Tuesday's Child BK 1

by Dale Mayer

  The bedroom door swung in the cold night air.

  Sam winced at the heavy thud of boot on bone. Soldier howled.

  God, Soldier was already injured. She had to help him. Her body refused to respond to her orders. The shine of the blade, still embedded in the mattress, caught her eye. She focused on the shine.

  Her hand grabbed the hilt just as the killer grabbed her arm pulling her back. Sam punched with her free hand and tried to kick. There was too much dog in the way and too many drugs in her system. She stumbled.

  Finding an opportunity, she collected the last of her cohesive energy and lunged, digging her right hand, fingers stiff like claws, into the soft spots of his throat. Her left hand stabbed upward with the knife. He raised his arm defensively. The blade caught his arm and sliced upward, deflecting off bone. He screamed. "Bitch."

  His much longer reach latched around her throat. Sam screamed at Soldier again, "Major. Kill."

  From the corner of her eye, she hardly recognized the dog. His fangs dripped saliva and blood, and the howl coming from the back of his throat was...otherworldly.

  Soldier was on a mission, and she was in the way.

  His lip curled, his shoulders hunched up. Sam pushed herself away in a clumsy movement that tumbled her backwards onto the mattress. She needn't have worried. Soldier's jaw replaced her hands, ripping into her attacker's shoulder. The knife was jerked out of her hand.

  Soldier's howls, dragged from deep down and forced through his clenched jaw, scared her shitless.

  She turned slightly. The killer had the knife raised to bring down on Soldier's spine. "No!" She grabbed his knife arm with both hands and tried to stop him. "You bastard, leave him alone." Her arms trembled. Still, she fought. He grinned at her. She couldn't beat him. He was too strong, and knew it. Soldier continued to howl, splitting the air with his tone. The noise drove through her brain. She groaned, her knees collapsing under her weakening body.

  "God, Brandt, where are you?" She needed him. She screamed silently into the dark of night. Now.

  ***

  2:44 am

  "Jesus." Brandt swore he could hear Sam yelling in his head. It was bad enough hearing Stefan screaming though the phone at him a few minutes ago and knowing no one else could get to her before him.

  The sounds coming from inside the house sent terror stabbing through his heart. 'Hang on Sam! I'm coming," he yelled. Brandt raced through the living room, barely noticing the body collapsed in a pool of blood on the porch. The screams and howls from upstairs pierced the night. He took the stairs two at a time. The scene that greeted him made his stomach churn.

  Blood splattered everywhere. Soldier and Sam were locked in a death fight with a large male, Moses reduced to a crumpled heap of fur on the floor.

  Brandt jumped into the fray, knocking the knife from the killer's hand and pulling Sam loose. She stumbled a few feet then collapsed to the floor. The killer ignored him. Bent on destroying the fury chomping through his shoulder, he immediately locked his hands around Soldier's throat, squeezing tight.

  Bloody bubbles foamed out of Soldier's mouth. Blood coated his fur. The sound coming out from his mouth, an unholy alliance with hell.

  His gun trained on the two still caught in a life and death grip. "Sam, talk to me. Are you okay?"

  "Yes," she mumbled, managing a small nod to reinforce her statement. "I think so." She reached up to her throat, barely able to touch the raw skin. "Save Soldier."

  He spared her a quick glance, slightly reassured that Sam had crawled to Moses and was talking – not very coherently, still she could communicate. "Stay back. I have to get Soldier off first. I don't want to have to shoot him."

  Brandt turned his attention to the still-howling dog locked on to the killer's shoulder. "Let the dog go. I'll get him off you."

  "Like hell. This asshole should have died a long time ago. Worthless piece of shit."

  Brandt didn't know what he was talking about, and it didn't matter right now. Somehow he had to save the dog. For Sam's sake. The killer be damned. "Let go of the dog, or I'll shoot."

  "Fuck you." The killer grinned at him through bared teeth as he removed one hand from Soldier's throat and with a quick twist of his wrist slid a dagger free from his belt and threw it.

  "Brandt!"

  The dagger stabbed into the wall behind Brandt, missing him completely. Brandt didn't miss the killer. The bullet hit him low in the left shoulder. The grin fell off his face as he stumbled to the floor.

  Soldier, now with the upper hand and caught in a blood lust of his own, lunged again. He reclamped his jaws into a tighter grip.

  "Soldier!" Brandt ordered. "Soldier! Stand down." He repeated it twice before the dog stopped trembling and unlocked his jaw. Brandt stepped closer, the gun trained on the killer.

  Soldier curled his lip at him.

  "It's okay, boy. You've done good. Move, Soldier."

  The dog dripped blood from open tissue shinning wetly in the dark.

  "Soldier. Down."

  In the distance, the sound of sirens grew stronger.

  Brandt didn't think the dog was going to listen. Finally in a crippled shuffling movement, the dog slid to the floor. He was hurt, and badly. Brandt kicked the knife away. The killer glared at him, blood pouring from both shoulders.

  Sirens filled the air, colored flashing lights filled the room.

  "It's okay Sam. The ambulance and police are here."

  "Sam?"

  Silence filled the room.

  Brandt spun around to look, his gun still trained on the killer. "Sam?" Fear spiked his voice to a scream. Crumpled in a bloody pile on the floor, Sam lay between the two dogs. All three looked dead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Sam walked slowly down to the dock, Brandt at her side. Soldier hobbled behind them. Moses, moving much slower, brought up the rear. Sam wouldn't want it any other way.

  She tried not to dwell on the events of that night. She didn't remember much and that's the way she wanted to keep it. She'd been rushed to the hospital where the doctors had frantically tried to stop the spread of the poison from the cocktail of drugs guaranteed to kill her. If it hadn't been for Brandt she would have died. Chills ran down her spine at the reminder.

  It had been late the next day before she'd surfaced – screaming. Brandt had been at her side, a place he'd stayed during the first week of her recovery. Once out of hospital, they'd enjoyed the time alone at the lake. A healing time. But then he'd had to go back to work.

  Sam had returned to the clinic soon after.

  At the clinic, she'd refused to talk about the events, hoping the chatter would die down and with time – it had. Still, David, a good family man and an off-duty cop pulling extra time, lost his life when he'd stepped outside for a cigarette. He'd wandered out to the deck and never had a chance to draw his first smoke-filled breath.

  The dogs had been rushed to the clinic where they'd both undergone surgery. Thank God, the vets had done it for free. Sam didn't have that kind of money, and although Brandt had joked that his department should pay the dogs' medical costs, she hadn't wanted to ask for it.

  She didn't know what the future held, although more people than she'd ever thought possible stopped her on the street to ask what she saw in their futures. Her fame as a psychic had spread after the details of the attack had leaked to the press.

  Speaking of leaks, Dillon had been reprimanded and transferred to another station.

  As for Deputy Brooker, Brandt had matched shells picked up from the woods around her place to his gun, finally. He'd followed Brandt to her place when Soldier had caught his scent in the woods. His truck was the same as the one who'd tried to run her off the road. He wasn't admitting anything more at this point. She didn't know what he was going to be charged with at the end of the ongoing investigation, yet she could count on Brandt to make sure he'd be out of commission for a long time. Sam had agreed to testify and help their case in any way. She wasn't looking forward to s
eeing Brooker face to face, only knew she could do it and survive. She was stronger now – in many ways.

  Captain Johansen had apologized profusely. Every time he saw her, in fact. He'd even thanked her. Who knew how long William Durant would have continued killing women if not for her visions. She could grin at the captain now. It had taken awhile, but she was slowly getting used to being around people.

  Brandt had helped with that. So, too had Maisy, Brandt's mother. The colonel had recovered. He'd recognized the ring as being on the hand of the dog handler that brought the animals in to visit the patients at the center. A very subdued Maisy confessed that the dog handler had been there when she'd established the pool on when the colonel would remember what he'd forgotten about the ring. She'd actually asked him if he wanted in on the bets. That had sealed the colonel's fate…or nearly.

  Even Soldier's story might have been connected. Although, chances are they'd never know for sure. The dog had certainly known what to do when the time had come. William Durant hadn't survived surgery. Sam found it hard to care. The world was better off without him and this way she didn't have to go through two trials.

  Brandt was backtracking the guy's life, searching for links to other murders in his files. He was hoping for evidence to close dozens of cases – not to mention bring closure to dozens of families.

  It would take some time. As a dog trainer, Bill had exposure to people, care homes, and even the hospital where he took animals in to visit with the patients. This allowed him to travel to various locations without raising suspicion. Teaching obedience training gave him access to hundreds of women. An opportunity he'd taken full advantage of.

  Louise Enderby's long-time partner had come forward after seeing the news. He'd been on the board for the city's animal shelters – he'd fired William from a part time job at the pound where he was to rehabilitate last-ditch cases. He'd been caught abusing the animals instead. An organization that relied heavily on donations, the pound hadn't wanted any negative publicity and agreed not to press charges if Bill disappeared – for good.

  They could only speculate, yet it appeared that Louise had become an innocent victim of a war she hadn't even known about.

  The best that Sam could understand, Bill picked his victims out of numerous loving couples where the man had been supposedly considered to be 'the best' man – theoretically underlining that, Bill himself, wasn't good enough.

  Sam didn't understand the psychology of it all. Who could understand a twisted mind like his? Who would want to?

  Stefan had even shown up at her cabin during the first week of convalescence, threatening to do her serious harm if she ever got herself into that situation again. Said it had cost him ten years off his life. He'd also pulled her training forward to avoid a repeat of this mess.

  Sam smiled. Stefan was a special man and she loved knowing he was in her life. They had a closeness that she had never known was possible. She could only imagine it was similar to the relationship between twins.

  As for her and Brandt, well they were slowly adjusting to life as a couple. They both had things to learn and Sam wasn't sure she was ready to live together, although the topic was under discussion. At the same time, she didn't sleep nearly as well alone. Not that she had the chance to.

  It was Brandt who refused to sleep alone. According to him, he was planning on always waking up with her beside him. She hoped he meant it. She wanted to believe in a 'happily ever after.'

  Her visions weren't ever going to stop, but she'd become accustomed to them. It wasn't about accepting them any longer, it was about understanding and utilizing them. Progress.

  Her visions didn't make her an easy partner, then Brandt's job wouldn't be easy on her. They'd work it out. For the first time ever, she could see a future. It was bright and rosy. She'd like to have had a vision that told her Brandt was her future and she'd be spending the next forty years happily at his side, but as she'd found out, visions didn't work that way.

  ***

  Brandt glanced at Sam, standing at his side, staring out over the water. He couldn't help but feel protective of this woman, so slight, so strong, and so damaged. She'd been a tormented soul who walked with one foot on the dark side of the universe. Now there was a lightness to her.

  She was everything to him. He stepped closer, wrapping his arms protectively around her shoulders. He'd do anything to keep her safe. In this world and the next. They were a matched set. Their future wouldn't be the standard two-storey house and white picket fence life. No. But it would have its own rewards.

  And he was going to make sure they received each and every one of them.

  Thank you for reading TUESDAY'S CHILD.

  The next book in the PSYCHIC VISION Series, called HIDE'N GO SEEK is now available. Book 3 in the series, MADDY'S FLOOR will be released in early April, 2012. If you enjoyed TUESDAY'S CHILD, I would appreciate it if you would help others enjoy this book, too.

  Lend it - this e-book is lending-enabled, so please, share it with a friend.

  Recommend it - please help other readers find this book by recommending it to friends, readers groups and discussion boards.

  Review it - please tell other readers why you liked this book by reviewing it at one of the following websites: Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or Goodreads.

  If you do write a review, please send me a copy by email at bdmayer2002@gmail.com. As a thank you, I'd like to email you a copy of my next ebook.

  Keep turning to page to read an excerpt from HIDE'N GO SEEK, Book 2 in the Psychic Vision Series.

  Watch for Book 2 of Psychic Visions

  Hide'n Go Seek

  Book 2 of Psychic Visions

  KALI JORDAN, her search and rescue dog Shiloh, and GRANT SUMMERS of the FBI become embroiled in a twisted game of Hide'n Go Seek when a killer buries his victims alive for Kali to find – before their time runs out.

  Excerpt

  Dressed and depressed, Kali made her way to the kitchen. She fed Shiloh on the deck in the morning sunlight. Running her fingers through her shoulder-length curls, she remembered last night's painting. She headed to her studio to take a look. She'd almost reached it when apprehension washed over her.

  The door was closed.

  She never closed it after painting. It wasn't good for the wet canvases and as the room only had a small window, the paint fumes built up fast. A frown wrinkled her forehead. Had she simply forgotten? She'd been deadly tired last night.

  Bolstering her courage, she opened the door and flinched as the fumes hit her nose. "Oh gross."

  Holding her breath, Kali moved a stool to prop the door wide open and crossed to the window, shoving it as far open as it would go. Fresh air surged into the small space. She'd love a huge studio, but painting wasn't exactly a full time career for her – as much as she'd like it to be. It was a release for when depression and madness overcame her soul. Maybe later, when her soul couldn't do the rescue work, she could indulge her art as a creative hobby instead of just an outlet for pain and turmoil.

  Walking around the easel, Kali stopped midstride.

  The painting stood where she'd left it. In surreal and strangely enticing clarity, blacks and purples and browns popped off the canvas. Heavy paint splotched in places then thinned and stretched across the top.

  She stepped back and frowned. Up close, beside the heavy amount of paint, the picture looked like a distorted nightmare. Not surprising. But she caught a glimmer of an intentional design. She tilted her head and looked at it from a different angle.

  Sniffing the air, Shiloh ambled through the doorway.

  Kali smiled down at the dog. "Not very sweet smelling, is it?"

  She glanced back at the jumble of colors and stilled. There. She studied the abstract mess, letting the colors move and form to reveal the image hidden within.

  Shivers slid down her spine.

  Oh, my God.

  No way.

  Kali blinked. It was still there.

  There was no mistaking t
he image of a person buried under small bushes, close to civilization of some kind shown on the horizon with a series of rough rock formations in front.

  "What the hell?" she whispered.

  Kali was not a great artist by any means. Blind escapism kept bringing her back to the process because it worked. She painted with wild abandon. The paint slapped on canvas with no thought but to discharge her pain and sorrow. For some reason it always worked.