Tuesday's Child BK 1

by Dale Mayer

  A tall, rugged man got out, removed his sunglasses, and tossed them on the dash. He appeared vaguely familiar, yet she couldn't place him. Using the one gift that she'd come to accept, Sam assessed the waves of determination pouring from his shoulders. This man was nobody's fool. And he wanted something from her.

  Moses growled again.

  That face. The lock of brown hair falling down on one side, piercing eyes and a 'take no prisoner' attitude, dressed in denim. He was a cop. Recognition flickered. He was the man she'd almost run into at the police station. Curiosity and fear mingled. What could he want? Her stomach acid bubbled as tension knotted her spine. She chewed her fingernail as his six-foot frame climbed the stairs.

  The heavy pounding on the other side of her head startled her. She cursed silently, but with full force, letting it bounce around inside her mind. She wiped her moist palms on her jeans, and opened the door.

  "Yes?"

  His brow furrowed. "Samantha Blair?

  She frowned. "Maybe. Who's asking?"

  An odd light shone deep in his Lake Tahoe blue eyes. "Detective Brandt Sutherland, at your service, ma'am."

  "Your badge, please," she said.

  His eyebrow quirked, still he didn't say anything. He reached into a back pocket and withdrew it for her.

  Sam plucked it from his fingers. She read the number on it several times, committing it to memory.

  He reached for the badge. "Satisfied?"

  Sam handed it back to him. "Maybe. What can I do for you?"

  Tucking his badge away, he stared at her, an odd glint in his eye. "You spoke with Detective Kevin Bresson at the station this morning, correct?"

  Nerves knotted her stomach tighter, pulling down the corner of her mouth. Sam frowned at him. What was he up to? "Yes. You saw me there." Her stomach heaved. "What's this about?"

  He shifted his weight. Why? He didn't seem the type to feel discomfort about much in life.

  "May I come in?"

  She considered his request for a long moment before opening the door wide.

  Moses followed, staying close to her side, and nudged her leg. She dropped her hand to his head, reassured by his warm presence. "Good boy, Moses."

  Big brown eyes laughed up at her, his tongue lolling to one side.

  "Moses, is that his name?"

  Sam nodded slowly, studying this lean muscular male, hands fisted on his hips, as he watched her. Raw sex appeal oozed naturally from his very presence. She frowned. He was too damn appealing. She didn't like that. Cops were not her favorite people. Sexy ones definitely didn't make her list.

  Glancing around the small living space, she realized she didn't know what to do. She'd never had any company here before. Did a police visit count as company? Did she sit down with him? Offer him a cup of tea or what? Awkward – and hating the uncertainty – she repeated abruptly, "What do you want?"

  He surveyed the simple living room, walked over to an old sofa, and stopped. "May I sit down?"

  With a new perspective, Sam saw the threadbare furniture for what it was – shabby signs of dire poverty. It wouldn't have mattered any other time – after all, she lived it. She didn't understand why it mattered now. "Sure."

  She sat on the couch opposite, trying to understand why he intrigued her. He glowed – with life, with health. He had so much vitality that everything around him paled by comparison. His energy was a beacon she couldn't help but find attractive – the lure of warmth and strength, something she'd experienced little in life. He dwarfed everything in the small open room. Sam felt tiny, insignificant against his more dynamic presence.

  He reached across and placed his huge hand over hers.

  Sam froze. His touch burned into her icy hands. Heat flared. So did confusion. Attraction. Hatred. Pain. Heat. Everything rolled together. Her gaze flew up to meet his.

  He squeezed her fingers. Only then did she notice she'd been twisting her fingers around and around in a nervous pattern. A habit she'd tried to break for years. She yanked both hands back and tucked them under her thighs, leaning back. Heat still pulsed inside her veins. Heat she wanted to nestle closer to, yet couldn't explain why. Or didn't dare try. Nervous energy bubbled up. She clamped down hard and forced her errant muscles into stillness. Sam waited for him to speak.

  "Are you okay?"

  She jerked her head up and down.

  "Good. Then let's go over the statement you gave Detective Bresson."

  "Why? He didn't believe me."

  "But maybe I will," he countered. "So, please, from the beginning."

  The beginning. She cast a careful eye over him.

  He prompted. "You said you woke up inside a woman's body as she was being murdered?"

  Oh, that beginning. Relief blossomed, and she settled back into the couch. Slowly, succinctly, she explained her story again.

  "Any idea if his ring had real diamonds in it?"

  She glanced at him in surprise. "No. I wouldn't know the difference."

  "Could you see the woman's hair?"

  "This one had long brown hair. I think it had a slight curl to it."

  He raised an eyebrow at her and pursed his lips. "Curly?"

  Sam swallowed hard several times, overwhelmed with the memory. Soft and feathery, the dead woman's beautiful curls had stroked against her neck with every twist and turn of her head as she fought for her life.

  Locking down her grief and stiffening her spine, Sam explained. "I could feel it curling around my neck."

  The look on his face eased.

  Sam had no idea if he believed her or not.

  "Can you tell me anything about his height, the clothes he wore, the type of mask he had on...anything?"

  His mask. Shivers raced down her spine. The madness in those eyes – those glowing orbs still made her nightmares hell. Green neon had shone with joy at the pain he had inflicted.

  Sam could hardly speak. Her voice hoarse from unshed tears, she explained what little she'd seen, and the impression the killer had left on her. She hunched her shoulders against the lingering horror, hating the power the memories held over her.

  He asked a few more questions. She slid into monosyllabic answers, wishing he'd finish and leave.

  Finally, he snapped his notebook closed and tucked it into his shirt pocket. "Thanks." He stood and walked to the door, and turned back to face her, pulling out a business card.

  "I don't know if I believe you or if what you've given us even helps, but I appreciate you having come in to share your information. If you think of anything else, please let me know." He nodded politely and walked out.

  Now that he appeared ready to leave, Sam's emotions scattered. She didn't know what to make of him. His presence confused her. Interested her. Intrigued her. Memories dictated that she should be angry, scared even. But she was none of those.

  Sam trailed him onto the porch. The detective hopped into his truck and drove off. He never looked back.

  Sam stayed, bemused, until his truck bounced and shuddered out of sight. For the first time in years, a faint hope came into being. Maybe something could be done after all.

  "And just what the hell was that all about, Moses?"

  His heavy tail brushed over the wooden planks. Not much of an answer, still it was the only one she was going to get. She headed back inside, Moses at her heels. A chill settled into the room – or maybe it was into her soul.

  She wandered around the now seemingly overlarge, empty space...lonely space. The ancient floors creaked under every step in a rhythm that was almost comforting.

  The detective probably considered her a suspect by now and if not he would soon. That's how they worked. The police were suspicious of anyone odd. She knew that. She'd come under their scrutiny more than once. But especially from one detective.

  Her thoughts blackened at the reminder. That man had been out to get her, and she'd only been trying to help. Damn him.

  Even if this detective did put her on his suspect list, she had no one to blam
e but herself. She'd known it was likely to happen. Still, she'd had to do something. Those women had no one else.

  A shiver of apprehension raised goose bumps on her arms. The last thing Sam wanted was to have her life examined under a microscope. She avoided people because she couldn't stand their questions. And sooner or later, everyone asked questions.

  ***

  5:19 pm

  Brandt grinned at his mother's antics. He'd stopped in at her self-contained unit in the seniors' complex, for coffee and to apologize for canceling out on lunch tomorrow. It didn't take more than a few minutes to realize that some things never change.

  A beautiful young woman, Lisa, knocked on the door not five minutes after he arrived. Maisy wasted no time inviting her in to meet Brandt.

  An obvious setup, yet no different from what his mother put him through on a regular basis in her quest to see him married. Not that old age had crept into her bones, nor had her health deteriorated. Still, she sought grandkids in the worst way. And she had no compunction about using underhanded methods in achieving these goals.

  Studying Lisa more closely, he could see the classical beauty his mother would think appropriate. Baby blue eyes with a guileless innocence, long straight blond hair and a slim, but curvy shape. And none of it mattered to him.

  All he could see were Sam's haunting eyes. He had no idea if Sam's body curved or bumped. He knew she had a slight build and that she didn't eat enough. With her oversized sweater on, not much else showed. He didn't quite know how he felt about this interest, but was willing to see where it went.

  He understood that his 'type' was fluid and fluctuated on impulse. He considered that normal. That didn't mean he chose to go out with all of the women who appeared on his radar.

  "Brandt. Brandt?"

  Brandt focused on his mother and smiled sheepishly. Her knowing smirk immediately put him on his guard. With a sinking feeling, he realized he'd been staring at Lisa too long. He groaned softly. Maisy's smirk widened.

  "Now Brandt, I know she's adorable. Do try to concentrate, dear."

  He rolled his eyes and stood up. "I'm sorry, ladies. You'll have to excuse me. It's time for me to head out."

  "Oh, no," Maisy cried out. "You never stay for a real visit. Won't you stay for dinner at least?"

  Trust her to ignore the fact that he'd been here for dinner just a couple days ago. Today, he'd come straight from Samantha's hideaway, needing a touch of normalcy after seeing her. Only to realize that he preferred Sam to the Lisas of the world. How contrary could he be?

  He excused himself from dinner and said his good-byes. The sky had clouded over giving an unusual darkness to the horizon. Once in his truck, his mind immediately returned to the tiny woman with a huge impact. Sam and that overgrown mutt, Moses, had chosen a singular existence out in the middle of nowhere. The dog had been protective when Brandt first arrived. After a once-over he'd gone and lain down. A guard dog would never have done that.

  Pulling off to the side of the road, he called into the office for updates. Then he tried calling Stefan, his difficult, contrary, and incredibly gifted psychic friend. And left another message.

  Given the lateness of the hour, he decided to go home and mull over the contrariness of human attraction.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  11:05 pm

  Lying in bed that night, Sam couldn't sleep. Her overwrought mind refused to let up. The tantalizing possibility that she was meant to do something with this gift worried at the frayed edges of her mind. Depressed and unsettled, she fell into a fitful sleep, her dreams dark and disjointed pieces of past visions.

  Screams jarred her from a deep sleep. Confusion turned to fear when Sam realized the horrific sounds were coming from her own mouth. Even worse, she had no idea where she was.

  Terror overwhelmed her. Her fingers spasmed in a death grip around a strange steering wheel as the car she drove careened further out of control. Still trying to toss off the remnants of sleep, Sam yanked hard on the wheel in a futile attempt to turn it. The mid-sized car plowed through a steel barricade to hang suspended in midair before plummeting to the rocks below. Screams ripped from her throat and she reefed again on the useless steering wheel, helpless to stop the deadly impact. Her foot pounded on worthless brakes. The front grill of the car crumpled and metal buckled upward. The car slammed into the first of the rocks below, snapping her forward into the windshield.

  Agonizing pain radiated off her shattered spine. Grinding metal, exploding glass, and continuous crunching sounds filled the air as first the bumper flew off, then the rear window shattered outward. The car tumbled, smashed on a huge rock, careened to the left and flipped end over end before coming to a hard landing on its wheels, right side up at the bottom of the cliff.

  Then utter silence.

  Sam trembled. Shock and pain pulsed through her veins even as her blood dripped out one beat at a time onto the shredded seat beside her. God, she didn't want to die.

  She wanted to live. Please, dear God.

  Someone help!

  Blood streamed over her face, her spine...where a shearing heat set off continuous stabbing pain. The steering wheel jammed into her ribs. The front dash had crumpled into a mess of twisted steel and plastic. The famous Mercedes emblem now hung drunk in midair over the remains of the once beautiful cream leather seats.

  Sam couldn't feel her right arm. And wished she couldn't feel her left. She closed her eyes, willing away the image of bone shards that had sliced through her sweater, a few loose strands of wool clinging to the ends. Heart wrenching sobs poured from her throat, tears coated her cheeks. She was alone. And dying.

  A brilliant flash of light engulfed the car as the fuel from the pierced gas line flashed into flames. Heat seared her lungs and scorched her hair, the strands melting against the inside of her car window. Panicked, she screamed as flames licked at her feet, burning, and cooking the flesh right off her bones.

  Agony. Pain. Terror.

  A voice whispered through the blackness of her mind, so odd, so different it caught her attention. She strained to hear the words.

  "Let go. It's time to let go."

  Sam stared through the flames, stunned. Let go of what? She couldn't hear over the roaring fire and could barely see, but knowing that someone was there stirred her survival instinct and she started fighting against the seatbelt jammed at her side. She was saved. Just another minute and they'd open the door to pull her free. She'd be fine.

  "Please hurry," she cried out.

  "Let go. You don't need to be in there. Let it all go, and come with me."

  She peered through the golden orange windshield to see a strange male face peering at her through the flames.

  He smiled.

  "Come with me."

  "I want to, damn it. Can't you see I'm trapped?" she screamed, her vocals crisping in the heat.

  "Release yourself. Come with me. Say yes."

  The pain hit a crescendo. She twisted against it, hearing her spine splinter. The car seat melted into her skin. So much pain, she couldn't breathe. Blackness crowded into her mind, blessed quiet, soothing darkness. She reached for it.

  "Let go. You don't need to go through this. Hurry."

  She started. Why wasn't he opening the door or getting others to help? He should be trying to save her. Shouldn't he? Sam, so confused and so tired she could barely feel the pain overtaking her body. Where had he gone? She tried to concentrate. His face was now only a vague outline that rippled with the heat waves. A soft smile played at the corner of his mouth. The flames burned around him, weird as they centered him in the warm glow. She wanted to be with him. To live.

  "Here, take my hand."

  Dazed and on the brink of death, Sam focused on the hand reaching for her. She struggled to raise the charred piece of flesh that had been her arm and reached out to grasp his.

  She was free.

  Overwhelmed, cries of relief escaped. She turned to hug her savior, her head just reaching his shoulder
. He stood beside her, the same radiant beaming look on his face. His blond hair glowed, and he had the brightest teeth.

  She sighed. This beautiful man pointed to her right arm. Confused, Sam glanced down at her burned arm, realizing she could feel none of her injuries. Just like her other one, her broken arm had miraculously healed – whole, smooth, and soft. Her skin hadn't looked this good in ten years.

  Realization hit.

  She spun around to find a massive fireball below. What the hell? She had to be dead. But instead of the horror or shock, she expected to feel, she felt good. In fact, she felt great. She turned to the ever-smiling stranger.