Paranormal Nights

by CJ Ellisson

What did that mean for her?

  “I’m going to need you, Villa, Ramirez, and Buchanan, to head up there first. The three of you are going to work this case, ASAP. Gather your gear, and be ready to stay a while. I’m sure you all know what this crime looks like, and I’m not waiting around to see where it goes. Apparently a couple of senators have daughters up there, and they want this resolved immediately.”

  Buchanan shifted away from Erica’s shoulder to stand upright. She couldn’t stop herself; she peeked up. She instantly missed his body heat, the scent of his musky cologne, and his warm breath by her ear. They had all mixed together to make her feel that much more wound up. “You said she wasn’t victim number one.”

  Brock rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, his forehead creased with doubt. “I don’t think she is. Lisa had been missing for a week, but another student went missing before her. Gina Torres disappeared two weeks ago. There’s no trace of her anywhere.”

  Donovan, who had been taking notes, stopped and looked up, her green eyes filled with curiosity. “How do we know she’s victim number one?”

  Brock shrugged. Focusing on Erica, he gave a slight shake of his head. “We don’t know. In fact, we know very little. It’s your job to find out what happened to her. See what you discover. I want you to move quickly. I don’t want a string of dead college girls making the national papers.” His brows dipped low in a solemn frown. “Nichol’s in charge while you’re up there. Donovan and I will look into things from here. If there is any news on Torres or any other new victims, we’ll head your way.” He shut the file with a slam. “Go, find what you can, and let’s get some answers.”

  She stood to go, but Brock shook his head.

  “Villa, I need to discuss some things with you for a moment.”

  Buchanan’s dark eyes locked on her, again. A measure of reassurance and something else were visible in his steady gaze. The urge to fidget and turn away coursed through her. She hated when he stared at her like that. She could handle his silly quips and sexual innuendos, but once he regarded her like he cared, it scared the crap out of her.

  “Sure thing.”

  She waited. Increasing apprehension gathered at the thought of the upcoming trip. The others marched out in single file. Ramirez, the last one to step out, shut the door behind him. Taking her seat again, she opened the manila folder on her lap. It took a minute to urge her mind to focus. Looking at the photo was like having hot coals burned into her eye sockets. She could visualize how the woman got her injuries from a hundred different angles and viewpoints. Because Erica connected with the victim’s energy, the clearest flashes were of moments where the victim’s energy spiked. Usually that meant a moment of fear, or worse, the moment of death. When she glanced up, Brock was observing her. Unease curled into a jagged ball inside her.

  “Brock?”

  He sighed as he dropped into the seat next to her. “Villa, I know I’m the only person you work with. But we’re a team, and I need you to be able to work alone with the rest of them. It’s time to trust that we all have your back. This unit—our unit—is not normal. We all know that. Each of you has a particular trait that makes you necessary to the team. Yours is a little different than the others, but it is one of the most important. Because of this, I need you to take charge in this case.”

  This was major for her. She didn’t trust anyone on a good day. Anxiety spread through her limbs in a cold sweep that made her shudder. Security dictated none of them share their gifts with each other. In case of someone leaving or getting captured, no vital information would be lost. But what if the others realized what she did? What she was?

  “I want you to be very careful with this. There is something about this case that doesn’t sit right with me. This body, it wasn’t just displayed. It was grandstanded. Whoever killed her wanted us to find her.”

  She regarded Brock, the only person who had not let her down so far. She nodded. It might be scary, or more like frickin’ terrifying, but she’d work with the others—without him. Although she didn’t want to admit it, the thought of working one-on-one with Buchanan sent a hot shiver up her spine, thawing some of the anxiety a new case brought. She glanced down at the photo, all the while keeping her hands from touching the glossy paper. Because reality was, she wanted to put off the nightmares of the woman’s last, painful seconds for as long as possible.

  “Do you know anything about her? Her family or friends? Anyone who might have had it in for her?” She stared at the positioning of the body, made mental notes, and visually recorded several things that made her breath hitch. The girl was definitely on display.

  Whoever killed her wanted her found in the way she’d been placed: spread-eagle with her arms open to her sides, allowing for everyone who looked to see the jagged wounds from the knife cuts on her stomach. She wasn’t a small woman, so whoever moved her around had to have the muscle to do so. A fuzzy image of the killer started to form.

  Brock shook his head. “No. That’s one of the things you guys have to look into. The town she was murdered in is small, and their police force needs the extra help. This is the first murder they’ve seen in a long time. She was attending the university, but her body was found in a smaller township close to where she lived.”

  Erica nodded. Brock watched her with the same concern and scrutiny he showed during every investigation. It was his big-brother attitude. “Do you think you can do this?” he asked. “You’ll be seeing more when you get to her house.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out gradually, forcing her thoughts to stop jumping around.

  “Will you be able to work with Buchanan? I’m worried about you. I need to know you can work this case. Can you handle working one-on-one with him?”

  This was new, and she and Trent…Buchanan were going to be working long hours alone. Could she handle it? Probably not, but she’d never admit to that. No matter how hard it was, she never backed out of a new case. “Yes, I know. I can handle it. I’ll get whoever did this. I will do whatever I have to in order to solve this and find out who killed Lisa.”

  Brock grabbed her forearm and gave her a quick squeeze. “Don’t touch anything unless you absolutely have to.”

  His demand sounded more like a request. He was the only person that knew how hard it was for her, how much she struggled with each case. To see the things she saw of the victims inside her mind. She saw them all being held captive, tortured, and killed. And that could turn any day into a living hell for her.

  All she visualized for months was blurred bits of the victims’ last moments. Sometimes, she’d get lucky and actually see. “I know that for you to get a glimpse of something—anything—helpful is the ultimate payoff. But there have been too many times when you don’t get anything useful, only the bad. I want you to try to focus on what you see with your eyes, what your instinct tells you, what the people say, and what you can uncover without your extra sensory sight.”

  She frowned. “You know that the best images I get are from touching. I won’t have the same clear view after that first connection. Initial contact with something belonging to the victim is the biggest break we can get. Things become hazy, unfocused, and mangled after that. I will do my best, but if I have to touch…I will.”

  Shutting the manila folder, and with it the torturous vision of the woman’s corpse, she got up to go. At the same time, Brock stood, towering over her. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “No heroics, Erica. I need you mentally and emotionally stable to work this case. Don’t overdo it. Don’t touch things if you’re not ready to see.”

  “I’ll be fine. Stop worrying, Brock.” She smiled, her vision straying outside past the glass door. Buchanan sat on the edge of Donovan’s desk. The way he looked at her, so possessive and dark, fired more than her interest. If she wasn’t careful this case would turn into her biggest fight against her body and its desires.

  Brock leaned down by her ear, and her heart leapt when Buchanan clenched his jaw. “Don’t let him get t
he best of you. He’s a good guy, but if you need me to handle him just let me know.”

  She knew how intimate the moment appeared to Buchanan and added her own bit of fire into the mix by smiling at Brock. “Don’t worry, I can handle him.”

  She left Brock’s office a mass of nerves. Her stress had just gone from hair-falling-out to won’t-be-getting-any-sleep level in the blink of an eye.

  * * *

  “Okay, so explain to me again where we’re going first?” Ramirez’s voice floated from the backseat of the Jeep.

  Erica twisted her long hair into a sloppy bun at the top of her head and groaned. God, the humidity up here was horrible. And she probably looked like Medusa. She grabbed a water bottle from the cup holder and took a long gulp. It was the end of July, and a heat wave had taken over the northeast. Her tank top was stuck uncomfortably to her back. Heat and humidity were not her friends. Not to mention the mosquitoes. Already they’d encountered a large number of the annoying little bugs. She hated bugs. She hated anything that crawled and had more than two feet, or worse, no feet. She shuddered just visualizing them.

  “To see the body,” Buchanan replied. “Per Brock’s orders that’s stop number one.”

  Erica peeked at Buchanan’s smiling profile from behind her sunglasses. All dressed in black, he looked like a super hot Navy Seal. The T-shirt did nothing to cover the bulging muscles that rippled whenever he gripped the wheel. His short, spiky hair and five o’clock shadow made him look oh-so fine. And the reflective sunglasses added to his sexy, bad-boy allure. Goddamn it, she needed to get laid! Pronto, or she’d start seeing Buchanan as more than a Casanova and more like a possible candidate to end her sexual hiatus.

  Her mind started to wander. What was it that made Buchanan special to their team? He did have a military background, but there was a restrained wildness about him that made her keep him at a distance. Not because she couldn’t handle it, but because she knew that she’d probably enjoy it way too much. It was dangerous for her emotions and for her hormones. He was hot, and she could only fight them for so long. She wondered what he was. Was he a warlock? An empath? Or maybe he had some other ability… She’d always worked with Brock one-on-one, so she hadn’t seen Buchanan in action before now.

  Buchanan turned his face toward her and smiled the sexy smile that made her entire body throb. It made her want to lick and suck at the little scar on his lip.

  “Like what you see, Villa? I can give you a private show later. Just you and me, baby.” His deep voice promised so much pleasure that it took a moment for her brain to process the actual words.

  She blinked. He’d caught her staring at him. Of all the stupid things for her to do. “Actually, I was wondering if it was possible for you to actually have a brain inside that skull. You know what they say; the bigger the brawn, the smaller the brain.”

  He smiled, unperturbed. “Trust me, Villa. My brain is big enough to amaze any woman who sees it. In fact, the last time one saw it she called me a god.”

  The tone of his voice sounded deeper than before. She was practically panting over his rough timbre. It took her a second to realize what he’d said. Pangs of jealousy hit her low in the gut. She lost her smile at the thought of him with another woman and turned away. Her mind was a muddled mess over how much she hated the thought of him with someone else. She’d let her guard down too much with him, and it surprised her. Looking out her window, she focused on the passing trees. “Ramirez, what do we know about our victim?”

  Along with the hum of the air conditioner, Ramirez’s soft Latin voice filled the inside of the Jeep. “Lisa Summers was a freshman at Ithaca. She lived in a small town not far from the school. Her family resides in New York City. She was from a very sheltered home and was not even allowed to have a sleepover. Apparently it took her almost a year to convince her parents to let her go away to school. She’d wanted overseas. They wanted down the street. Both compromised with out of town but same state.”

  Erica nodded absently. “What about boyfriends? Friends? Exes?”

  “No current boyfriends. She did have a lot of friends. She was a very popular girl and went out a lot. I guess she decided that her sheltered lifestyle was over the minute she left home.”

  Erica shook her head. The poor girl hadn’t realized that danger could also lurk in this quiet, small town. “Have the friends been interviewed by the police? Do they know anything useful to help give us a clue where to look first?”

  “Some of her friends have been. It seems most of the kids have rich parents, and as soon as word got out, no one wanted to say any more without a lawyer present.”

  She cursed under her breath. “Do we at least have any idea who was the last person to see her alive?”

  “Yes. It was her best friend, Gia Matthews. She said they had parted ways after their last class. Normally they would head home together, since they lived in the same building, but the friend had a date and Lisa went home on her own. Apparently, Lisa didn’t have any plans to go out that evening and was planning to study for an upcoming exam.”

  Erica watched as they turned onto a main street. The trees along the street gave way to some shops, a post office, a couple of family restaurants, and a police station. Each one looking older than the last; the structures appeared to have been built in the earlier part of the last century. The store next to the police station had peeled paint, rusted metal bars, and windows that looked like some she’d seen on the History Channel. Buchanan stopped in front of the small police station. A lone car sat outside the square-looking building. She jumped out of the Jeep, and wiped her sweaty palms on the back of her khaki shorts.

  She winced when steamy heat hit her in the face. Beads of sweat gathered on her upper lip and the back of her neck, and dripped down her temples. She strolled toward the entrance to the single-story building with a lone thought: It was absolutely necessary for her to keep her mind focused solely on the case. She scanned the outside of the building. Looking more like a general store than a secure location to question criminals, the station was small with a wide-open entrance.

  Inside, she went straight up to the wooden counter, where papers and files littered the scarred old surface. Buchanan and Ramirez followed behind her. A short, pot-bellied older man with a long beard and thick mustache stood when he saw her enter. His brown uniform shirt wrinkled against his heavy frame, and his bald-head showed off his liver spots.

  The old man peered at Erica from under heavy gray brows, his piercing gaze moving to Buchanan and, after a moment, finally landing on Ramirez.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes.” She pulled up the ID badge that hung from her neck on a silver chain, flicked it open, displaying her photo and agency details. “I’m Agent Villa, Federal Bureau of Investigation. These are my colleagues: Agents Ramirez and Buchanan. We’re here to see Lisa Summers’s body, Mister…”

  “Deputy Owens, Carl Owens. Welcome to Shady Oaks,” he replied and shook the hand she offered. A grin spread across his wrinkled face.

  “Could you please show us Ms. Summers’s body, Deputy Owens?”

  Deputy Owens nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  He glanced down at the counter, shuffled papers, and placed them into folders. “We’ve had a few out-of-town reporters wanting to see the body, so I’ve had to stay here and guard it until you all came along. We put it in the morgue. You’ll have to forgive us, but this is the first murder in our town in over fifty years. The morgue is a really small room.”

  He walked to the end of the counter, opened a door, and allowed them into his side of the room. With each step he took the heavy key ring jingled, reminding Erica of a bag of coins being shaken. The three of them followed the deputy down the hall until he stopped in front of a large metal door. Cool air seeped out from underneath it.

  “You’re sure you want to see this ma’am? It’s a mighty nasty sight.”

  Erica nodded. “I’m sure, Deputy Owens. Go ahead and let us inside.”

 
He opened the door, and Erica walked into a cold, windowless storage room. It was no bigger than a twelve-foot by twelve-foot cell. As soon as she stepped inside, the stench of rotting flesh surrounded her, digging into her lungs and making her scrunch her face in distaste. In the middle of the room sat a metal table with the body, covered by a white sheet.

  Buchanan strode up to the small, wheeled cart next to the body, pulled on some gloves, and opened a jar of odor-perception inhibitor. He grabbed the jar, held it away from his nose, and then he clutched a second pair of gloves, bringing both over to her. Still fighting the urge to gag, she put the gloves on and patted a finger full of the paste under her nostrils, masking some of the rotting body stench.

  “Don’t you need any?”

  Buchanan shook his head and made a face showing his distaste. “That stuff stinks.”

  Her jaw dropped. “The body stinks more.”

  “I can handle the body.”

  She shrugged. With both hands to her sides, she walked up to the table where the body lay.

  Ramirez dragged the sheet back. Erica’s stomach clenched and she was glad she’d forgone breakfast. She swallowed, pushing down the urge to vomit. The victim, Lisa, had been strangled. She had also been stabbed, beaten, and mutilated. The word “Bitch” was carved into her stomach.

  Ramirez whistled under his breath. “Jesus. Talk about anger. That is some fucked-up shit right there. That girl is way more than dead. She’s an example. Somebody wanted her in pain. More pain than what I see in most victims.”

  Buchanan started sniffing, and Erica raised her brows.

  “Are you ok?”

  He sneezed. “Bleach. This body was thoroughly cleaned before it was dumped.”

  She inhaled, but all she got was the scent of the inhibitor under her nose. “How can you tell?”

  He scrunched his nose, turned back to her, and took a step back. “Trust me, I can tell. So what’s your first impression, Villa?”

  “She was so young.”

  She said the words softly while glancing at the girl. The victim’s face and body were a large map of bruises.