who was… oh, right, he was the senator workin’ a deal with the vamps.

  “Ohhhhh, yeah, hi.” I shook his hand and he smiled.

  “I’ve heard great things about you,” he said.

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, just went golfing with your daddy last weekend.”

  My jaw dropped. “You know my daddy?”

  “Yeah, I’m helping him with his campaign. It’s Alabama, so I can’t really help like if it was in state, but I’m giving him information, tips, that sort of thing. An ex-Marine like that is exactly who we want on the Hill.”

  “There’s no such thing as an ex-Marine.” I tugged to get my hand back.

  Grant gave me a look.

  What?

  My eyes flew wide and I jerked, lookin’ back at the senator.

  I didn’t get my First Impression.

  Whenever I touch someone for the first time, I get the First Impression. It’s the most important moment in their life, a huge life changing event, that sort of thing.

  And I always get one.

  “I’m sorry, Senator, have we met?” I asked.

  He smiled. “I don’t think so.”

  Here’s the thing about me, everything I think shows on my face. I’m like a cartoon. So he could read my face as easily as I could read most people’s pasts.

  “I may also know a certain gentleman with a fake Texas accent and a very big mouth. No offense, young lady, but I know too much to have anyone seeing into my head.”

  My jaw dropped again. “Gris-gris?”

  A gris-gris is voodoo magic. It’s used to block psychics in the vicinity, and we’re plum useless for hours if we touch one… or smell it. Last month, we found out our lab tech was a double agent. He had a gris-gris on him and used it to block me without me ever knowin’ cuz I’d just smell it, think it was cologne, and be affected.

  The senator tapped his nose.

  “Is there a place around here to get stuff like that?” I asked. “Quil said he had to order one from outta state.”

  “New age shop in East Nashville just opened up this week. It’s called Summer Solstice. Guess what day it opened. It’s mostly for hipsters and wiccans, but the witch who runs it is the real deal.”