by Kylie Brant
Trey was surveying her through narrowed eyes. "Quite the little detective, weren't you?"
She ignored his sarcasm. Although it had been glaringly absent for the past hour, its reappearance warned her that she had reached the end of his civility. "I didn't see any other way," she said simply.
"And I'm supposed to believe you when you say Penning isn't involved."
"He isn't."
"You ask for a lot to be taken on trust, Jaida," he said in a low voice.
She shivered a little, caught in the beam of his forest-colored eyes. That was the first time he'd addressed her by her name, and there hadn't been a trace of sarcasm in his voice.
"And you don't trust anyone," she whispered. She closed her eyes in frustration. "I don't know how to make you understand." She'd never been a person comfortable with labels, but others tended to be soothed by them, so she gave him some. "I'm psychometric and clairvoyant. I can determine information about a person by handling an object belonging to him. I can also … sense things sometimes through human touch."
His eyes hooded. He'd witnessed that so-called sense of hers. It was definitely startling. But his inability to explain those random bits of personal information that she'd come up with didn't mean he was yet convinced of her gift. He found he didn't want to believe her. Everything inside him violently rejected the possibility that this woman could read him as easily as a road map. "How does that work?"
"It depends. I never know who will set it off or when. But often the most casual touch is enough for me to pick up thoughts or emotions from other people. Sometimes I can try to shield myself from receiving their transmissions, but I can't always control it. The knowledge is just there." And walking around with that shield firmly in place was almost as exhausting as the emotional battering she took without it. Which was ironic, given the ability of the man sitting across from her. He seemed to carry such a guard effortlessly, without cost. She could envy him such an ability.
He frowned, but only said carefully, "And you claim … you sensed some information from Penning."
"I had to try," she whispered, her mind revisiting the brief horror show she'd experienced that afternoon. "I just wanted to find out whether he knew about Benjy, but then he put his hands on me and…" She shuddered wildly in remembrance.
"And what?" Trey asked urgently. "Jaida, what happened in there?" He leaned across the table, his voice harsh. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"
"I learned all I wanted to the first time he touched me, but then he took my hand in both of his … and it was like crawling into a vat of slick ooze. I felt like I was suffocating." She shivered. Just talking about it renewed the vile experience. "He's sick," she murmured brokenly, "and he's evil, and he isn't capable of emotion. The things he's done…" A deep, pervasive cold had crept back into her limbs, and deep shudders racked her. "I saw him standing in a pool of blood. A man lay at his feet, dying. His blood was on Penning's shoes." She raised her gaze to Trey's, and her voice was filled with revulsion and loathing. "And William Penning didn't feel a thing."
* * *
Jaida sat huddled in a chair in her motel room, a blanket around her shoulders. Trey crossed the room and squatted in front of her. "Are you okay?" She still hadn't regained the color in her cheeks, but at least she looked a little more composed than she had in the dining room. There had been a moment when he'd been certain that he would need to carry her back to her room. Then she had practically bolted from the table, leaving him to hurriedly pay the bill before he could go after her. He'd caught up with her at the elevators and accompanied her upstairs. Then she'd sunk weakly into the chair, where she remained. He'd brought her the blanket she'd requested with that flat, lifeless tone that he was growing to hate. And then he'd watched helplessly as she'd endeavored to control the shudders that once again racked her body.
"Yes," she answered, reaching a hand to push the hair back off her face. "I'll be fine."
He noted with relief that the familiar drawl was back in her words. He watched her for a minute more, before asking, "Are you up to talking?"
She hesitated, and then nodded jerkily.
Trey rose and pulled another chair up close to hers. He sat down and faced her again, his expression grim. "You said when Penning touched you, you 'saw' a dead man lying at his feet."
Jaida swallowed hard. "Yes."
"Did you see the victim's face?"
She shook her head.
"Where did this take place? How long ago was it?"
"I don't know," she said huskily. "There's no way for me to tell. But it was so strong…" Her voice tapered off to a whisper. "So real."
"When I first found Lauren again, it was pretty easy to see that she was terrified. But it wasn't until much later, once she was safe in L.A., that she finally told me what had her so scared. She'd already concluded that her husband was involved in some … unsavory dealings. But then one morning she found a stain on their white bedroom carpet, in front of his closet. She opened the doors and discovered a pair of shoes with matching stains. She said," he went on, gazing steadily into her eyes, "that she thought the stains looked like blood."
Jaida gasped and tried, unsuccessfully, to still the trembling of her lips. "When was that?"
Trey shrugged. "I don't know. Two and a half years ago, I guess. The pants he'd worn the night before, when he'd supposedly gone out on business, had matching marks on the cuffs."
"He killed a man," Jaida said shakily. "Or he had it done. And then he watched him die at his feet." She wrapped her arms closer around herself, trying vainly to get warm.
Trey continued softly, "That incident convinced Lauren she had to get away from her husband. She hid the clothing, determined to take it with her when she left. She hoped she would be able to use it later to put Penning away where he could never hurt anyone again."
Trey had the evidence Lauren had brought with her safely stored in a vault in his office. Tests had proven that Lauren's supposition was correct—the marks were bloodstains. So far, however, neither he nor Mac had been able to devise a way to use it to put Penning away. Lauren had had no idea who the victim might have been, and the bloodstained clothing, though damning, didn't prove her husband had been a party to murder.
Now Jaida West professed to have witnessed the murder scene through her psychic senses.
"Oh, God," she whispered, "Lauren is so lucky you found her. William Penning is capable of anything. Anything."
"Except having his own son kidnapped?" he prodded, watching her reaction.
"He didn't order that," she said with quiet certainty. "He doesn't know about him, and he has no idea where Lauren is." The events of the day had drained her, and exhaustion was threatening. She looked up at Trey. "I'm not getting on a plane for Arkansas tomorrow," she said with quiet determination. "You can fly back to L.A. or continue here on your own. I don't care. But I'm leaving in the morning, with or without you."
He was silent for a long time before asking, "What are you planning to do?"
"I'm going to do whatever it takes. The question is, what are you going to do?"
Her words hung in the air, taunting him. Yeah, that was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. What the hell was he going to do next? He'd spent a lifetime cultivating his iron control, learning patience. His rational mind demanded he return to L.A. There he could at least see to Lauren's safety while he waited for the authorities to solve Benjy's kidnapping.
But he found he was no longer able to dismiss the inexplicable accuracy of Jaida's words. He couldn't deny the pressing need to explore the extent of her ability if there was even the slimmest possibility she could lead him to his nephew.
"What am I going to do?" he repeated. "Well, that's real easy, honey. I'm going with you."
* * *
Chapter 7
« ^ »
Jaida sat on the edge of the bed. She could hear Trey moving about in his room. She didn't have much time before he'd be knocking impatiently at her door. She got up
and walked to her suitcase. Reaching down, she withdrew a small canvas bag and carried it back to the bed with her.
She shook out the bag's single content. Benjy's stuffed elephant looked incongruous against the elegant bedspread, which had been carefully selected to match the wallpaper and draperies. Her hand reached for the toy, hovered for a moment, before she pulled it back.
It was always difficult to drop her defenses and voluntarily undergo such an experience. She was never sure exactly what she was opening herself up for.
The stuffed animal seemed to grin up at her, inviting her touch. Nervously she pushed her hair back over her shoulder, chewing her lip, trying to screw up her courage. She was already far too caught up in this case, too close to the parties involved. What would she do if she saw Benjy hurt, suffering? Or worse?
With a little gasp, she bounced off the bed and paced halfway across the room, wrapping her arms around her waist. There had been other times when the scenes she saw in her mind were full of heartache, horror and death. She didn't think she could stand it if this was one of those times. What could be more horrible than knowing a young child was a victim to some terrible suffering?
She closed her eyes in anguish. What could be more horrible than not knowing?
Taking a deep breath, she turned to approach the bed with leaden limbs. Sinking down next to the toy, she forced herself to pick it up.
She cradled it in her hands, her thumbs moving over the frivolous corduroy material of its overalls. The texture abraded her skin lightly, pleasantly. She waited for the visions to come of the little boy who had loved it, who might even now be missing it, feeling lost, feeling…
Cold. It crawled over her skin and down her spine, encasing her with icy fingers. It sank into her bones and turned her blood to glacier-fed streams. She started to shake, so violently it seemed as though something inside her should crack and splinter. The vision swept into her mind with a rush, then ebbed to part like a giant filmy curtain.
Benjy sat on the beach, both chubby fists full of sand, throwing his hands up and releasing it. The sand felt hot and gritty as he filled his hands again and threw it wildly. The sound of the ocean pounding the shore was nearby, and miles of beach stretched in all directions. A man's voice sliced through the scene, startling the boy as he bent to scoop up more sand. "I said stop it!" He delivered a stinging slap to Benjy's cheek, and tears welled up in the boy's dark-green eyes, and his poignant yearning, momentarily waylaid, came flooding back…
Giving a strangled gasp, Jaida bent over at the waist and opened her eyes, putting an end to the vision. Tiny hammers inside her temples kept the throbbing climbing in intensity with each passing second. She dropped weakly, full-length on the bed, grasping the elegant bedspread and rolling up in it. She curled up as best she could, a cocoon of pain, trying, without too much success, to bring her body under control again.
That was how Trey found her seconds, or minutes, later. When she reluctantly opened her eyes again, his face was swimming above hers. "What can I do?"
"A pill." Her teeth were chattering, her whole body still quaking. "In my purse."
He was a man used to dealing with emergencies, she thought fuzzily. He obeyed her immediately, not asking unnecessary questions. Then a tablet and a glass of water were in front of her.
Her fingers were thick and clumsy as she endeavored to pick up the tablet without touching him. His body heat seared up from his palm and she thought wildly that if he wrapped his arms around her right now, he'd melt the glacier encasing her, turning the ice into clouds of hissing steam. She swallowed the pill and fell back to the bed, edging away from him.
She shouldn't be surprised that it was in his nature to be patient. He was totally still now, waiting for a sign from her. As the time stretched between them, the medication worked its magic, sending the pain to a distant chamber, where it would remain, steady but tolerable. Two tablets would have been better. Trey would have pulled her deeper and deeper into a vortex where blissful unconsciousness beckoned. But she couldn't afford the luxury of sleep now—time was growing too short.
Jaida wasn't sure how long she lay there, waiting out the physical reaction that had accompanied the vision. Trey sat next to the bed, watching her, his green eyes shadowed. He was holding Benjy's stuffed elephant in his big hands.
But then he spoke, reminding her his patience was finite. "You tried it again, didn't you? Using this." He indicated the toy he held. At her jerky nod he asked reluctantly, "What did you … see?"
She sat up, and her voice was rusty when she answered. "He's on the beach. Somewhere near the ocean."
He waited, but when she didn't go on, he prodded, "That's all? He's by some ocean, on some beach? That's the lead you want us to follow?"
She fought her arms free of her self-made cocoon and sat up to face him. She needed to be at her best when she did battle with Trey. "That's the lead I'm following. You can do whatever you wish." She unrolled herself from the blanket and looked at the toy he still held. "You'd better put that back in the bag." She nodded toward the canvas tote she'd taken it from. "We'll probably need it."
"Why?" he asked, his sarcasm biting. "Are you planning to go into one of your trances every hundred miles or so?"
"No," she replied, the word reverberating in her pounding head. "I'm planning to put it into Benjy's arms when we find him again."
* * *
The cool breeze kissed her face and the sun sent dancing rays of light across Jaida's tinted sunglasses. She leaned her head back and smiled, smug at winning this latest skirmish with Trey. He'd been opposed to renting a convertible, but, she'd argued, if they were going to investigate the coastal areas with beaches, they might as well enjoy the view. He'd given in gracelessly, but at least his ill-temper was a genuine emotion. She'd take that over his phony charm any day.
"So, let me get this straight." His voice was a frustrated rasp. "We're just going to hunt beaches? Any particular direction in mind, or should I just circle aimlessly?"
"South," Jaida answered. "They've left the immediate area." She was unable to explain to him how she knew that for a certainty, but the feeling was too strong to ignore. "We'll need to focus on the public beaches."
"Why?" he challenged her. "What makes you think Benjy isn't at some posh resort on the Cape? Or on a beach at any one of hundreds of private homes? For that matter, what makes you think he's still in the state?"
"From their last selection of a motel, it didn't exactly look like the kidnappers were spending money lavishly. So that rules out resorts and expensive beachfront property. And I don't know whether they've left the state."
He waited, but when she said nothing else, he mapped, "Massachusetts alone has almost two hundred miles of coastline. You couldn't narrow it down a little, could you?"
"No," she replied honestly, "I can't. All I can do is follow my instincts, and my instincts say to head south."
"And will your instincts—" he gave the word a sardonic inflection "—also tell us where to stop, or will we drive right by my nephew on our scenic tour?"
"I'll know the place when we get there," Jaida said. "I'll be able to feel it."
He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse. "Well, I'm feeling something already, and we've just started driving."
"At least you're feeling, Trey." Jaida smiled serenely and looked at the scenery whizzing by. "Somehow I think that's rather new for you."
He glanced at her sharply, but her attention remained on the sights they were passing. Her pithy remarks were starting to make him edgy. She was starting to make him edgy. There was a distinct disadvantage in the feeling that she was somehow able to guess more about him than he knew about her.
"Were you born and raised in Arkansas?" he asked abruptly.
"I was born in New York City," came her surprising answer.
He waited, but she didn't elaborate. That was new for her. Usually she was full of conversation. But now, when he wanted information, she wasn't o
ffering any. He decided the woman had a patent on obstinance.
"How long did you live there?" he prodded.
She yawned. The sunshine and fresh air were not as invigorating as the twelve-hour nap her body craved after summoning another vision. She wondered how long they would have to travel before he'd stop so she could eat. "Long enough for my parents to split up and for my mother to dump me on Granny for the first time. About three months."
"You've lived with your grandmother since you were three months old?"
He sounded interested, and a little appalled. She cast him a sidelong glance. It was unusual for him to make idle conversation. Which meant he was after something, although she couldn't imagine why he'd be seeking information on her. An idea occurred to her then, and she deliberately turned away without answering.
She waited several moments, then heard him say impatiently, "Well?"
Grinning to herself, she replied, "I'll make you a deal, Trey." She paused a heartbeat. "For every question I answer of yours, you'll answer one of mine."
He didn't like the suggestion. She could read that, despite the dark-framed sunglasses he was wearing.
"What kind of questions?" His voice was filled with reluctance.
She lifted a shoulder lazily. "No conditions. And no lying," she added swiftly. "You … we … have to answer truthfully."
He was silent for so long she thought he'd reverted to his earlier taciturn manner.