by Deborah Camp
Trudy shrugged. “Just telling you what she said.” She sat on the couch with him. “She asked me if I thought Rachel was still alive and I told her I did.”
He tapped the phone screen, his gaze focused there again.
“But I don’t know. I haven’t connected with the kidnapper in more than a week. He might have killed her.”
His dark blue eyes found hers. “I’ll help you connect with him.”
“Before we do that . . . I think it would be smart to see if she’s still here with us.”
“Connecting with the kidnapper will tell you that.”
“Yes, if we connect with him and he happens to be with her. But what if he’s not?” She shrugged. “You said you’d help me.”
He set his phone on the side table to give her his full attention. “And I will. You know I don’t work psychically on cases involving children.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I don’t.”
She tamped down her rising temper. Secretive, closed-off, stubborn . . ! “Please? I need to know. It’s driving me nuts not knowing!”
He stared at her, his dark blues sparking with banked anger, his usually full lips thinning into a straight, foreboding line. She held her breath, anxiety squirming through her as she waited. Finally, he blew out a long breath and looked away from her.
“Fuck it,” he whispered. “I’ll be breaking a cardinal rule.” He glanced at her, his gaze condemning, spitting blue fire at her. “I can’t guarantee anything. I have nothing of hers to touch.”
“You don’t always need that.”
“Yes, I know how it works for me, Trudy,” he said, dryly. He straightened to sit with his spine against the couch cushions and placed his hands on his knees in a determined, focused pose. “I’m not going to expend much energy or time on this. When I said I’d assist you, I meant that I’d help you channel.”
“I know. Thank you, Levi.”
He frowned and closed his eyes. “Showtime.” The word slipped out, through gritted teeth.
She crossed her legs and then crossed her fingers. Watching him, she couldn’t help but admire how the fading light threw shadows across his face, accentuating the slash of his cheekbones and the straight bridge of his nose. He definitely had that brooding bad boy thing going on, especially now when he was ticked off at her. A twinge of guilt corkscrewed through her for pushing him into this.
He shifted his shoulders as if a weight had settled on them and his black brows knitted. His thick, sooty lashes tapped his cheeks as he squirmed a little. After taking a lung-filling breath, he let it escape in a long hiss. She wondered what he was experiencing, what was going on in that brilliant mind of his. What did he see? Shadows moving in the distance? Souls stepping forward? A young girl emerging and answering his call? From the movement of his eyes behind his closed lids, she knew he was there . . . there among the spirits.
“Gregory,” he whispered.
His spirit guide! She sat forward, watching, waiting. He hadn’t connected with Gregory very much during the past few months. He’d told her that it bothered him, but that Gregory had reminded him that he only appeared when Levi needed guidance or centering. So, why had he appeared now? Was Levi having trouble? Had she been wrong to prod him into looking for Rachel over there?
“What’s going on?” Levi asked, his raspy voice carrying a sliver of doubt. “Who’s that? Is it . . . that’s not . . . no. No!” His eyes opened, wide and wild. He gasped for breath and emitted little grunts of panic with each exhale.
Trudy’s heart and spirits plummeted. “You saw her there? Rachel’s there?” A sob tore at her throat. How could she tell AmyLynn? Did the FBI know already?
“No . . . I . . .” Levi shot to his feet and scrubbed his face with his hands. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“She’s there? Oh, my God, she’s dead. He killed her.” Trudy wrapped her arms around herself as she began to shake with the horrible knowledge. She’d failed. She’d been useless. Ineffective. A bad joke. The little girl . . . gone. Gone!
“I didn’t see Rachel.”
“What?” Had she heard him right? She looked up into his face. His eyes were still unblinking, still haunted. “Then who did you see?”
“It wasn’t Rachel. I called for her, but she didn’t come. Gregory says she’s not there.” He stared past her, still breathing raggedly and worry pinching the skin between his eyes. “I need a drink.” He stalked past her to the kitchen cabinet where she’d stashed the whiskey. “No. I-I need to get out of here.” He headed for the door.
Trudy shot up, concerned about his agitated state. Was he spiraling out of control? Should she call Dr. McLain? “Where are you going?”
“Out.”
“I’ll go with you!” She hurried forward and blocked his exit. Clamping her hands on his upper arms, she felt a tremor coursing through him. “What happened? Talk to me. Tell me.”
His mouth formed a grim, hard line. “Not now. Get out of my way.”
“Levi, please. Don’t leave. Let’s talk.”
“Trudy, damn it, get out of my way!”
The brittle edge in his voice and the steely hardness of his eyes told her she had lost this battle. Her hands slipped away from him and she stepped aside. His shoulder slammed into her as he barreled out of the RV, making her stumble. Mouse barked, her high-pitched alarm scissoring Trudy’s nerves.
“Hush, Mouse!” She pulled the door shut and stomped to the bedroom, throwing herself onto the bed. Tears of frustration burned her eyes as she stared at the ceiling. What horror had he witnessed? Would she ever know? She thought again about calling Dr. McClain, but decided to give him some time. Let him sort it out. Whatever “it” turned out to be. If he returned in the same state, then she’d suggest he phone his psychiatrist.
She sat up, invigorated by the knowledge that Rachel wasn’t dead. Levi said that Gregory had told him she wasn’t there and Gregory was infallible.
“I’m going to find you, Rachel,” she whispered. And she wasn’t going to wait for Levi to return. He could be gone for hours. She scooted to the edge of the bed and planted her feet on the floor. Taking in a big breath, she forced herself to focus on Rachel. She pictured her – small and scared and saying in her high, singsong voice, “I’m sending you an SOS.”
Gradually, her mind floated, lifting away from the RV and winding through trees and stars, above rooftops and chimney stacks. Searching, foraging, and miraculously finding.
###
The image waffled like a bad TV connection. She strained to hear the voices and the words. Suddenly, the scene blinked out entirely, plunging Trudy into darkness. She flinched and slowly opened her eyes. Like a curtain rising, her mind cleared and she realized she was staring into navy blue eyes.
Levi smiled. “You were channeling.”
“You were watching,” she said, unable to speak above a whisper. She swallowed, trying to relax her throat. “Water?”
He nodded and fetched a cold bottle of water from the refrigerator. Uncapping it, he handed it to her. She drank deeply, the coolness massaging her throat, releasing her voice.
“Better?” Levi sat beside her on the bed. “Did you learn anything new from him?”
“Not him.” She took another swallow of water. “Her.”
He frowned, then his brows rose slowly. “You channeled Rachel?”
“Yes.”
He stood, his back to her, and ran both hands through his hair. Trudy leaned sideways, trying to see is face, but couldn’t. He was upset . . . shaken . . . but why?
“You want some of my water?” she offered, wanting him to turn around and face her again. “You okay?”
“Ummm? Yes. Of course.” He took a step back and sat down on the bed again. “You were in her head?”
“Yes.” She squinted at him, confused by his reaction. “Why are you so freaked? You’re the one who said I could do this.”
“I’m not . . .” He paused to cast a scowl at her. “Freaked
.” He said it like the word was rancid on his tongue. “So, tell me. What did you learn?”
She studied him and realized he wasn’t upset about her channeling Rachel. It was something else. But what? What was bugging him? He was such an enigma. It drove her crazy!
“Are you going to tell me?” he prodded.
“She’s sad and confused.”
He actually rolled his eyes at her. “How surprising.”
She shoved her shoulder into his. “Stow the sarcasm, Wolfe. It wasn’t easy. I couldn’t get through to her. It was like she couldn’t hear me and I couldn’t fully hear her. But I do know that a woman is there with her.” She congratulated herself when she felt Levi tense beside her. Take that, Mister Moody Blues! It was good to know she could still surprise and shock him. “She thought of her as Meemaw and she scares Rachel. I think she’s the one who slapped her. She’s very rough with her. There are bruises up and down Rachel’s arms where she’s been gripped and shaken.”
“Mother fuckers,” Levi breathed. He rested his elbows on his jeaned knees and plowed his fingers through his hair. “What else? Could you tell if they’re in a city? An apartment?”
“A house. It’s a house. I think her room must be downstairs.”
“What can she see out the windows?”
“It looked like the windows were dark.”
“Boarded up, probably, so that people can’t see in.”
“I did hear a rooster crow.”
“Could they be here in Cotton?”
She shook her head. “I don’t see how that would be possible. The sheriff’s office and FBI have been to every home, barn, and outhouse in this place.” She drank some more of the water as her thoughts sifted through information and impressions.
“What does she call him?”
“I don’t know.” She shut her eyes, trying to remember. “I heard a woman yelling for or at someone. She was shouting ‘Bubba! Bubba!’ That’s when I lost the connection with Rachel.”
A short, humorless laugh tumbled from him. “Bubba is a common nickname around here. It’s a substitute for ‘Bro.’ Meemaw and Bubba. Sounds like something out of Deliverance.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, reactively. That film scared her. She’d only seen it once. That was enough. The creepy brutality of it . . .
“They’re country folk,” Levi drawled. “Good, old, God-fearing country folk.”
His caustic comment made her recall the ugly run-in she’d had with Mr. Bracken at the barbecue restaurant. She stared to tell Levi about it, but then thought better of it. He didn’t need anything else to add to his dark mood. Muscles writhed in his shoulders and he massaged the back of his neck with one hand. Something was eating at him . . . something he wasn’t going to share with her.
“There’s more.” She waited for him to turn his head and look at her. “She thought something about how he tricked her.”
He sat up, interest almost vibrating off him. “How?”
“That’s when it really got muddled. She thought back to that night and she started crying and repeating that it wasn’t him, it wasn’t him. He tricked her. It wasn’t him. I got the impression that the kidnapper looked like someone she trusted.”
“You should ask AmyLynn if she knows someone who has a twin.”
“I will. Maybe the sheriff or Wannamaker will know.” She fell silent along with Levi for a few minutes, both lost in their own whirling thoughts. “I was able to connect with her by repeating that song phrase she chants . . . sending you an SOS.”
He snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “That reminds me. That song . . . I think she gets that from her sister. Hannah was listening to music when we were walking Mouse. When she pulled her earbuds out, I could hear Sting. She said she loves all his songs because they’re like poetry and that she thinks he’s sexy for an old guy.”
Trudy grinned. “She thinks you’re sexy for an old guy, too.”
“Yeah, well, she’s right about that.”
“Ha!”
He turned his head slowly to look at her, one dark brow arched. “You don’t agree, Miss Tucker?”
She fixed a smart-alecky expression on face. “Is it difficult to carry around that big ego of yours, Mr. Wolfe?”
He shrugged. “No. Not really. I have broad shoulders . . . and I know you’ve noticed that I’m physically fit.”
She issued a low whistle. “Wow. That ego just keeps growing and growing.”
She saw him grin before he pushed up from the bed. “Anyway, we digress,” she said, forcing her thoughts away from his tantalizing physique and back to Rachel. “I think I’ll try to reach Bubba again.”
“Let your mind rest for an hour or so and then give it a try.”
Silence curled around them for a minute. “Where did you go?” Trudy asked when it was obvious he wasn’t going to volunteer the information.
“For a walk.” He glanced at her with careless shrug. “I just walked, Trudy.” He went into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of milk, then grabbed a package of Oreos. Milk and cookies. His comfort foods. “There are fliers all over town about a prayer vigil Wednesday night.”
“Yes, I know about that. Sam told me. His mother is organizing it.”
“I guess AmyLynn and her hubby will be there.”
“I’m sure they will be, providing AmyLynn is strong enough.”
“Come hell or high water, I imagine she’ll be there, front and center.”
“I don’t understand why she doesn’t take some time off.”
“Because she did that once and the sponsors didn’t like it.” He sat at the dining table and dunked a cookie into the milk.
Trudy sat opposite him. “The sponsors of their TV show?”
He nodded, chewing on the soggy cookie. “A little over a year ago, she took two weeks off. There was never any definite reason for her absence, but the scuttlebutt was that she was having ‘woman problems.’ A hysterectomy.”
Trudy rested her chin in her palm. “And what happened?”
“The ratings for the TV show dipped alarmingly.” He popped the rest of the cookie into his mouth and grabbed another one.
“Really? That’s interesting.”
He nodded. “I don’t think any of them realized how popular she was with their audience until she wasn’t on the show. Donations even took a hit.”
“How do you know all of this?”
He smirked. “I pay attention. I read newspapers and magazines.”
She didn’t buy that answer for a second. He keeps tabs on his father, she thought. “AmyLynn is charismatic in her own way.”
“She makes him more accessible. He tends to come off aloof . . . way up here . . .” He waved a hand above his head. “And everyone else is down here.” He lowered his hand to the table. “AmyLynn reminds people that he’s a family man. People like to hear her sing, too.”
“And she has warmth and sincerity,” Trudy added.
Levi looked as if he was going to argue, but then he shrugged and grabbed another cookie. “And warmth and sincerity.”
“You like her,” Trudy said, smiling at him, challenging him. But he didn’t take the bait – and he didn’t smile.
“No, I don’t.” A stoniness entered his tone and his eyes. “I know you do, but I don’t.” He drank the rest of the milk and shoved aside the package of cookies.
“Why don’t you like her?”
“Because she’s a puppet. His puppet. Just like my mother.”
Trudy shook her head, adamantly. “No, you’re wrong. She loves her children.”
“My mother loved me, too. I think. AmyLynn has already sent one child off to boarding school.”
“Levi, she loves her girls. She’s about to lose her mind over Rachel’s kidnapping.”
He reached across the table and touched his index finger to the tip of her nose. “Mark my words. When Rachel comes back home, it will only be a matter of time before AmyLynn is directed by . . .” He smirked. “. . . God to send
Rachel away to boarding school, too.” He pushed up from the table. “He doesn’t give a shit about those kids. They’re obstacles and he’ll find a way to remove them.”
“I hope you’re wrong.”
He stood, but leaned down to look into her eyes. Sadness lurked in his. “Take it from me, baby. Hope is a flimsy shield against the Reverend John Comfort.” Then he straightened and headed for the bedroom. “I have to make some business calls.” He closed the door behind him.
Chapter 14
The blackness engulfed her, swiftly, completely. Then it lifted like an eyelid sliding up to allow her to gaze at a dirt road. She was in a pickup truck, barreling along, dodging ruts, muttering under her breath.
“Like I got nothing better to do. I got a million things goin’ on. But she needs Chunky Monkey and she needs it right now!”
Coming up to a Stop sign. Slapping at the steering wheel, tap, tap, tapping the brake, looking both ways. Semi’s coming. I can make it! Hit the gas, shoot out onto the blacktop. Squeal of tires. Air brakes huffing. The blare of a horn.
“You don’t own this here highway, Mr. Trucker.” Glaring at the truck in the rearview mirror. “Get off my backside or go around me.” Tap. Tap. Tap. “See them brake lights? Back off.”
Going downhill and here comes the semi, blowing past. Can feel the pickup list and shiver. Gripping the steering wheel and grinding my teeth. Got so much to do! Now this. But He commandeth. Honor Thy Father and Mother. Shifting down, tap, tap, tap, and the wheels crunch gravel. Stop and Shop parking lot.
Whipping into a space and flinging open the truck door. Walking into the store, giving a nod to the clerk. Straight to the wall of coolers and freezers. Ben and Jerry’s. There it is. Chunky Monkey. Going to make her as big as a side of the house if she don’t watch out. One pint is all she gets. So, she’d better make it last.
“This going to be it?” the whiskered clerk asks.
“Yeah.” Maybe I should get something for the girl . . . nah. She’s spoiled enough already. She needs to learn how to do without. Jesus loves the little children, but he loves those who give of themselves instead of always taking, always wanting something. When she stops her bawling and whining, then maybe he’d buy her some bubblegum or a candy bar.