by Blake Pierce
Because he was the one who had been skimming stock out of the store. He was the one who had taken the phones.
Laura didn’t have any time to mess around. If he was the killer, then he could be going off and finding his next victim as soon as his shift ended. She needed to move things along, right now. If anyone asked how she guessed it, she could just say that his nervous behavior had made her suspicious and she’d taken a gamble.
“You took the phones, didn’t you?” she said, looking him directly in the eye as she said it.
Behind her, she heard Nate and Fred turning to look. She heard Fred expressing some kind of noise of disbelief, but she didn’t turn or look away. She held the kid’s gaze, watching as he tried to open his mouth to deny it. As he saw deep in her eyes that she knew, and she wasn’t going to be misled. As he realized that he was now in trouble with not just his father, but the FBI.
And she was watching when he turned on his heels and ran.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Laura set out at a run herself, hampered by having to go around the side of the counter first. The kid was already dashing headlong through the store, his sneakers squeaking on the floor as he hurled himself around the corner toward the door. His father gave a single shout, but the kid didn’t respond or look back.
Laura swore mentally, hearing Nate react behind her as well. The kid was fast. He was tall and lanky, and that went in his favor. He was already out the door as Laura turned the corner after him, knocking a few bags of chips to the floor as she took it too fast.
She took the force of the door swinging closed on her forearms as she shoved through it, reversing the momentum. The kid was running through the parking lot, in what seemed like a straight line. Laura kept after him, but she could see it was almost pointless. He was opening the distance between them inch by inch. She pushed her straining muscles harder, trying to force them to a faster rhythm.
Behind her, she was aware of Nate’s footsteps—but they peeled off, going in a different direction. She hoped he had some idea that would help. She could only stay on the kid, keep him in her sights. She had no hope for anything more than that. If she could just have a vision now—if it would just come—if it would tell her where he was going so that she could cut him off—
But there was nothing she could do. Running like this, focusing all of her attention on catching him, she didn’t have the mental space to focus down on each of her senses. And besides, what could she touch? When she had gone after the kidnapper, it had been her hand on the grip of her gun that had triggered it. Now, she had no idea what would set her vision off.
She reached for the gun at her hip, losing a precious second of pace as she twisted to touch it. But there was no tricking the visions. She knew she was never going to pull the gun on this kid, not unless he was armed himself. That wasn’t protocol. She had no proof that he was a killer—only a suspicion that he was a petty thief.
The kid vaulted a low wall at the edge of the parking lot and ran between two buildings ahead, a warehouse and what looked like some kind of entertainment center—Laura didn’t have enough time to take it in. She saw the thin strip of alleyway between them with diminishing hope. It was dark on the other side. If she didn’t catch him here, she would have no way of seeing where he had gone.
She put on one last desperate, hopeless lunge of speed as he reached the end of the alley, knowing as she did that it was pointless. She was going to lose him. He would be out of her reach—they’d have to set up some kind of manhunt—have to track his phone or go to his regular haunts—
And the car screeched around the corner, flashing out in front of the mouth of the alley so quickly that Laura could barely process it.
The kid bounced off the side of the car and hit the concrete, going down hard. The door was flung open even as Laura breathlessly closed the distance down, and Nate got out from behind the wheel—dragging a pair of handcuffs off his belt as he did so.
“Kid, what’s your name?” he asked, as Laura panted to a stop beside them. They both looked down at him. He appeared physically fine, though too scared or winded to move.
“Hunter Mason,” he said, breathing hard himself.
“Hunter Mason,” Nate said, “you’re under arrest for theft.”
Laura caught her breath as Nate read Hunter his Miranda rights, wondering if that was the only charge they would be adding to his rap sheet this evening.
She could only hope there would be one more: murder.
***
“You okay to go in?”
Laura turned to see Nate coming toward her, a slim file in his hand. It didn’t contain much: just the details of the phones that had been taken, including their activation and deactivation dates and times, as well as the printed records from the store. They’d brought the kid back to the precinct, where he was currently sitting under the watchful eye of a deputy in an interview room.
“Yeah.” Laura threw back the last of her coffee and dumped the empty cup into the bin. “I’m ready.” She had recovered from her earlier exertions, and the coffee had helped her to stave off both the tiredness and the small headache from her vision. It was no substitute for real sleep, but for now, it would have to do. It was getting on toward midnight, but if this was their killer, they would soon be able to get back to a bed somewhere.
“Usual approach?” Nate asked.
“Usual approach,” Laura confirmed with a smile. “Go ahead, Bad Cop.”
She followed Nate into the room, the heavy door snapping shut behind them with a ring of finality. Hunter was slumped over in his chair, his thin shoulder blades seeming almost to stick out from his body through his thin store uniform shirt. He looked like he hadn’t yet finished growing into his lankiness, like he still needed to finish filling out.
He looked up with alarm as they entered, though he didn’t change his posture. He didn’t say a thing, just swallowed.
“My dad said I should wait until I have a lawyer,” he said immediately, his eyes wide and shining as Laura took a seat opposite him. Nate was slower to join her, slapping the file down on the table in front of his chair first.
“Sure, we can wait for a lawyer to get here,” she said. “You’re entitled to that. Unless you just want to speed things up and tell us why you committed these murders right off the bat.”
It would almost have been funny, the way his eyes widened even further, his face turning into a comic book expression of shock. It would have been, except for the two dead women—and the third that Laura had glimpsed in her vision.
“What the fuck?” he burst out, shaking his head rapidly. “Murder? I—I don’t have anything to do with any murders. What are you talking about?”
“You want to play innocent?” Nate asked, his voice a deep rumble beside her. He slid into it so easily: the menacing, angry, vengeful man. A perfect foil to her helpful, innocent woman act. “We can do it that way. It will just take longer. You’re going to tell us the truth, one way or another.”
“No, I’m serious—I thought this was about stolen phones.” He looked even more panicked than before, his head snapping from side to side as he looked at the pair of them. His hands were gesturing wide on the table, his face pale and drained. “You never said anything about a murder!”
“Why did you think we might be looking into the phones in the first place, Hunter?” Laura asked. She kept her voice calm and controlled in comparison, with just a hint of accusation. Enough to keep him thinking that she and Nate had all the power—and that they weren’t going to believe his lies. Not enough to make it seem like she wasn’t trying to help.
“I…” Hunter hesitated. He seemed to search the tabletop for something, before looking up at her again with a pained expression. “I thought it was just about the weed.”
Laura exchanged a glance with Nate. He had a cunning curve to his lips, as if he was amused by the story Hunter was giving them. “What weed, Hunter?” Laura asked.
“I…” Hunter struggled, looki
ng down again. The muscles of his jaw clenched and moved as he fought with his inner impulses. “I stole the phones, okay? I did. I just—I don’t have anything to do with any murder. I swear!”
“Why did you take the phones?” Laura asked patiently. They were getting somewhere here, she knew. She believed the kid. He was nervous enough, frantic enough. It didn’t look like he was acting. But she also didn’t like the direction this was going—because she was starting to believe that he was innocent.
“I’ve been dealing pot on the side,” he said, examining his own hands as he said it. His face was flushed beet red, and his eyes were welling up with liquid, but he managed to keep his voice steady. “Just bringing in a little bit of extra cash so I could get a new car. That’s all. I used the prepaid phones to talk to buyers. That’s why I’ve been taking them.”
Laura shifted in her seat and glanced at the file, a silent signal to Nate.
“If that’s the case,” he said, taking his cue as he pulled out the phone records they had been able to gather, “then why were these phones turned on, activated, and used to make only one call—both of them right before the murder of a local woman?”
Hunter shook his head from side to side. “I don’t know, man,” he said. “I took more phones than I needed. I… I keep them with my stash. Maybe I lost one or two of them somewhere. I don’t know.”
“We’re going to need something a lot more convincing than maybe, Hunter,” Nate threatened. But Laura knew it was no good. The kid was telling the truth. He really had no idea.
He was probably high at some point and left the phones somewhere. She wouldn’t put it past him. Or maybe a wily client had pickpocketed him, only to wind up with phones rather than pot. Figuring out what exactly had happened to them could turn out to be impossible—and it would take precious time.
Time they didn’t have. Because the killer was still out there—and that meant that, even now, he might be going after the woman Laura had seen.
Laura stood up from her chair, nodding silently to Nate as she did so. He returned the nod, with only the slightest twitch to his eyes to indicate that anything was amiss. He was probably itching to ask her where she was going. But he wasn’t going to show in front of Hunter that he wasn’t in control of the situation. He wasn’t going to show a shred of weakness. Always better for the suspect to think that the agents had a whole routine worked out between them, a routine he wasn’t privy to.
Laura left the room without saying another word. As she left, she heard Nate asking the question again—for Hunter to back up his story. Telling him to focus.
As soon as the door was closed behind her, Laura broke into a run down the corridor. She was done playing games. They were wasting their time with Hunter. The kid had no idea about anything. And Laura knew the killer was out there tonight. She knew. She’d seen it.
The only thing she could do now to save that woman was to see it again—and clearer this time.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Laura barged through the door into their investigation room and shut it firmly behind her, walking over to the computer with determination. Within a few clicks, she brought up the recording file and pressed play, turning the volume up. She pushed her hand flat against the speaker without sitting down, feeling the vibrations through her hand. She breathed deep. She was going to do this. She was going to trigger the vision, if she had to sit here all night and play this damn recording over and over again. Even if she had to contend with Nate trying to get her taken off the case and committed for obsessive behavior. She was going to have a vision, no matter what.
It was, paradoxically, sweet relief when the stabbing pain in her forehead began. It was as sharp as a red-hot blade, branding into her skin. Laura was sure that if she reached up and touched her head, she would feel blood running down. Or at least some kind of—
She was above them again. The woman, fighting for her life. Yes. Laura knew it was the same scene that she had visited before, but this time it was stronger. Clearer. So much more real, she could almost taste the air.
The woman was there, and Laura felt the vision moving in toward her face. She was choking, turning red, her eyes beginning to bulge out with the stress of the strangulation. Her hands were clawing at her neck so viciously that she scratched a line in the skin of her own face on the way down.
There was a piece of fabric around her neck. A familiar pattern. A dish towel, Laura thought. Yes—they were in a kitchen. The white, shiny surface next to them was a fridge. The murder would happen in the kitchen.
All right, she thought. Now show me more. Show me more!
But all she could do was stay frozen in place, right above the woman’s face. Everything around her was fuzzy, some of it dark, some of it completely blank. All Laura knew for certain was the woman’s face, and the towel around her neck. Her dark eyes were huge with fear, bulging with the strain to breathe. Laura watched as the woman kicked out with her legs, her upper body bucking in reaction, how she reached out and attempted to scratch at the person holding the towel. It made no difference.
Laura wanted to reach out, to stop this. She wanted to grapple with the killer for the woman’s sake, to save her life. She struggled desperately to do so, even though she had no arms to reach with here. No physical presence to fight with. She was only an observer, floating above it all, not even able to control where she looked.
She watched as the woman lost her battle. As she slipped lower and lower toward the floor, unable to lift herself up. As her eyes rolled back in her head. As she convulsed, the last desperate attempt of the body to gain air for use in the lungs. Then she stopped moving at all, and for a long moment the killer continued to hold her, long past the point that the body could still survive.
Laura opened her eyes, gasping for breath. She tore her hand away from the speaker as if it was burning hot, and closed out the recording before she heard one more moment of it. She sank down into the chair waiting behind her, no longer trusting her legs to keep her standing.
It wasn’t just the shock. The pain and terror of seeing that happen in front of her eyes. It was the pain in her head, washing over her now in terrible waves. The vision she had seen—it had been one of the most powerful she’d had in a long while, despite the edges being so fuzzy.
And it had been one of the most terrible for a long while, too. The visceral nature of it, the way it had been so detailed and close. She couldn’t stop seeing the woman’s eyes, straining and bulging for air, desperate and afraid. Laura closed her own eyes to hold the tears in, trying to keep control.
There had been something else, too. That same déjà vu washing over her. The feeling that she had been there before, and not just in the sense of having seen the same vision in a more fragmented way earlier. No, something about the setting, the woman. Even though most of the room was obscured from her, Laura felt as though it was somewhere she had been before.
But they were still in Albany. And Laura still hadn’t been to this city in her life until now. None of it made any sense.
And when it came down to it, what had she seen? Laura knew the woman by sight now, but that wasn’t useful at all. The power of the headache told her that what she had seen was happening imminently. It could be happening right at this moment. That meant there was no time to save the woman. It would have been difficult even if Laura knew who she was, where she lived. And she hadn’t seen the killer. Not even his hands, which were behind the woman’s neck as he pulled the dish towel tight. Her own dish towel, no doubt.
It gave her nothing to go on. She’d gone through all of that, forced herself to watch, triggered this horrible pain, and for nothing.
Her eyes flew open when the door did, jolting her out of her own thoughts as she attempted to plaster on a blank expression. It was pointless. Even the motion of lifting her head like that sent dizzy waves of pain through her.
“What was that?” Nate demanded, entering the room and walking right up to her. “You just walked out on me.”
“I’m sorry,” Laura said, nursing her head. “I… I just. I don’t know. I just had this migraine or something come on.”
“Are you all right?” Nate asked, squinting at her. A look of concern fell over his face, transforming him from the man who could easily come across as the Bad Cop to a worried friend. He squatted down beside her chair so he could look up into her face. “You’re very pale. And you’re sweating. Are you coming down with the flu or something?”
“I, um.” Laura shook her head. The pain that flowed through her immediately took away her reasoning for a moment. “I don’t know. I just got… ha. I don’t know. Maybe it’s an overnight thing.”
“You’ve been peaky the whole day,” Nate said, worry creasing a deep frown between his eyes. “At the kidnapping, too. I thought you were just exhausted from the chase, but—you haven’t been well for a while.”
“No, no, it’s just been tiredness, like you said,” Laura replied, waving her hand. She forced herself to smile and to hold her head upright, even though the throbbing was making her feel sick. “Honestly. I’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.”
“We going to the motel?” Nate asked. “I know I’d do good on a couple hours’ more sleep, at least.”
“Yeah, good idea,” Laura said. But even as she agreed and stood up, reaching for her jacket, she had no faith that she would be getting her head down tonight.
She only had a short while to wait before someone found the body of the dead woman and called it in. Enough time to dose up on painkillers, and not much more, she would bet. Neither of them would be getting much rest.
And with the face of the dying woman replaying behind her eyelids at every step she took, Laura knew she wasn’t going to be able to rest properly at all until she caught this killer.