Lingering Touch: The Summer Park Psychics, Book 3

by Cassandra Chandler

  Rachel was trying to say something, but only little coughing sounds came out. If her throat was as tight as Jazz’s, it was no wonder.

  No more talking. No more thinking. Just this offer of comfort.

  She knelt next to Rachel and pulled her into a hug. Rachel buried her face in Jazz’s hair and hugged her back, hard.

  Jazz pulled away and sniffed. “You need me—you need anything—you call. Understand?”

  Rachel nodded.

  “Okay.” Jazz put her hands on Rachel’s cheeks and kissed her forehead as she stood. They both needed time and space to collect themselves, to give the emotions and memories they had stirred up a chance to settle. “Give Garrett my regards. And be sure to lock the door after me.”

  Rachel nodded. She didn’t walk Jazz to the door. It was probably for the best.

  Chapter Two

  Finn splashed cold water on his face, hoping it would chase off the aftereffects of his latest nightmare. It didn’t.

  He dried off, then chucked the towel on a pile of dirty clothes. He needed to do laundry, but hadn’t been able to motivate himself to do much of anything lately. Dad was stuck doing all the dishes and Daphne was cooking for them both. Finn needed to get this under control.

  Letting out a snort, he shook his head. Nothing was under control.

  He ran his fingers through the tangled mess of his hair and it stayed standing on end. He needed a shower. Dammit, he was going to shower. And get dressed. And leave the apartment. Today.

  “Finn! Get in here.”

  After he found out what Dad needed.

  “Coming.”

  In his thirties, and his dad still shouted for him like he was a kid. Finn shook his head as he headed for the kitchen.

  Dad was sitting at the table, a grim expression deepening the lines on his face where time had left its mark. His hair was almost entirely gray, though it had once been dark brown. He was chewing on his lower lip. The upper was hidden beneath a full mustache.

  “What’s up?”

  Finn was already in the room when he noticed Daphne leaning against the counter. Her dark curls hung loose around her shoulders and she stared at him with warm brown eyes. She was already dressed for working the bar downstairs—jeans and a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

  Finn was in his boxer-briefs.

  “Dad, warn me next time.”

  “It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before. Sit down.”

  Finn paused, already halfway back out of the room. He looked at their faces again. Very unhappy. Nervous.

  “What is this, an intervention?” Finn laughed.

  Neither of them smiled.

  “Something like that,” Dad said. “Sit down. Please.”

  If he hadn’t added that “please” at the end, Finn might have balked. But the strain on their faces was too much for him to walk away from. He sat across from his dad.

  “What’s going on?”

  “That’s what we’d like to know,” Dad said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Dad tapped his finger on the table. “You aren’t taking cases. You’re not looking after yourself.”

  Finn shook his head and started to rise. He did not have it in him to deal with this right now. Dad reached for his hand, but Finn jerked it away. It was too dangerous for them to touch at the moment. The last thing Dad needed was to see the messed-up thoughts in Finn’s head. Since they shared the same psychic abilities, Dad would be able to read Finn in a heartbeat.

  “Son, I know you’re still having nightmares.”

  “Yeah, so you know it’s not a good idea to touch me right now.”

  “Tommy.” Daphne’s quiet voice cut into the conversation, reminding them that they had an audience and shouldn’t just let each other have it.

  Dad leaned back and took a deep breath. “I’m not trying to read you. Yet. But I’m getting close.”

  He didn’t need to see the nightmares that were plaguing Finn or feel the hopelessness that grew every day. He wasn’t sure his dad’s heart could take it. If they touched, Finn wouldn’t be able to hide the darkness he was struggling with. He wouldn’t burden his dad with that knowledge. Not when they’d almost lost him a few months ago.

  Anyway, whatever this was, it would pass. It had to.

  He thought about the nightmares—of the woman chained to the wall and being tortured. The woman whose awareness Finn shared during his dreams. He felt every shuddering breath, every stab of the needle. He could feel death surrounding him. Every night, he saw her killer’s face.

  It was too late for Finn to go after the guy. The serial killer known as Michael Angelo had not only been caught but killed. That case was solved, but not closed. Not for Finn. He had no idea why this one victim’s memories were so firmly implanted in his mind. He didn’t even know who she was.

  On good days, when he felt like he might be able to accomplish something, he tried to find out more. He was amazed at how little media coverage there had been after Michael’s murders were discovered. Usually, serial killers were all over the papers, reporters swarming the story and splashing it on every TV screen they could reach. Not even the local media had run with the story. It had been buried.

  Finn had learned more from Garrett, who had been at the scene when the cops arrived. Elsa and Rachel, two of Garrett’s other friends, had both been targeted by the killer. Bad move on his part. The pair had teamed up and taken him down—permanently.

  Good for them.

  They both had considerable resources. Elsa could probably buy and sell Dad’s bar a dozen times over. Rachel was both rich and the daughter of a powerful lawyer. The papers weren’t shy about her dad’s upcoming political campaign. In a town as small as Summer Park, the local papers couldn’t afford to piss him off by plastering pictures of his daughter next to a serial killer.

  Garrett was torn up over the whole thing and sketchy on the details. Finn knew that Dante, the guy Garrett had originally thought was a threat to Elsa, had been hurt pretty bad. Finn had cleared Dante as a suspect when Garrett first became aware that someone was after Elsa.

  Finn’s investigation had revealed that he and his dad weren’t the only people in Summer Park with special gifts. Summer Park was a happening place for psychics.

  Garrett was supporting Elsa as best he could, and now that Dante was in his good graces, Garrett would do everything in his power to help. From the sound of things, his friend Rachel needed him too. So Finn would get by on his own.

  He wouldn’t call, even to check in. Garrett knew Finn too well and would be able to tell that something was wrong. It would have been great to have Garrett to talk to, though. Finn missed him.

  Garrett had a tight circle of friends who all supported each other. Finn was more like a satellite on the periphery. He would have loved the chance to join their club, but since he and Jazz split, that wasn’t an option anymore. It never really had been.

  He couldn’t believe how much it still hurt that she didn’t want to include him in her life anywhere outside the bedroom or Dad’s bar. Finn had been in the same room as Elsa, but never been introduced. He’d never laid eyes on Rachel. Garrett didn’t know Finn and Jazz had been a couple. She had insisted on secrecy.

  Finn had offered her everything he had, everything he was. She hadn’t wanted to be seen in public with him. Not as a couple, anyway.

  In private, though… He could feel the warmth she kept locked away. Her smiles would make him forget whatever had been bothering him. Her touch had ruined him for other women, and not just because she was the only person he’d ever met that he couldn’t read.

  “Finn?”

  Dad’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Dammit, it was so hard to focus.

  “I didn’t say anything when you buried yourself in your work or when you dropped most of your friends excep
t Garrett. But you’re not even hanging out with him now. You don’t talk to Daphne. Or to me.”

  “Dad—”

  “You’re isolating yourself. It’s not healthy. You wake up screaming every night and drag around here all day. You haven’t been right for years. You’ve been living like a monk ever since—”

  “Not everything is about Jazz, okay!”

  Finn picked up the salt shaker on the table and chucked it at the wall across the room. It embedded itself in the cheap plaster. Daphne gasped and stepped away from the counter, as if she was concerned Finn wasn’t done with his tantrum.

  Shit.

  Finn took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He covered his eyes with one hand as he tried to get control of himself.

  Nothing was in control.

  Dropping his hand, he said, “I’m sorry. Look, I’ll fix it later. Today.” He was going to get a handle on this, dammit.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Daphne said.

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I know,” she said. “But I will.”

  “If you don’t want to talk to us, fine,” Dad said. “But you need to talk to someone. Call Garrett.”

  Finn was glad that was the name Dad had chosen. Usually when Finn was in a funk, Dad bugged him to call Jazz and see if he could patch things up. Beg her to come back to him. If only Dad knew—Finn was the one who had broken things off. Still, he doubted she’d be coming back any time soon. Or ever.

  For some reason, Dad never urged Finn to move on. It was like he knew that wasn’t an option.

  Three years. Three years and Finn thought about her every damned day. When he wasn’t thinking about the woman from his nightmares.

  Finn had seen a news story about Michael Angelo the day after he’d been killed. The details were sketchy, but Michael’s picture was in a little box on the screen as the reporter spoke.

  “A serial killer who went by the name of Michael Angelo was caught and killed yesterday evening. Police are investigating several missing persons cases that may be related…”

  Finn was shocked to recognize the killer from his nightmares. It didn’t take long for him to realize he was the creepy blond guy that had been stalking Elsa. Maybe it was the readings he did trying to track Michael down, but something about the guy had made it under Finn’s skin.

  Even Finn’s powers had gone crazy. When Finn tried to read objects, he saw the memories attached to them as if he was the person involved—not as a detached observer. It was visceral, like he was there in that moment.

  Touching someone to read their thoughts was even worse. The only way he’d made it out of their heads was when they jerked away, looking at him like he was nuts.

  He had to get his powers back under control. Otherwise, he really would have to become a monk. Being around people was too dangerous.

  Finn stood and started toward his room. Daphne stepped in front of him.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “Out.”

  He had a sudden urge to do something, to get out of the house, to leave. It was overwhelming.

  The nightmares were tied to one of Michael Angelo’s victims. Finn was sure of it. He had to figure out why she was haunting his dreams. To do that, he needed to find out more about who she was and what had happened. He looked back at Dad.

  “I do have a case,” Finn said.

  And it started with Michael Angelo. That was Finn’s only lead.

  Chapter Three

  The gallery had been her life for almost a decade. Now, Jazz could barely stand the thought of stepping inside. It had been rough after breaking up with Finn, with so many memories of the two of them together when no one else was around. That was nothing compared to this.

  To hell with it. This was her gallery.

  She unlocked the door and stalked inside, heading for the alcove that hid the alarm panel. She keyed in the code to shut it off—Finn’s birthday. She should really change it, but that would mean letting go of one more part of him. At least she could keep this little piece in her life.

  Ugh. Maudlin thoughts.

  “Enough!” She actually waved her arm in the air to cut herself off.

  Great. Now she was talking to herself.

  She flipped on the lights for the foyer, then pulled her sweater over her head and walked to the front door to lock it. The white T-shirt she wore reflected from the glass.

  She was trying to put on a show of having her shit together. Same black leather pants as always, matching boots up to her knees, the V-neck shirt, minimal make-up, and the same attitude. She wanted her friends to know they could count on her.

  They didn’t really seem to need much help anymore. That left her alone with her thoughts, which would not shut the hell up.

  Peering out at the dark street gave her the creeps, especially after her conversation with Rachel. Jazz already believed ghosts walked among the living. Hearing Rachel’s firsthand account of encountering them—knowing they were everywhere—that was a bit much.

  Not the ghost I was looking for, though.

  But that was a good thing. Her father had crossed over. Chloe told Jazz during their first séance. It had taken a while for Jazz to accept it, but after all these years, she was glad. She believed he was in a happier place.

  Her eyes filled with tears again. She was sick of it. People were counting on her, people she had already let down. She had to find a way to make it up to them.

  Rachel was staying with Garrett. That was a huge blessing. Elsa had the necklace that would protect her during her travels. Dante was in good spirits, considering…

  Jazz clenched her eyes shut and turned back toward the gallery. She didn’t want to remember seeing him with his face covered in bandages. She really didn’t want to remember what he had looked like when the EMTs had taken him away.

  She had been so proud of Dante. So happy for him and Elsa and the life they were about to start together. A life Jazz had helped them create.

  A wave of anxiety rippled through her. She had wanted Elsa happy. Wanted her to find love. That was part of what had blinded Jazz to Michael in the first place. Setting him up on a date with Elsa had been the first mistake—the one that let him into their inner circle.

  How much had she talked Elsa up to Michael? What had Jazz said to Dante? She couldn’t remember. But if she had been too ebullient in her praise, too obviously affectionate in her own feelings toward her best friend…

  This could all be her fucking curse again.

  Every fortune-teller Jazz had ever been to had given her the same reading. No matter what divination method they used, the message was always, “You are an implement of Fate.” They said Jazz would play a vital role in facilitating the fates of the people in her life, helping them on the paths to their destinies.

  She wished they had warned her about how dark those destinies could be.

  Jazz had thought the readings were weird and amusing the first few times she visited psychics, until Fate struck her down over and over again—any time she bragged too much about someone she loved. And the stronger her emotion was, the worse the consequences would be.

  It would have been easier to handle if Jazz was the one who bore the brunt of it, but the curse targeted the object of her affection. Whenever she was too happy and let anyone know, whoever she loved most paid the price.

  At least this time no one had died. Well, no one who didn’t deserve it.

  Her friends didn’t deserve what had happened to them, though. They were good people. They shouldn’t be suffering.

  Even doped up on medicines, Dante seemed to sense Jazz’s distress and tried to ease her conscience, making jokes and pleasant conversation. It only made her feel worse.

  She was used to his mask. The Phantom one was her favorite. The first time she saw his scars, she hadn’t reacted
well. He’d caught her off-guard, and she had already been worried about Elsa at the time.

  What would he look like when the bandages came off?

  “Goddammit, Jazz,” she said. “Get it together.”

  He would still be gorgeous. He would still be Dante.

  Watching Elsa dote on him earlier that afternoon should have been hilarious—like Winston’s running commentary while he made everyone dinner. How could they laugh so soon? Jazz was still raw, especially after visiting them. She practically vibrated with the need to do something.

  God, she missed Finn. If they had still been a couple, going back to his place would have been the first order of business. Or heading to the office in the gallery. She needed an outlet for her frustrations. Finn had always been so great about that, sensing when she’d had enough with talking and thinking and needed to just feel—even if he obviously had more he wanted to say.

  And you wonder why he bailed.

  She would be grateful to have him as a friend at this point. He was the only person she ever felt she could talk to. She gave Rachel orders, teased Elsa, chatted with Garrett, but only really talked to Finn. He knew her plans for the gallery, everything she hoped to accomplish with it.

  She wanted to build up her business so that she could become an integral part of the community, could change Summer Park for the better. Hell, she had even shared her dreams for retirement—filling her twilight years with travel and new experiences.

  If they were still hanging out, she could ask him for another self-defense lesson just to have someone to wail on. He’d encouraged her to let herself go as much as she wanted. He told her he could take whatever she dished out.

  Apparently not. It didn’t take long for him to decide he didn’t want her in his life at all.

  She was supposed to be over him by now. Dammit, she was over him. She had moved on.

  She threw her sweater down on the bench seat near the door, then headed for Dante’s exhibit room. Looking at his paintings would help clear her head and calm her. It might help her feel less alone.