It took her too long to learn her lesson. Right before graduation, she had talked to her father about her fear—had even shared her suspicion that it was a curse. She told him she was afraid to be happy that things were going so well. Agents had already contacted her, wanting to represent her. She hadn’t told anyone, because she was afraid something would happen to them.
He had laughed and told her not to be afraid. He encouraged her to enjoy this part of her life and said that whatever Fate had in store for anyone, she couldn’t change it, especially just by being happy. He told her the universe wasn’t cruel and to lay down her fear.
She had bragged to her friends after that. Not about the offers, but about him. What a wonderful father he was. How supportive. How he believed in her ability to make it as a singer.
The entire month before graduation, she wouldn’t shut up about him. She told all her friends how much they were going to love him and how great he was and didn’t they wish they had a father like hers.
She hadn’t sung a note since her final performance in college. Not at birthdays, not lullabies to her nieces, not even alone in the shower.
She had thought her family was in the audience. They hadn’t even made it to the state.
Jazz had never admitted that she loved anyone out loud again. She was cautious every time she was with the people she cared about, trying to hide how she felt. Trying to stifle her feelings.
It was suffocating.
Now she was wondering if other people were falling to her curse. She hadn’t said anything about how happy she was for Elsa and Dante when they found each other, but she’d thrown that party. In her heart, she’d known it was to celebrate them getting together.
She’d worked with Dante behind Elsa’s back to help him set up a life for himself, knowing her best friend wouldn’t be able to relax and really enjoy being with him until she knew Dante was self-sufficient.
Then Michael happened.
What if it had somehow been Jazz’s fault? She’d had way more than her share of bad luck in her life, and was convinced there were powers working behind the scenes—scales that insisted on being balanced, energies that influenced the course of human events. Beyond the obvious, mundane precipitator—Jazz was the one who had fucking introduced Michael to everyone.
Goddammit, Jazz. Get your head out of your ass and back in the game.
She could feel sorry for herself later. Finn needed her now.
Michael had lived outside of town in a small house built near the edge of swampland. Jazz hadn’t been back since Rachel’s rescue. Thinking about that night was just what Jazz needed to renew her focus.
Michael’s house was haunted with her own memories. She would keep Finn away from the garage—that was certain. Even still, how could they sort through Michael’s memories safely? She didn’t want to see Finn get lost in a vision again, especially now that they knew Michael had killed Finn’s sister.
Jazz was tempted to call Rachel and ask for help. If Siobhan was hanging around and somehow messing with Finn’s powers, Rachel would be able to help them figure out what they needed to do. Siobhan could just tell her.
But Rachel was dealing with her own issues. Jazz had to try to sort this out herself first. She didn’t want to drag Rachel into it. Not unless it became absolutely necessary. They would try Michael’s house first and see what they could find.
Jazz turned onto the gravel driveway, her lights flashing across the windows of Michael’s brown and tan single-story house.
“We’re here.”
Chapter Ten
The house looked ordinary. Finn could hardly believe so many terrible things had happened inside. At the same time, he could feel a chilling energy creeping out from it, even from inside the SUV. Jazz had her door open already, letting in the muggy night air.
“You ready for this?” Jazz asked.
“Yeah. I think so.” He reached for her hand on instinct. Having her near him… Well, he wasn’t sure how well he’d be coping without her.
She pulled away. It was standard procedure for her, but every time it felt like she kicked him in the chest.
“Cut me some slack,” he said. “I wasn’t trying to start something.”
Not this time, anyway.
That moment in the hallway had been intense. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from reaching for her. And yeah, it was instinct again that made him want to hold her hand, to touch her. It wouldn’t have escalated, though. Probably.
“That isn’t why…” She sighed and slid from her seat, her boots crunching as she hit the gravel. She slammed the door shut.
That was not-so-standard.
He followed her out, closing his door a bit more gently. He was walking on her heels. When she stopped abruptly, he almost ran into her.
“I was trying to protect you, you ass,” she said. “I didn’t want you to be flooded with my thoughts.”
“Oh.”
Damn. That was the first time he could remember her unloading on him like that. Now that he knew why she pulled back, it was well deserved.
He’d always felt alone in their fights, like he was talking to a wall. She never yelled back. She always stayed so calm. It made him wonder if she cared about him at all. Eventually, he’d start shouting, trying to be heard. They always ended up in bed, his last resort to establish some form of connection.
“It’s okay if you touch me,” he said. “I still can’t read you, even with my powers messing up.”
“Oh.”
He shook his head and smiled. “Didn’t you notice before when we made out in the hallway?”
“I wasn’t thinking then.” She was quiet for a moment, then said, “Wipe that grin off your face.”
“How do you know I’m grinning? It’s pitch black out here.”
“I don’t need to see you to know you’re smiling.”
“I guess you just have that effect on me.”
Her breath hitched and she turned away, walking toward the house fast enough that he had to trot to catch up. What had he stepped in this time? Talking to her had often been challenging, but this was like walking through a minefield. She hadn’t been volatile before.
She had actually once told him, “I suck at talking. Can’t we just have sex instead?”
It had sounded great at the time. With how anxious he was, it sounded great at the moment too. It had always comforted him, made him feel grounded.
Remembering their time in bed wasn’t a good way to keep his focus, especially with the recent reminder of how well they fit together. Talk about losing control. But in that moment, when she asked what he needed, all he could think about was being closer to her, holding her.
She had always been the one person that he could touch without worrying about reading her thoughts. Now she was the only person he knew he wouldn’t lose himself in.
At least, not his mind. His heart was another matter.
She pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight as they walked to the side of the house. Windows lined a door tucked behind some bougainvilleas. One of the panes had been broken out and was taped over.
“I don’t suppose you brought along your gloves?” Jazz asked.
“They’re back home on the kitchen table.”
“Forget it,” she said. “I’ve got this.”
She hit the tape with her elbow a couple of times until it gave way, then snaked her arm through the gap and opened the door. Holding her phone up, she led the way into the house. The door opened into a narrow laundry room.
“Is the AC on?”
The house felt at least twenty degrees cooler than outside. The night air was stagnant and oppressively hot, even in the pre-dawn hours they were approaching. The house was an ice box in comparison.
“I don’t know. I think they shut off the utilities, so probably not.” She r
an her light over the washer and dryer. “It is cold in here.”
Cold and creepy as hell. Finn’s skin was crawling and he hadn’t even touched anything.
“Tell me again how this is less visceral than reading the walls of the gallery?”
“I’m not going to have you read the garage or anything.”
“The garage?”
Jazz was silent for a moment. “That’s where he kept them.”
“Oh.” Finn had never been able to see past the workbenches in his dreams. Shelves and tables blocked his view.
He shivered, walking a little closer as they made their way into the kitchen. A small square table was tucked against a wall. Two chairs. Michael must not have entertained often. The counters were mostly bare.
“Maybe we should start in here.” Jazz moved the light over the cabinets and counters. “I don’t know where he kept his empty jars. Let’s avoid the cabinets.”
Jars? Oh right. To hold the blood. Finn would avoid the cabinets unless absolutely necessary.
“How about the table?” he asked.
She turned around and flashed the light across its surface. It seemed innocuous enough. Then again, the whole house did. On the surface, anyway. The longer he was in the dwelling, the more he sensed the malice lurking there, as if it had soaked into the walls, the ceiling, the floors.
“That’s a good idea. Rachel said Michael brought her here after a date to capture her. He might have sat with his other victims before…” Jazz shook her head and stepped closer to him. “Maybe start with the chairs?”
“Okay.” Finn scooted one of the chairs away from the table with his foot. Jazz grabbed his arm before he could sit down.
“Don’t sit. I’ll need to be able to break your contact if something goes wrong. It’ll be easier if you’re standing.”
He hesitated, wanting to keep feeling her hand on his arm, the softness of her touch. He loved having her with him, knowing she was thinking about him, that she cared what happened.
That was as far as they’d ever gone conversationally. She admitted she cared about him.
Now is not the time, Finn.
He tried to keep things light. He laughed and said, “Easier for you, maybe. My knee still hurts from the gallery.”
Her voice softened. “I didn’t know it was you.”
“It’s okay. I’m glad you didn’t forget everything I taught you. That was a pretty good takedown.”
She hadn’t wanted to learn self-defense at all. She said words were her best weapon and that she always had her phone handy for calling the police. He had kept after her about it. She worked such late hours at the gallery—usually alone, on the nights he wasn’t with her.
When she’d asked him to hang around more, acting as her bodyguard, she could tell it set him off. They never talked about it, but he thought maybe she had agreed to the lessons to sort of make it up to him.
Acting as her bodyguard was another form of working for her. He didn’t mind playing the part on occasion, but he wasn’t interested in her being his boss. That was another reason he didn’t want her helping him. She’d take over, ordering him around, running everything.
Yeah, he was proud and didn’t like asking for help. He knew that. But he especially didn’t like asking for help from someone he saw as a partner but who treated him like a minion.
And on that cheery note…
He turned back to the chair.
The wood was old and the paint worn and peeling. Finn would have thought someone who called themselves a painter would be more particular about that. Then again, when Finn thought about what Michael used for paint… Definitely a good thing the chairs hadn’t been redone.
Get it over with.
He grabbed the back of the chair with one hand, keeping his weight a little off-balance. If Jazz needed to push him loose, it would help her out.
The room lightened as if the sun was rising in fast-forward. Illuminated, it looked less creepy and more normal. Homey, even. The eerie atmosphere was gone.
Finn didn’t feel like he was floating. Instead, he was sitting at the table across from Michael.
Finn felt his hands curl into fists. He wanted to punch Michael in the face. Wanted to make him hurt for all the pain he had heaped on others.
This is the bastard who killed my sister. I’ll never get a chance to know her because of him.
Michael was smiling as he leaned back in his chair and spoke. “This next piece will be spectacular. Not one, but two subjects. I don’t know why I didn’t think to try this sooner.”
He was staring at the ceiling, a dreamy look on his face. He interlaced his fingers and put his hands behind his head, stretching out his legs. He looked relaxed. As if he hadn’t a care in the world.
“The canvas is prepared. I just need to gather the materials. They’re already selected. Both subjects are friends of the gallery owner. I’m hoping to be able to display the piece in an exhibit there. Can you imagine?”
Michael laughed. He actually laughed.
Sick psychopathic bastard…
“She keeps me on my toes, that one. Always trying to see through me. It’s too bad she’s not a match for my needs. Perhaps someday I’ll expand my subject matter and the little gallery owner can grace her own wall.”
Michael’s gaze became unfocused as he stared at the ceiling again, casually contemplating killing Jazz.
Finn wanted to leap across the table and—
“Stop looking at me like that.”
He felt a chill sweep through him. Holy shit. Michael couldn’t see Finn, right? Now that he knew time travel was possible, he wasn’t as sure.
“Pig! Stop looking at me.”
Finn’s gaze dropped, as if he had lowered his head to look at the floor. Except he wasn’t looking at the floor. He was looking at somebody’s lap.
“Did you take care of it?” Michael asked.
Finn’s view bobbed up and down, as if he was seeing through someone else’s perspective and they were nodding. At least he was holding on to his sense of self. Whoever this was, Finn was just along for the ride.
Michael nodded. “Good. The alligators near Auntie’s house are getting fat helping us clean up after my work. I hope they’re hungry for what’s next.”
Alligators…
Finn felt sick. He wanted to leave the memory, but couldn’t. Michael stood and walked to the sink. Whoever Finn was seeing through watched out of the corner of his eye. When Michael turned back, the person quickly looked back at their lap.
While Finn was stuck there, he might as well do some good. He looked for details that might help him ID the person he was occupying.
The man’s hands were bony, calloused and leathery—and curled into tight fists. His arms were emaciated. Judging by the length of his legs, he was pushing six-feet in height. His pants ballooned around his body. He couldn’t weigh more than one-hundred-thirty, one-hundred-forty pounds. Tan skin. Mud stains on worn boots. A bit of sphagnum moss stuck to the side.
Michael walked back to the table.
“Poor piggy. Are you hungry too?”
Finn felt the man’s chest catch, saw his fists tighten further. He looked up, but before he could say anything, Michael’s lips pulled back in a snarl and he flat-out punched the guy. The blow sent him reeling, the room spinning in Finn’s view until his face hit the floor.
“Finn!”
Finn sucked in a huge breath. He felt like he was drowning. The cold linoleum pressed against his cheek. Warmer hands were on his shoulders.
Jazz helped him sit up, pulling him against her chest and wrapping her arms around him. Finn’s body was shaking violently. But it was his body. He’d made it back.
“That was so not-okay.” His teeth were chattering and he felt…weird. Oddly disconnected. He focused on the soft feel of Jazz’s b
ody behind his, closing his eyes and trying to take deep breaths. Something thick and wet was interfering.
“You’re bleeding.”
“What?”
He lifted his hand to his nose. When he pulled it away, he could see red on his fingertips from the dim light of her phone, which was sitting on the floor next to them.
“I must have hit my head when I fell.”
“You didn’t. I caught you. Well, I tried to anyway. You’re heavy.”
Finn let out a chuckle. It sounded a little hysterical to him. Nothing felt real.
Auntie’s house…
“What do you know about Michael’s family?” he asked.
“Nothing. We didn’t talk about anything but art and the gallery.”
“But you knew his body was cremated.”
“Rachel told me.”
If Michael had any family, they probably weren’t too eager to come forward and claim his remains. The state would have taken care of the matter. But just because no family came forward, that didn’t mean they didn’t exist.
He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his nose, then picked up her phone and stood. He ran the light over the floor, table, and chair to make sure he hadn’t bled anywhere. They needed to leave behind as little evidence of their visit as possible.
Jazz rose and crossed her arms, glaring at him. “What did you see?”
No way was he filling her in on all the details. He still felt half-sick from what he had learned, what he knew in his gut to be true. He stuck with the basics. What she needed to know.
And that knowledge was chilling.
“Michael has a cousin who helped him. He wasn’t working alone.”
Chapter Eleven
Jazz couldn’t believe that Michael had an accomplice. Someone who had taken part in his crimes was walking around free. That part of this awful situation was supposed to be over. Justice had been served. Right?
Lingering Touch: The Summer Park Psychics, Book 3 Page 9