by Deanna Chase
Kevin walked through the commons, staring straight ahead. Most of the office knew what had just happened. The interior walls were very thin.
He didn't give a shit. Let them talk. As long as they didn't bring it to him, he could care less. He had work to do, and gossip wasn't one of his job duties.
Neither was dealing with flakes. Even harmless ones. But he'd had to check it out further. Now he'd done so, and now he could wash his hands of her. Good riddance.
If only Brandt would see things his way. He'd expected more of this 'visiting detective.' Brandt seemed to be a straightforward kind of guy. He'd always dug in and helped where needed and he sure as hell knew how to get the job done. But this psychic stuff was just plain weird. That he'd trumped Brandt's witness, wasn't something he was prepared to get into. Not on a murder case.
Besides, like religion, there was just no telling where individual beliefs lay.
That was fine with Kevin. He didn't push his beliefs down anyone's throat and expected the same courtesy – especially at work. Kevin shook his head. Christ, a psychic!
Even his wife had laughed at him.
12:30 pm
Brandt pulled the truck up to the cabin in a spew of dust and dirt. Moses stood on the porch barking at him. At least the dog showed some sign of guarding the place. He cut the engine and hopped out, slamming the door behind him.
"Hey Moses, how are you doing, big guy?" Brandt eyed him warily, certain that Moses posed no threat. Still, one never knew. He climbed the steps, hand outstretched toward him.
Moses walked a step closer. Just as Brandt was about to touch him, a deadly growl erupted from the far side of the porch before rising into a hideous howl. Moses backed up and took up his fierce barking again.
Brandt started. "Jesus. What the hell is that?" He could just make out the oversized cage further down the porch, half covered in old gray army blankets. He took a hesitant step closer, only to stop as the growl grew to crescendo.
"Easy, take it easy." He didn't know what Samantha had inside that damn cage, but if it were relative in size, it had to be huge.
He glanced at the closed front door, sure he was being watched. Samantha had to be hiding behind the curtains. Ignoring the cage for the moment, he rapped on the door. Samantha opened it promptly, confirming his suspicions.
"Hi."
The door shut in his face, leaving him staring at worn, peeling wood.
He closed his eyes and groaned. Shit. After what the team had put her through, he couldn't blame her. Then neither could he blame the team. He might have done the same thing under different circumstances.
"Samantha, I had nothing to do with this morning's appointment. The detectives called you in because they had questions. I'm sorry for the way it went down. Still, it's our job to ask."
Silence.
"Crap." It would take a bomb to get her out of there now.
"Would it help if I said I didn't know about this morning's meeting until after you'd left? I had nothing to do with it. Honest."
More silence.
"That was the rest of the team. They don't have much faith in psychics and wanted to check you out for themselves."
Dead silence.
Shit. He so didn't have time for this. He searched for ideas. Moses had slumped to his usual position of full-relaxed mode on the porch. The cage was quiet, but Brandt sensed the awareness emanating from the wire structure.
"Nice pet you've got there. Sounds dangerous. I may have to put him down as a danger to society."
The front door crashed open. "Don't you touch him," she snarled as she raced toward the cage.
He grinned. Like taking candy from a baby.
As she caught sight of his grin, she stopped her headlong rush and changed direction to charge him instead. He laughed even as he deflected her blows.
"You bastard. You did that on purpose." She took another swing at him, her knuckles grazing the top of his nose.
Still laughing, he snagged her wrists.
"You're right. That was low, but I had to get you out of the house."
He was loath to let go of her wrists. Not wanting to get clipped was only one reason. The ire in those velvet eyes spoke volumes about her temper. No, it had more to do with the shape and fit of her against him. He switch to holding both her wrists with one hand. The fingers of his other hand sank deep into the always-present sweater – this time a deep forest green one – before finding her warm flesh below. Her frame – surprisingly solid. The purple fire shooting from her eyes made him grin. Even as he watched, she ran her tongue over her lips.
His stomach clenched. He reached and tugged her long braid.
He stared at her hands gripped in his. Blue veins wound from her fingers up and under her sleeve. He frowned and loosened his hold.
"Sorry." He grimaced as pink rushed through to her pale fingertips. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
Samantha tugged her hands free and stepped away from him. "I'm not hurt."
He glanced from her hands to her face, frowning. Somehow, he didn't think she'd tell him if she were. She wasn't going to change on his say so.
"May I come in?"
She shuffled her feet, but refused to look at him. More evasiveness. Not a surprise, coming from her. He waited for a moment before adding, "Please."
CHAPTER EIGHT
1:15 pm
Sam didn't want to let him into her space. She didn't know how her ire had died so suddenly. But she didn't want to let it go just yet.
"Are you okay?"
She twisted around, brushing her hair from her eyes. "What the hell do you care?" The words burst out with more punch than she intended. Better to appear calm and rational than let him know how hurt and betrayed she really felt.
"We need to talk." he responded.
"What could there possibly be left to talk about?" She turned and walked into the cabin.
Brandt came in behind her.
She strode to the fridge and pulled out a jug of cold water. "Why won't you leave me alone?" she asked, without turning around.
A large muscled arm reached into the glass cupboard above her head, pulling out two tall glasses. He set them down on the counter and tugged the jug free from her fingers.
He appeared so in control, she wanted to scream at him. Her life was in turmoil. She watched as he poured two glasses.
Pissed at her reaction, she snatched one up and walked outside. Her nerves were rubbed raw. She could only take so much.
"I can't."
His answer hurt. She escaped toward Soldier. Her stocking feet whispered along the porch. Soldier still heard her. She couldn't see him, but she sensed his attention. "It's okay, boy. It's just me." The sensation of wariness coming from the cage never relaxed. She couldn't blame him, hers hadn't disappeared either.
A low growl erupted in the far corner.
"What's in there?" Brandt asked from behind her.
Sharper, higher pitched growls had the two of them backing up a few paces.
"That's some huge cage," Brandt said, his voice carefully moderated.
"He's a good-sized dog. And he obviously likes his space."
Brandt snorted and walked to the stairs and sat down. "You think?" He took a big drink, still staring at the cage. "Is he dangerous?"
"No." She amended her answer after a quick thought. "At least, I don't believe so."
He arched his eyebrow. "You mean you don't know?"
"I just got him," she muttered. She didn't think Soldier would really hurt anyone – unless they got too close.
She could feel Brandt's gaze burning her face. A hot flush washed over her cheeks. "So why are you here?" she asked.
Silence. She heard his heavy sigh on the air. From the corner of her eye, she saw his head turn, his focus on the view before them.
"I came to explain. I went to meet you for our eleven o'clock appointment. That's when I heard they'd called you for a visit earlier."
"Visit." Disbelief made her shake. "Did
you say visit?" Her voice rose alarmingly high. "How could anyone call that a visit? How about calling it a Gestapo session, or maybe an interrogation?" She glared at him. "But a visit, it was not."
With Moses at her side, she headed down to the end of the dock. The water glistened in the late sunlight. Her knee buckled sideways as Moses leaned against her, whining.
"It's okay, boy. I'm fine." She laid a gentle hand on his bushy fur, enjoying the comfort of his touch.
"Are you?" Brandt faced the lake. "That's actually why I came – to check up on you."
She stiffened.
He hesitated. "I'm sorry I wasn't there, I might have been able to ease it slightly. But don't get me wrong, they would have brought you in regardless. They needed to check you out after you reported the third victim."
Sorry? She threw him a stunned glance. He wished he could have been there? Well, so did she. Overwhelmed and unaccountably relieved, Sam dropped to sit down on the dock, her suddenly weak legs dangling over the edge. Somehow, the day didn't seem so bad after all. Moses slumped down to the ground at her feet.
Brandt stood beside her, looking as if he wanted to say something. Sam didn't care. She had enough to deal with keeping the bubbling lightness inside from making its way outward. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her relief.
The silence grew uncomfortable. "What?" She didn't like the indecision on his face.
He shrugged.
"Come on, fess up. What?"
He sat down a little apart from her. "Do you have other skills? You know like telekinesis or telepathy – anything?"
His tone came across light and amused, yet Sam sensed a serious thread through it all.
"You mean like mind reading? She sharpened her gaze, trying to figure out what he meant. No, he was too sensible for that. Wasn't he? Searching his face, she had to ask, "You don't really think I can read your mind – do you?"
He shifted his weight and stared out across the lake.
She grinned, her first real one in a long time. As the realization swept through her, a giggle escaped. She slapped her hand over her mouth, astonished at the sound. Moses raised his head and whined. She giggled again. Then she couldn't help it; she laughed aloud. When he cocked his head to one side and stared at her, she laughed harder, threw her arms around the dog, and hugged him close.
She watched Brandt shake his head, as if he only just realized he'd crouched down beside her, his puzzled look clearing.
"What's so funny?" he asked, aggrieved.
Another giggle escaped even as she fought to control herself.
She wiped her eyes. "Sorry. God that felt good. I haven't laughed that hard in years." It took another couple of minutes before finally, she heaved a big sigh and relaxed. Peace settled upon her, ill fitting at first, but she slowly grew more comfortable with it. Another sigh escaped, and she stretched out on the dock. The sun had lost most of its heat, leaving a slightly cooler air to wash over her heated skin.
"Well?"
"Well what?" Then she remembered – mind reading. Another giggle escaped. He shot her a dirty look, and she tried hard to stifle the rest. There was no way to stop the grin that split her face. "I'm not telepathic. I can't read minds. Okay?"
He peered at her intently. She stared back, still grinning, but serious.
He nodded once and lay down on the warm dock beside her.
Sam smiled, the wooden boards warm beneath her shoulders. It was a gorgeous day.
She was dimly aware of Brandt stretching out on the other side of Moses. She could feel his gaze. She smiled slightly and closed her eyes. Content.
Her thoughts free floated in the newly created space in her mind. Stress had fled in the face of her laughter, leaving room for peace and contentment.
Images, both colored and not, danced, enjoying the freedom to roam. Faces, images, names, and places. Nothing followed a pattern as free association flowed. In an uncharacteristic move, she let them. Amazed at the clarity, Sam could only watch in awe. Where did these come from? She recognized some of them – and some she didn't.
"What are you thinking?"
"Hmm?"
"I asked what you were thinking."
"Not thinking – seeing. Pictures, images, events." She smiled lazily, never opening her eyes.
"Anything on the murderer?"
She froze. It didn't help. The moving images sped up, tumbling over each other, impatient for their moment in the light. One face flashed, followed by another and then another. Without warning, the film stopped. A camera trained on one woman. But Sam was inside that woman staring at the camera lens. The faint reflection on the camera lens showed the vague outline of a beautiful laughing brunette. The woman smiled into the camera, amused at something the photographer said. She turned her head. Sam caught glimpses of a huge green park, flowers in brilliant vibrant beds. Several other people mingled. Someone called out a name. Her head twisted around. Her name. She was called Annalea. Sam recognized her basic essence. Sam had connected to this same soul the other day.
"Annalea."
"Who?"
She knew. "That’s her name." Sam opened her eyes to a slowly darkening sky.
"The murderer?" he asked. His voice sounded stunned, his tone disbelieving.
"No," she whispered, grief already clogging her heart, breaking up her voice. "He's stalking his next victim. Her name's Annalea."
2:10 pm
Even an hour ago, Sam would have said what she was doing was impossible.
It defied logic. But there it was.
She stood on the steps of the police station, staring up at the imposing front. What was even worse, was that somehow...somehow she'd been convinced to do this willingly.
Un-freakin-believable.
"Problems?"
Sam started. Brandt stood several steps above her, staring down at her with a questioning look on his face. She rubbed her damp palms on her faded jeans, glancing at her scuffed runners showing too much wear, then up at him. She wrapped her arms beneath her breasts, not quite knowing what to say. Her thick sweater was long and didn't seem to make a bit of difference to the chill deep in her bones. She stared around at the busy street before turning her gaze on him again.
"Yeah, this isn't exactly my favorite place to 'visit.'"
He grinned at her. "It will be different this time."
Should she believe him?
"I promise."
Sam raised her face to the sun, took a deep breath, got a grip on her whacked-out emotions, and strode the remaining few stairs. Once inside, she kept her focus on Brandt and followed his lead. Within minutes, she was sitting at a large table in a spacious lived-in room. It was much more pleasant. This looked like a meeting or a conference room. The sideboard held papers and books. One of the tables held used coffee cups and even a dirty plate.
"Do you want a cup of coffee before we get started? I’m not sure we have any tea."
Feeling as if she'd been caught snooping, Sam quickly nodded. "Thanks, coffee is fine. Black, please."
Brandt flashed a quirky grin as he left.
On her own, Sam glanced around at those passing through. There were no windows in the room. She'd have felt better if she could have seen the world outside – to have less of a caged feeling. She did much better in open air. She tilted her head. Maybe she should look at going into horticulture. That was outside, away from people. Yeah, she'd do well with plants. Too bad they didn't do well with her.
"Here you go. Careful, it's hot."
A cup of steaming coffee was placed before her. The heat drew her like a magnet. She wrapped her hands around the mug, almost moaning with joy.
At that moment, she looked up to catch Brandt's quizzical gaze. She flushed.
"I'm a little cold, that's all."
He raised one eyebrow and refrained from commenting.
Sam returned her attention to her coffee, staring at it longingly. With the steam still rising, she tried a sip. She choked, hastily putting it down
again. She coughed again, trying to clear her throat. Dear God, how could they call that coffee? She snuck a glance at Brandt. He hadn't noticed.
Sam didn't know what to say. Brandt sat down across from her, sipping his own coffee. God, he actually seemed to enjoy it. He flipped through a file on the table. Every once in a while, he stopped and wrote a few notes on a pad of paper.
"You'll get used to it."
Surprised, Sam asked, "Get used to what?"
"The coffee." He flashed a grin at her. The wicked glint in his eyes caught her sideways. Her heart stopped, before suddenly thundering on.
"Like hell," she said when she finally managed to speak.
"You're right. I lied. You never get used to it."
A sudden commotion at the door caught their attention. An older woman, hauling a large case bustled into the room. "Sorry I'm late, Brandt."
"No problem, Irena. Grab a seat."
Irena banged the case down and shrugged out of her coat. "The weather has gone to hell out there."
"Has it started raining?"
"Not yet, but the sky is ready to explode at any minute." Irena opened her case.
Sam gawked. Wow, what a kit. She watched as Irena pulled out an art pad and a small case of art pencils.
"Okay, so what are we doing today?"
Brandt quietly explained. Sam listened, watching Irena's face intently. Her expression wrinkled once before settling into the same old cynical look. Whatever.
Brandt stood up. "Sam, I'm going to leave you in Irena's hands." He smiled at the two women. "I'll return in an hour or so to see how the two of you are getting along."
Sam watched him walk out.
"So." Irena pulled a large sketchpad toward her and reached for a thick art pencil. "Let's get started."
An hour later, Sam was so engrossed that when a heavy hand landed on her shoulder, she shot out of her chair and spun around to face the danger. Brandt.
"Jesus," she snapped when she could, her hand still covering her pounding heart. "Don't do that."
"Sorry." He held his hands out in supplication, yet his twinkling eyes paid lie to that statement.