She would grieve for a long time at the loss of so many precious souls. She would also rail at God, or fate, for not bringing her in contact with the serial killers sooner. They should have been stopped years ago. Cursed with seeing visions of violent death at crime scenes, Eva had experienced a lot of evil in life, but nothing as horrific as what she’d uncovered in her quest for justice for Kaylee Waters.
The thunder shaking Powell’s Piano Bar hit a chord of fear in Eva’s gut as the memory of Mason’s swinging axe flashed before her eyes. Her gaze instinctively sought Adam Frasier’s across the room and unfortunately connected. From his grimace, she knew the storm had taken him back to the rural farm where Smith had almost killed them two weeks ago. Adam stood talking to his father, Vince, a retired Georgia Bureau of Investigations agent, and his good friend, Major Brad Warren, the Georgia State Patrol field operations commander. Both men had played a key role in saving her and Adam from death.
The bond that had developed between her and Adam during their three-day investigation into Smith had grown, despite her having avoided Adam this past week. She forced her focus from him to the champagne glass, sweating beads of water on the bar’s mahogany surface.
She’d made a tactical mistake. She knew it now. Three glasses of champagne, two long glances from Adam across the crowded room, and one heated dance with him to the song “Alive” by The Aaron Hendra Project had convinced her. Her attempts to box him into the role of colleague seemed to be failing.
Adam and his FBI status put Eva and her family at risk. The world had a history of crucifying real psychics. And all of the St. Claires were cursed with paranormal gifts, which they used to covertly fight crime. Keeping their gifts secret was essential to their well-being. Only her Aunt Zena had come out of the psychic closet. As a medium to the dead with a 1-900 psychic number, she toured the states in her own ostentatious bus. Most people only rolled their eyes in disbelief at her elaborate show. Aunt Zena hid her gift behind fanfare.
Normally, Eva wouldn’t have let Adam into her inner circle. But being targeted by serial killers and her brother, Devin’s premonition of Adam’s death, had forced her to keep him closer than she should. She had been determined to stop that prediction and still was. She just needed to find a better way.
She hadn’t planned on enjoying his sharp company. Nor had she realized how exciting an active investigation could be. She had to let them both go.
Her Bohemian sister, Iris, joined her in designer heels, jeans, a blue-silk T-shirt and vibrant yellow jacket. As an artist, color and “no-rules” defined her. “That vacation you promised to take starts tomorrow. And Adam is the perfect destination.”
“Keep your voice down. He’s not a destination, he’s trouble. Tomorrow, I’m busy. I’m speaking to the volunteers at the National Victim’s Assistant Program.”
“That morning meeting won’t last all night. Before Adam flies back to Washington D.C. Wednesday, you two need to see where seven minutes alone will take you. Heaven is my guess.”
“And you need to wipe whatever fairytale you’re painting out of your head. He’s too great a risk.”
“Excuses… excuses. You’re afraid to live. Check your phone. Since you refuse to put appealing, eligible bachelors on your map, I did it for you. Just tell James to take you to Adam and he’ll direct your way. You might as well enjoy yourself while you’re sorting out Devin’s premonition of doom. The troops agree.”
Eva’s eye twitched. Having her psychic aunt, army-sergeant housekeeper, and her starry-eyed sister trying to pair her with Adam had to stop. “Who is James?”
“I reprogramed your phone. No more monotone lady. You’ve a sexy Aussie crooning in your ear.”
“Iris, you really have to stop—”
“I did the same to Devin’s. I honed-in on his password this morning at breakfast. He barely said good morning between emails, thus deserved the invasion. Can’t wait to see his face when James speaks up.”
“Honed-in” meant Iris had read Devin’s mind. Unlike Eva’s visions or Devin’s premonitions, the gift of telepathy did have an upside to it. She couldn’t help but laugh. Devin would not be pleased. Before she could admonish her sister again, the bar’s owner, Betty-Grable-like Tracy Powell, placed an unsealed, manila envelope on the bar. “A guy just dropped this off. Said it was for the big shot here. Any ideas?”
For a moment, Eva’s heart thudded as she met Iris’s startled glance. Together, they’d sent over two dozen anonymous envelopes like this one to different police departments over the past five years. All had contained the portraits of murder victims Iris had drawn from Eva’s memory, the GPS coordinates of their bodies, and the photos of their killers. Eva couldn’t write a book on every murder she uncovered. And she couldn’t write about an undiscovered murder. So, with Iris’s telepathic and artistic skills, they’d been able to expose killers and keep the St. Claire’s curses secret.
Had someone discovered what she and Iris did? Before handing the envelope over, Eva had to know what it contained. Using a nearby napkin to keep her prints off the delivery, she tapped over the whole surface. Paper or photos had to be inside. She pried the unsealed envelope open with a toothpick. No red flags of a powered residue appeared. Then she tipped the envelope and two things fell out. A large card she recognized as being from the Tarot, and a cut out news-print warning.
You missed the truth. Justice will now be dealt to all. Write their stories, St. Claire before judgment falls on you, too!
Iris cried out in distress. “I haven’t read anyone threatening, Eva!”
“Read?” Tracy frowned at Iris. The men, with Adam and Devin in the lead, hurried over. Aunt Zena and Sheriff Doug Grant followed.
Dropping the envelope, Eva caught Iris’s shoulders. “You’ve had too much champagne. I haven’t seen anyone threatening either. Sit here,” she said firmly, reminding her sister of the need to keep quiet about reading minds.
“What’s happened?” Adam and Devin asked in unison.
Eva explained.
“Nobody touch it.” Adam glared at the note, the card, then at her. “What aren’t you saying? Is this related to someone bugging your house and shooting your tire on that mountain?”
After the chaos of the serial killers’ attack had settled, those two things had been left unexplained. She shook her head. “I don’t think so. They’re demanding I write a book but it’s meant for “the big shot” here. Maybe you, Frasier? The FBI trumps everyone else in rank.”
Aunt Zena leaned in. “The Justice Card. Interesting.”
“Why?” Eva asked, narrowing her gaze. “Do you know anything about this?” She hadn’t figured her aunt into the equation. What if “Zena Knows” said something to the wrong person?
“Haven’t a clue, but I’ve a friend who does Tarot readings. The Justice Card is all about the balance of Karma. If you’ve caused harm, then expect to get your just deserts. From the additional markings, though, I’d say someone’s dead or will be.”
“What do you mean?” Adam asked.
“Look close. There’s a red ink line across the woman’s throat. Droplets of blood on her sword and a red X over the scales. All of those markings have been added to the Tarot card.”
Eva frowned at her aunt. “The altered card is saying a purveyor of justice is, or will be, executed because she/he didn’t judge fairly—thus the x’ed out scales. And this here means they caused harm to another—thus the blood on the sword of action?”
Aunt Zena shrugged. “Since Justice’s throat is slit, it could be saying the law is dead. The law caused harm, and whoever escaped legal justice for a wrong, will now be punished.”
Iris moved closer and studied the card. “The ink markings are delicate and precise. Not erratic or bold. Almost seems feminine. Calm and deliberate.”
Adam’s phone rang, then so did the others. Each man answered. Adam spoke up first, his expression grim. “I think we have our victim. Don’t know who or where yet, but we know how. Vide
o of the murder has gone viral. The Justice card is nailed to his forehead.”
Two hours later…
Well, hell. Special Agent Adam Frasier didn’t know how to verbalize the crap rattling around in his mind, or who he could tell. From serial killers last week to tonight’s “Justice Card Killer”, it seemed as if the devil had come to Georgia. Surely every True Crime writer didn’t become a target for crazies, yet Eva had twice in a row. Was she a mega-magnet for murderous trouble?
His weekend trip from D.C. to Georgia to switch care facilities for his mother had stretched to over two weeks. During which, he’d eliminated serial killers and had been shot in the process. He found it hard to believe it was happening again—another crazed killer case with Eva dead center.
They were keeping the victim’s name out of the press for now, but the murder of a federal judge and its viral video had every bigwig everywhere in an uproar. The FBI, GBI, and local police had a pissing contest going. If the judge had been killed due to his position as a judge, then the FBI would be the top dog. If it had been purely personal, then the GBI and police would duke it out.
Adam said to hell with the politics and focused on nailing this killer now.
Several years ago, he’d left his position in the Critical Incident Response Group to head a special investigation into the “Artist of Death.” All over the country, information of victims and their killers had been anonymously sent to police departments, exposing twenty-six murders so far. Two hours ago, his job had expanded.
When his boss called about the viral murder video then learned Adam had the killer’s note in hand and what that note said, there had been a few moments of dead silence. The pause had been followed by “get that son-of-a-bitch” and “why in the hell is St. Claire directly involved with yet another murder case? Better stay glued to her side.”
Adam’s exact questions and plan.
Make that three murder cases, he amended. Her controversial book, Hayden’s Hell had his father—and him—convinced she’d interviewed the real killer. His father had been Tony Hayden’s best friend, and never believed the man blamed for the murders of the Hayden family guilty.
Solving that mystery, while keeping his father’s reputation-ending secret hidden would be tricky. Adam had yet to fully tackle the situation, but had planned to before flying back to D.C. in two days. For now, they were on the hunt for a Tarot dealing killer.
Biometric experts using a facial recognition program on the shadowy murder video had identified the victim within an hour. Superior Court Judge Jackson T. Granville. The team had gleaned quite a bit of information from the video. They estimated the killer to be about five-foot-nine. Medium to slight build with a steady hand and calm determination. Internet savvy, too. The video’s supposed origin came from Central America. The crime occurred in Georgia about three hours ago.
Dispatch to Granville’s Buckhead estate revealed a bitter wife who directed the police to the “den of iniquity” where the judge had been residing for the past six months. She’d kicked him out upon learning he’d been playing sugar daddy to law students for years.
When told of her husband’s fate, Mrs. Granville expressed satisfaction that her soon-to-be ex had gotten what he’d deserved. At a slender five-six, she could have worn stilettos to slit her husband’s throat, but unless her angry, rattled demeanor was a very good act, Mrs. Granville wasn’t directly their steady-handed killer. She could have hired out, though.
The multi-million-dollar mansion on Lake Lanier proved to be the crime scene and a nightmare for the GBI Crime Scene Specialists. They’d just finished processing the bedroom where Granville had been killed, but the rest of the place would take days.
Eva had yet to say much about the crime scene. She’d stayed in the corner of the bedroom for a short time then left the room. He’d wanted to hear her take on Granville’s murder and found irritation gnawing at him that she hadn’t said anything, which annoyed him more. He always preferred being a lone wolf.
Eva had been in withdrawal mode since they’d danced earlier and he’d been thinking that was a good thing. In the two weeks he’d known her, she’d consumed way too much of… everything. Something about her wouldn’t let him loose.
Brad Warren walked up shaking his head. “From the amount of women’s clothes strewn from the beach to the bedrooms, they had to have left naked. The gate guard has no idea how many people were here today. Six limos came and six limos left. Happens weekends and holidays. He doesn’t even know if everyone left earlier or not. In addition to the parties, the judge entertained women on the weeknights, too.”
Adam had seen some of the clothes, most were exotic costumes designed for sexual enticement. Each room had a theme. BDSM in the basement complete with multiple pleasure-pain devices and an X altar. Banquet table in the dining room with a padded cut-out for a body to lay in while diners feasted on whatever. A room decorated with satanic paraphernalia, and even a Helter-Skelter orgy room with oddly configured, cushioned furniture. “The fantasy outfits, like the sex toys, were likely supplied by whoever really owns this hellhole.”
“No luck yet then?”
“So far all roads lead to a corporation in the Caymans. We’ll know more in the morning.”
“What a waste. The money and the resources it would take to continually run a setup like this boggles the mind. That helo pad out back has seen a lot of use.”
“Revolving orgies. Multiple unknown suspects. Multiple motives. Finding Judge Granville’s killer, even with video evidence describing the killer, will be hell. I’m walking this scenario backward now. Maybe we can stop Justice from dealing another death sentence.”
“What do you mean?” Brad narrowed his gaze.
“Killer said because we missed the truth, he had to deliver justice to all. Since a gruesome death was the punishment, I can assume our Justice Card killer is avenging equally horrible deaths. Plural, because the note said for Eva to tell their story. Let’s look at Judge Granville’s trials where any defendant facing multiple murder charges went free.”
Adam scanned the room. Granville’s body had been cleared for transport to the morgue. Horribly overweight and hairy, he’d leave wearing a red silk G-string with “Big Daddy” embroidered in white. “There’s just some things you can’t un-see.”
“Or un-think,” Brad added. “Given he was a player in the orgies here.” He lowered his voice. “So what’s up with St. Claire coming tonight? I got why you kept her close when Mason Smith targeted her, but why now?”
In a glance, Adam assured Eva hadn’t returned, then spoke softly, “There are a lot more unanswered questions than answered ones where she is concerned. Is it her True Crime books? Her notoriety? Or is it a fluke that she’s in the middle of another investigation? The killer knew she was at the bar tonight and threatened her in a way. Maybe she knows something and doesn’t realize it yet. She has uncanny instincts on a case. We wouldn’t have caught Mason Smith as quickly, or his partner at all, if it weren’t for her input.”
Brad laughed. “You’ve finally met someone more interesting than your job.”
Adam frowned. “The jury is still out on how interested I am, or if that interest is mutual. Falling for a woman with secrets can only be trouble.”
The team bagged Granville and rolled the stretcher out. Adam entered the main part of the house with Brad beside him. “Speaking of Eva, I’d better find her.”
“Last I saw she had headed for the basement.” Brad shook his head. “You’ve got a problem.”
“Yeah, not a pleasant place.” Adam winced. The extreme BDSM chamber had been made to look like an Inquisition torture dungeon. He’d seen a lot of shit in life and thought he was immune, but Mason Smith’s evil had ripped Adam open. The basement here had come as an unwelcomed reminder.
“Not the dungeon. Your problem is you love trouble. Always have. Catch you in a few, bro.” Brad slapped Adam on the shoulder.
“Funny,” Adam replied before leaving. The very
last thing he needed in his life was more trouble.
*
Aside from the usual deep chill that accompanied Eva’s visions of violent death, the Granville murder hadn’t hit her in the gut as did most of the murders she saw. Was she still in shock from Mason Smith’s kill zone and the dozens of victims who’d screamed for help? Two weeks out and she could vividly recall every second of that night. Or had seeing a video of Granville’s murder beforehand lessened its impact?
She didn’t understand the shift tonight, but she’d been able to absorb the vision and stay relatively aware of the police and crime scene specialists around her.
She hadn’t heard any sounds in the vision or gleaned any thoughts from the killer. Granville had been asleep and the killer hadn’t spoken. But when Granville’s eyes bulged open and he gasped as he stared at the killer, she should have heard Granville choking on his own blood.
She hadn’t.
And no after-vision migraine had descended on her, either. Tonight, her curse had been less of a curse than ever before. Yet, she didn’t like how the distance made her feel. Removed. Dispassionate. Clinical. All of the things she’d thought she should be.
She left the crime scene to look through the rest of the playboy mansion.
How could she impart knowledge without exposing her visions? So far, the things she’d picked up on, experts would discover as soon as they compared the video to the crime scene photos. But the investigators would only be able to hypothesize about the discrepancies.
Whereas, Eva knew someone had been to Judge Granville’s crime scene after the killer left and before the police arrived. Her vision of Granville’s murder, as seen through the killer’s eyes, had been a repeat of the video. Except, after filming the crime, the killer knelt and prayed, a ritual that had spoken volumes to Eva.
Facing the bloodied, uncovered body of Granville, who wore only a red G-string and a gold ring on his right hand, the killer knelt on the floor and drew the sign of the cross with his/her right hand.
Never Fear - The Tarot: Do You Really Want To Know? Page 26