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PROLOGUE
“ANOTHER SODA AND LIME. Easy on the lime this time.”
The bartender pursed her lips and gave him a pitying look. She obviously thought he was a recovering alcoholic, desperately clinging to sobriety by his fingernails.
He was nothing of the sort. He just needed to keep his wits about him.
Zachary looked up at the bar’s mirrored backdrop where he could see dozens of people shoehorned into this popular downtown watering hole. There was only one who interested him, though.
Pretty, strawberry-blond Amanda Robinson sat in a corner booth. Late twenties, medium height, and a smile that lit up the room. She was surrounded by friends, three women and two men, who obviously adored her. They were finishing their third round of drinks. As always, Amanda had an apple martini and gave her dark-haired friend the toothpick-impaled cherries.
Zachary checked the time; 9:45 P.M. The group, many of whom worked at the same insurance company as Amanda, started making noises about it being a “school night.” Pretty Amanda picked up her phone and opened an app that bathed her face in a soft blue glow.
That was his cue. Zachary threw a twenty onto the bar and walked outside. The sidewalks on University Avenue were much less crowded than they’d been a couple of hours before. He rounded the corner and found his car on the lonely side street. He unlocked the trunk, pulled out a large magnetic Vroom ride-share sign, and slapped it onto the passenger-side door. He climbed inside, started the car, and circled around the block.
He smiled as he saw Pretty Amanda outside the bar. She and her friends were now talking on the sidewalk. He powered down the passenger-side window as he rolled up to the group.
“Amanda Robinson?” he shouted to the group.
“That’s me!” she shouted.
After a few good-byes and quick hugs, Pretty Amanda hopped into the back seat. She pulled the door closed behind her.
“So…” he said, pretending to study his phone. “We’re going to Rillington Drive?”
“Yes,” she said absently. She was already engrossed in her own phone, scrolling through emails.
Perfect.
“This won’t take long.” Zachary power-locked the car doors as a shiver of excitement tore through him. “I promise, Amanda. This won’t take long at all.”
CHAPTER
1
KENDRA MICHAELS STUDIED THE nine-year-old boy in the wheelchair.
Just as his file had stated, Ryan Walker was unresponsive. Disengaged, borderline catatonic. He’d been that way since suffering head and spine injuries in the same boating accident that had killed his father.
It had been nine months, and although there was some hope that he might one day walk again, doctors were less sure about his cognitive ability. He hadn’t spoken since the accident, and doctors disagreed whether the principal cause was psychological or physiological.
Kendra knew she was a port of last resort for Ryan’s harried mother, Janice. The poor woman had been trying to find answers for her son at the same time she was grieving for her husband. She’d been advised to consult a music therapist after Ryan had supposedly shown a slight response to a few television commercial jingles. It was a phenomenon Kendra had so far been unable to reproduce in her studio.
Janice Walker was watching from behind a one-way glass on the studio’s far side, and Kendra could almost feel her despair.
Kendra studied the boy’s unresponsive eyes. Let me in, Ryan. You’ll be safe here.
She walked across the room to the keyboard. Her studio was a large carpeted room twenty-five by fifteen feet, filled with an assortment of musical instruments: a keyboard, a drum set, and an array of woodwinds. She’d played some recordings and live guitar pieces for Ryan, but those elicited no response.
Maybe the keyboard would work better.
She sat down and turned on the console. “Okay, Ryan. Here’s something I think you’ll like. Your mom tells me you like Kiss. You’re a Paul Stanley fan, right?”
No response.
Kendra started playing “I Love It Loud” using her keyboard to emulate the band’s hard-driving sound.
Still nothing.
But then, there was … something.
A slight furrowing of the brow.
A pull on the right corner of his mouth.
But that was all.
Kendra finished the song without any further response from Ryan. “Did you like that one?”
No reaction.
She stood. “Well, that’s enough for today. We’ll listen to more music the next time you’re here, okay?”
The door to the observation room opened, and Janice Walker stood smiling with excitement in the doorway. “Did you see that?”
Kendra glanced down at Ryan. “Let’s talk in there.”
Kendra ushered Janice back into the observation room and closed the door behind them.
“That was progress, right?” Janice asked.
“Maybe. I’ve had clients make facial expressions like that when they pass gas. Or when they’re hungry. Or for a dozen other reasons.”
“I know my son. He was reacting to the music.”
Kendra thought so too, but it was always better to keep parents’ expectations in check. “I hope you’re right.”
“I am right. Where do we go from here?”
“We keep working at it. In some people, music is the crowbar that opens the outside world to them. It helps them make connections that no other kind of communication can. Those small connections can lead to bigger connections. That’s the goal anyway.”
“Can we come back tomorrow?”
Janice was anxious, like a starving person who had been tossed a bread crumb. Not that Kendra could blame her. Her response would have been the same if Ryan had been her son.
“We should wait a couple days. It helps to give the brain time to process between sessions.”
Janice nodded, but she couldn’t hide her disappointment. “I know. It’s just … This is the first time I’ve seen him respond to anything since…” Her voice trailed off. “I want it so much.”
Kendra reached out and squeezed Janice’s arm. “I know. If this is the crowbar that will work for Ryan, I promise I’ll find the right way to use it. I’ll call you every day, and we’ll talk and search for that way. We just need to be patient. Okay?”
She nodded, still staring at her son on the other side of the one-way glass. “It’s hard to be patient.” She tried to smile. “But I believe you’re doing everything you can for him. And I know you have other clients. A couple of them came in here while you were working with Ryan.”
Kendra wrinkled her brow. “Really?”
“Yes. They came in through the other door, the one that leads out to the hallway.”
“Ryan’s my last appointment of the day. Are you sure…?”
�
��Well, they said they were here to see you. I just assumed … It was a man and a woman, both well-dressed. They said they’d come back later.”
Kendra wasn’t sure she liked this. She had an idea who it might be, but she hoped she was wrong.
“Is everything all right?” Janice asked.
“Yes. Fine. Nothing to worry about. I’m sure they’ll be back soon.”
* * *
“SOON” WAS ONLY FIVE minutes after Ryan and Janice left, when FBI Special Agent Roland Metcalf entered her studio. He was a tall, good-looking man in his mid-twenties and he possessed a self-effacing sense of humor that she’d always found refreshing for a man in his profession. Kendra had known him for a couple of years and today he was with a young woman she had never met. The woman was tall, attractive, fit-looking, with sleek brown hair and a completely professional demeanor.
“Sorry to barge in on you at work, Kendra.” He motioned to the woman at his side. “This is Special Agent Gina Carson. She just transferred in from the Chicago office.”
Kendra adjusted the stacks of sheet music she’d picked up. “Hello.”
Gina nodded her greeting with obvious uneasiness. She clearly wasn’t sure why they were there.
Metcalf was strolling around the studio. “You know, I’ve never seen this place. I’ve always wanted to see what you do.”
“Well, it seems you did that today. I heard you let yourself in the observation room while I was working with my last client.”
Metcalf nodded. “Sorry about that. The main entrance was locked.”
“I didn’t want to be disturbed.”
Metcalf quickly caught the nuance in her tone. “We didn’t want that either. That’s why we left.”
“But you came back,” she said without expression.
“Come on, Kendra. You have to know why I’m here.”
“I have a pretty good idea.” She continued to tidy the sheet music. “Doesn’t mean that I like it.”
Metcalf frowned as he waited for her to finish.
She let him wait.
After another moment he said, “Three murders, Kendra. Three murders in the last eight days, all within a couple of miles of here.”
She didn’t look up. “Three? I thought it was just two.”
“A third popped up this morning. We’re on our way to the crime scene now. San Diego PD has been handling the cases, but the FBI has just joined the investigation. My boss wants you to join us.”
“Fortunately, Special Agent in Charge Griffin isn’t my boss. Therefore I get to politely decline.”
Gina moved toward the exit. “Then thanks for your time.”
Metcalf held his ground. “Hold on, Carson.” He smiled at Kendra. “I need a few more minutes to appeal to Kendra’s sense of civic duty.”
Metcalf’s partner was clearly annoyed as she stepped back toward him. “You didn’t tell me she was a music therapist when you said you wanted to stop here.”
“It wasn’t relevant to our investigation.”
“I’m thinking she’s not relevant to our investigation.”
Kendra’s lips quirked. “You heard the lady, Metcalf. I’m not relevant.”
“We’re wasting time,” Gina said. “You asked and she answered. She said she’s not interested. Are we working this case or not?”
Kendra was getting more annoyed at this foul-tempered woman than she was at Metcalf. Her eyes narrowed on the agent’s tight mouth and annoyed expression. She found herself suddenly feeling protective of Metcalf, not that he needed anyone’s protection. She liked the guy and it irked her that this agent would speak to him with such a total lack of respect.
Metcalf, perhaps sensing Kendra’s reaction, suddenly snapped at Gina. “Cool your jets, Carson. Griffin wants an extra set of eyes on that crime scene. Her eyes.”
“I’m still missing something,” Gina said sourly. “On our way here, didn’t you tell me she used to be blind?”
“Yes,” Kendra answered for him. “For the first twenty years of my life. An experimental surgical procedure gave me my sight.”
Gina clicked her tongue. “So now you have super vision or something?”
“Not at all,” Kendra said. “I’m sure my eyesight is no better than yours.”
Gina turned back to Metcalf. “Then would you like to tell me why we’re here groveling to a music therapist to help us on a murder investigation?”
Metcalf was obviously losing patience. “I don’t grovel, Carson. I ask politely, because that’s what the Bureau does when they go hat in hand trying to get help keeping a serial killer from claiming other victims. You obviously haven’t spent much time reading our case files since you transferred down. If you had, you would have seen that Kendra has helped crack over a dozen cases in the past few years. Many of those would’ve gone unsolved if she hadn’t stepped in.”
Gina was slightly taken aback by the attack. “And how, exactly, has she been of—”
“I don’t take anything I see for granted,” Kendra interrupted. God, she got tired of going through explanations. Particularly to arrogant agents like Carson. “When I got my sight, I got into the habit of identifying and mentally cataloging everything that passed in front of my eyes, just to make my way in a world that was totally new to me.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Gina said skeptically.
“That isn’t the half of it,” Metcalf said. “Like most blind people, Kendra had already developed her other senses to help her get by. Hearing, smell, touch, taste … She’s held onto those skills, too.”
Gina still seemed unsure. “Huh. Interesting.”
Kendra shrugged. “Most investigators only go by what they see. They’re missing well over half the story.”
She could almost see Gina’s hackles rise at her words. “Have you had any law enforcement training?”
“No. It’s nothing I’ve ever had any interest in.”
“No, you’d rather play with your instruments or try to impress agents like Metcalf here. Believe it or not, we’re actually trained observers,” Gina said. “It’s a big part of our jobs. I appreciate that you’ve assisted my colleagues, Dr. Michaels, but I really don’t see how you could be of any help in a case that is shaping up to be—”
“You want to show her?” Metcalf was smiling at Kendra.
“Not really.”
Gina was frowning as she looked from one to the other of them. “Show me what?”
“Come on, Kendra,” Metcalf murmured, his eyes twinkling. “She annoyed the hell out of you, and you’re no angel. You know you want to do it.”
She had annoyed her, but she’d been trying to ignore it.
“I’d rather not.”
“Please. You’re not the only one who took flack.”
Kendra sighed. He was right, she was definitely no angel. It had been a rough day and Gina Carson had rubbed her the wrong way. “If I do this, will you leave?”
Metcalf laughed. “We’ll think about leaving.”
“Bastard.” She turned toward Gina and looked her up and down.”
Gina shifted uneasily. “What the hell is going on?”
“You used to smoke,” Kendra said. “But then you quit for a while. Maybe a long while. But you recently started again.”
Gina cursed. “You can smell smoke on me?”
“No.” Kendra walked toward a cabinet with her sheet music. “But it’s only natural for someone who’s been under the kind of stress you have been under.”
“What stress?”
“Moving, for one. You’ve lived in Chicago for most, if not all, of your life. Your parents are from there and probably their parents before them. It’s also stressful getting out of a long-term relationship. You recently broke up with your boyfriend or girlfriend. Is that what prompted the move?”
Gina stared at her for a long moment. “Boyfriend. Matt. After seven years. But that wasn’t the only reason.”
“In any case, you’re still living out of a hotel while you get your
own place. You’re looking to buy, not rent. For now, you’re staying at the Pacific. I hear it’s nice.”
Gina glanced at Metcalf accusingly. “Someone told her.”
“Don’t look at me,” he said. “And I’m sure she didn’t even know you existed until five minutes ago.”
“I didn’t,” Kendra said. “But I know you drove here from Chicago even though the FBI provides you with a company car. Maybe you did it because you wanted to bring a car of your own here, but I’m thinking it was because it was the best way to bring your pet. A parakeet?”
Gina’s expression was becoming more stunned by the moment. “Cockatiel.”
“A very loved and spoiled little bird,” Kendra said.
“Extremely,” Gina said weakly.
“You like seventies rock and Starbucks. You may cook, but you’re also partial to Papa John’s Pizza. And you’re a tennis fan, aren’t you?”
Gina appeared to be dazed. “Yes.”
Kendra turned to Metcalf. “Satisfied?”
His smile was still brimming with mischief. “Come on, you’re not gonna tell her who her first grade teacher was?”
“Mrs. McAlister. She had a mole on her left cheek.”
His jaw dropped. “What in…”
“I’m joking.” She turned back to Gina. “But it would’ve been awesome if I was right about that one, huh?”
She was silent and then said grudgingly, “It’s still pretty awesome. Who the hell told you all this stuff?”
Kendra shrugged. “You did, in the first thirty seconds you were here.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
“Doubt all you please. It’s true.”
Gina was suddenly looking uncomfortable. “Okay, what about the smoking? I’ve been trying to hide it from my new coworkers. It shows a lack of self-discipline.”
“For what it’s worth, I can’t smell smoke on you at all. But I can tell you’ve been chewing Nicorette gum. Cinnamon Surge flavor. It’s on your breath.”
Gina rolled her eyes. “I was trying to decide between that and Fruit Chill.”
“White Ice Mint may be their least distinctive flavor.”
“I’ll take your word for that,” Gina said grimly.
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