Cold Touch
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Teaser chapter
“A romantic suspense genius.”
—Reader to Reader Reviews
PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF LESLIE PARRISH
Cold Touch
“Fresh, exciting, truly thrilling romantic suspense . . . the Extrasensory Agents series delivers outstanding paranormal intrigue from a sharp, creative new voice in the genre.”
—Lara Adrian, New York Times bestselling author of the Midnight Breed series
Cold Sight
“Well-written, guaranteed to keep readers on the edge of their seat. Filled with many plot twists, readers are going to have a tough time putting this one down!”
—Fresh Fiction
“This story is action-packed and the romance is just right. Ms. Parrish has written a story that will hold your attention from the first page and keep it until the last word is read. Her characters seem so real that they will draw you into the story.”
—Night Owl Romance
“This is an entertaining paranormal whodunit starring an intrepid reporter and a man with telemetric extrasensory psychometric abilities.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
“Dark, emotionally compelling romantic suspense with a light paranormal element. I opened this book and didn’t close it again until the last page had been read.”
—Book Binge
“Parrish blends her suspense and paranormal elements well, and I found this dark thriller immensely addictive . . . romantic suspense with an edge to it.”
—All About Romance
“The only cold thing about this witty, steamy, and totally engrossing novel is the high-powered air conditioner you’ll need to sit under while reading it . . . a nonstop ride.”
—Romance Novel News
Black at Heart
“Dark, edgy, fantastic romantic suspense that readers and reviewers all over the Web are buzzing about.”
—All About Romance
“The emotional layers in this book, the descriptions, the plotting, the characterizations are rich and satisfying.”
—Armchair Reader
Pitch Black
“Parrish’s Black CATs novels are taut, exciting, sweet, dark, and hot, all at the same time.”
—Errant Dreams Reviews
“The ultimate edge-of-your-seat thriller.”
—Romance Junkies
“Parrish creates a heart-stomping story that takes you to the edge of your seat.”
—The Romance Readers Connection
Fade to Black
“Compelling hold-your-breath romantic suspense with one of the most chillingly evil villains I’ve ever read.”
—New York Times bestselling author JoAnn Ross
“All in all, Fade to Black is fabulous.”
—Mrs. Giggles
“A trifecta of good romantic suspense: good characters, good romance, and good suspense.”
—All About Romance
“Dark suspense, sexy heroes, fiendish villains, and fantastic writing.”
—Roxanne St. Claire, award-winning author of Edge of Sight
ALSO BY LESLIE PARRISH
EXTRASENSORY AGENTS
Cold Sight
THE BLACK CATS NOVELS
Fade to Black
Pitch Black
Black at Heart
SIGNET ECLIPSE
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First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, July 2011
Copyright © Leslie Kelly, 2011
Excerpt from Cold Sight copyright © Leslie Kelly, 2010
All rights reserved
ISBN : 978-1-101-51643-0
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PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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http://us.penguingroup.com
To Caitlin—thanks for your invaluable help in keeping me on track with these books. Oh, and thanks for being such a wonderful daughter, too!
And to my editor, Laura Cifelli—thank you so much for challenging me to expand my writing into the world of the paranormal. I’ve loved working on this series and would never have attempted it without your encouragement and support.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Sincere thanks to Julie, Janelle and Karen, who, as always, were there to help me untangle my big ball of plot at a moment’s notice. And to Bruce, who was always standing by as my sounding board.
Thanks also to Googlemaps for giving me the amazing ability to walk the streets my characters walked.
Though this story is set in the real—and lovely—city of Savannah, I have taken some liberties with its history, politics, topography and geography for the purposes of this story. Thanks for understanding.
Prologue
Twelve years ago
“He’s gonna kill you.”
The boy’s voice shook with both sadness and fear. And with those four whispered words, Olivia Wainwright’s faint hope of survival disappeared.
; The boy, Jack, was he a victim, too? She wasn’t sure. She only knew that during the three terrifying days she’d been tied up in this hot, miserable barn, his sharp, angular face was the only one she’d seen. She’d caught brief glimpses of him in the shadows when he shuffled in to bring her water or sometimes a handful of stale nuts that she suspected he wasn’t supposed to share. Once, he’d even come close enough to loosen the ropes on her wrists and ankles a little, so at least she had some circulation again.
But he hadn’t let her go. No matter how much she’d begged.
He was a couple of years younger than her, twelve or thirteen, maybe. Skinny, pale, with sunken cheeks and deep-set eyes. While he was free to go in and out, she suspected he was a victim, too—of abuse, at the very least. The kid looked beaten down, his spirit crushed, all memories of happiness long gone.
Olivia began to shake, long shudders making her bound legs quiver and her stomach heave. She’d eaten almost nothing for days, yet thought she’d be sick.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. She’d tried so hard to be strong, to think positively. Her parents loved her, and they had a lot of money. Of course they’d pay the ransom. She’d told herself it would all be okay. But it wouldn’t be okay. Not ever again.
“When?” she finally asked, dread making the word hard to push from her mouth.
“Once he makes sure they paid the ransom money.”
“If they’re paying the money, why is he going to kill me?” she asked, the words sounding so strange in her ears. God, she was fifteen years old; the very idea that she would be asking questions about her own murder had never once crossed her mind.
Four days ago she’d been a slightly spoiled, happy teenager looking forward to getting her driver’s license and wondering how much begging it would take to get her overindulgent parents to buy her a Jeep.
Now she was wondering how many minutes she had left on this earth. She could hear a clock ticking away in her mind, each tick marking one less second of her life.
“He don’t want any witnesses.” Jack leaned back against the old plank-board wall and slid down it, like he couldn’t hold himself up anymore. He sat hunched on the backs of his bent legs, watching her. A shaft of moonlight bursting through a broken slat high up in the barn wall shone a spotlight on his bony face. Tear tracks had cleared a path through the grime on his bruised cheeks, and his lips—swollen, bloodied—quivered. “He’s afraid you can identify him.”
“I can’t! I never even saw his face.”
That was true. She’d never gotten a glimpse of the man who’d grabbed her from her own bedroom. Liv had awakened from a sound sleep to find a pillow slapped over her face, a hateful male voice hissing at her not to scream or he’d shoot her and her sister, whose room was right next door. Their parents’ room was on the other side of the huge house, and Liv didn’t doubt that the man would be able to make good on his threat before anyone could get to them.
A minute later, any chance of screaming had been taken from her. He’d hit her hard enough to knock her out. By the time she’d awakened, she was already inside this old abandoned barn. Jack was the only living soul she’d seen or heard since.
“I’m sorry.”
“Let me go,” she urged.
He shook his head, repeating, “I’m sorry.”
“Please, Jack. You can’t let this happen.”
“There’s nothin’ I can do.”
“Just untie me and give me a chance to run away.”
“He’ll find you,” he said. “Then he’ll kill us both.” His voice was low, his tone sounding almost robotic. Like he’d heard the threat so many times it had become ingrained in his head.
“When did he take you?” she asked, suddenly certain this boy was a captive as well.
“Take me?” Jack stared at her, his brown eyes flat and lifeless. “Whaddya mean?”
“He kidnapped you, too, didn’t he?”
“Dunno.” Jack slowly shook his head. “I’ve been with him forever.”
“Is he your father?” she persisted.
Jack didn’t respond, though whether it was because he didn’t know or didn’t want to say, she couldn’t be sure.
“Do you have a mother?”
“Don’t remember.”
“Look, whoever he is, you have to get away from him. We have to get away.” She tried to scoot closer, though her legs—numb from being bound—didn’t want to cooperate. She managed no more than a few inches before falling onto her side, remnants of dry, dirty old hay scratching her cheek. “Come with me. Untie me and we’ll both run.”
If she could run on her barely functional legs.
She thrust that worry away. If it meant saving her life, hell, she’d crawl.
“I can’t,” he replied, looking down at her from a few feet away. His hand rose, like he wanted to reach out and touch her, to help her sit up. Then he dropped it back onto his lap, as if he was used to having his hand slapped if he ever dared to raise it.
“Yes, you can! My parents will help you. They’ll be so grateful.”
“I can’t.”
Again that robotic voice. Like the kid was brainwashed. If he’d been a prisoner for so long he didn’t remember any other life, she supposed he probably was.
He reached into the pocket of his tattered jeans, pulling out two small pills. “Here,” he said. “I swiped ’em from the floor in his room. He musta dropped ’em. I think they’ll make you sleep, so maybe it won’t hurt.”
A sob rose from deep inside her, catching in the middle of her throat, choking and desperate. “How will he do it?”
The boy sniffled. “I dunno.”
“Not a knife,” she cried, panic rising fast. “Oh, please God, don’t let him cut me.”
She hated knives. In every horror movie she’d ever seen, it was the gleam of light shining on the sharp, silvery edge of a blade that made her throw her hands over her eyes or just turn off the TV.
“He don’t use a knife, not usually,” Jack said.
His consoling reply didn’t distract her from the implication: She wouldn’t be the first person to die at her kidnapper’s hands. He’d killed before. And this boy had witnessed those killings.
“Don’t let this happen, Jack, please.” Tears poured out of her eyes as she twisted and struggled against the ropes. “Don’t let him hurt me.”
“Take the pills,” he said, his tears streaming as hard as hers. “Just take ’em.”
“You should have brought the whole bottle,” she said, hearing her own bitterness and desperation.
“If I could get to a whole bottle, I woulda swallowed’em myself a long time ago.”
That haunted voice suddenly sounded so adult, so broken. The voice of someone who’d considered suicide every day of his young life. What horrors must he have endured to embrace the thought of death so easily?
It was his sheer hopelessness that made her realize she hadn’t given up hope. She was terrified out of her mind and didn’t want to die, didn’t want to feel the pain of death—oh, God, not a knife—but she wasn’t ready to give up, either. No matter what she’d said, if he had a bottle of pills in his hand, she didn’t think she would swallow them, not even now with death bearing down on her like a car heading for a cliff.
She wanted to live.
“Where you at, boy?” a voice bellowed from outside.
Jack leapt to his feet, his sadness disappearing as utter terror swept over him. That terror jumped from his body into hers, and Olivia struggled harder against the ropes. Like an animal caught in a trap, she could almost smell her own extermination barreling toward her.
She tried to keep her head. Tried to think.
If her captor didn’t know the boy had warned her, maybe he’d let his guard down. Maybe she could get him to untie her, maybe she could run. . . .
Or maybe she really was about to die.
“Please,” she whispered, knowing Jack wanted to help her. But his fear won out; he didn’t even seem to hear
her plea. He had already begun to climb over the side wall of the stall, falling into the next one with a muffled grunt.
No sooner had he gone than the barn door flew open with a crash. Heavy footsteps approached, ominous and violent like the powerful thudding of her heart.
Through the worn slats, she could see Jack lying in the next stall, motionless, watching her. She pleaded with her eyes, but he didn’t respond in any way. It seemed as though the real boy had retreated somewhere deep inside a safe place in his mind, and only the shell of a human being remained.
Her kidnapper reached the entrance to the stall. Still lying on her side, Olivia first saw his ugly, thick-soled boots. She slowly looked up, noted faded jeans pulled tight over thick, squat legs, but before she could tilt her head back to see the rest, something heavy and scratchy—a horse blanket, she suspected—landed on her face, obscuring her vision.
Confusion made her whimper and her heart, already racing, tripped in her chest. She trembled with fear, yes. But there was something more.
Hope.
He didn’t want her to see him. Which meant he might have changed his mind. Maybe he knew she couldn’t identify him, and he was going to let her go.