Sixth Sense (A Psychic Crystal Mystery)

by Baron, Marilyn

  Katherine had the urge to call ahead and alert the authorities, but what exactly could she tell them? What clues could she give them she hadn’t already shared? She desperately tried to remember details of the images she’d seen. Where the strangler was holding his prey, something, anything that would help the Sydney police locate the latest victim before her fate was sealed. When he did strike, Katherine would blame herself. Because she wasn’t fast enough, perceptive enough, good enough, to keep it from happening again.

  Still groggy, she tried her best to relax and wondered how long she had been out. Her watch was still on Atlanta time.

  She unbuckled her seatbelt, shifting her gaze to the right. She was virtually trapped between Jack in the aisle seat on her left and the woman wearing a face mask, who had been coughing her brains out in the window seat during most of the flight. She probably had the swine flu. Why hadn’t Silly Shelby isolated her and contacted the CDC?

  The cabin was dark. A movie was running, some frivolous comedy she hadn’t been in the mood for since she’d already seen seven movies on this never-ending flight from Atlanta to Sydney.

  Beauregard Lee Jackson Hale was a mouth breather. Was it possible for a sleeping man to look smug? Somehow he managed it. His beard seemed to be sprouting tufts. She didn’t trust men with beards. Beards could hide a lot of secrets.

  At the moment, Jack’s head was pressing like a granite boulder against her bare shoulder, and his beard was scratching her flesh. She had half a mind to snap his picture and upload it to Facebook. Either that or wake Rip Van Winkle up with a baseball bat.

  Katherine shifted her body away from Jack’s thick head, allowing it to drop down to rest on his own shoulder. What did she care if he woke up with a stiff neck? She wobbled out of her seat. Her legs were cramping and she was dying to stretch them, but first she had to slip past The Incredible Hulk and into the aisle. She eased around Jack, careful not to wake the sleeping giant.

  The captain’s melodious voice wafted over the loudspeaker. “We’re making our final approach into Sydney.”

  “Kate?” Jack groused. “Where are you going? Get back to your seat. You heard the captain. We’re about to land.”

  Darn. Jack was awake. Did the man sleep with one eye open? Maybe all cops hovered in a perpetual state of alert. Why was he acting like an annoying big brother, like she was some kind of irresponsible child he was stuck babysitting? He was treating her like she was under house arrest, which she wasn’t. She was a civilian consultant and should be treated accordingly.

  The man was unbelievable. His captain must have given him specific instructions not to let her out of his sight, and he had taken his marching orders literally. Jack’s boss had no doubt charged Jack with keeping her on a tight leash to make sure she didn’t cause any more embarrassment to the department. She might as well be wearing an ankle monitor. He’d hardly taken his eyes off her, when he wasn’t sleeping or eating, except when she had to use the bathroom, and even then the permanent scowl on his face made it clear he was pissed because he was left to cool his heels outside the lavatory.

  “I’m just going to the restroom. Stop following me. Give it a rest, Bobo.”

  “Why don’t you try calling me by my real name for a change?” said Jack, unfastening his seatbelt.

  “Beauregard Lee Jackson Hale?” Katherine snickered. “You have more names than the Prince of Wales. Bobo is easier to swallow.” That made her think of the story about Jonah and the whale. Beauregard was as big as a whale, and he looked big enough to swallow her whole.

  “Just call me Jack. I hate Beauregard. My mother calls me Beauregard. I let her get away with it because, well, she’s my mother.”

  And we all know how Southern boys feel about their mamas, Katherine thought.

  “Okay, jackass, I mean Jack, I don’t want you to have to chain me to the seat with those handcuffs.” Katherine’s eyes sparkled as she reached out to lift the restraints from Jack’s pants pocket when he attempted to get up from his seat.

  He grabbed for her, but she slipped through his fingers.

  “You’re not my boss, and you don’t scare me,” Katherine said, power walking to the restroom, jangling the cuffs for effect, a wide grin breaking out on her face, feeling the best she’d felt in twenty-four hours.

  Jack rushed after her and grabbed her arm. “That’s police property. You’re asking for it.”

  “Asking for what?” she teased.

  She thought she could outrun him, but the very moment she thought she was home free, she felt his fingertips on her back. He was going for her T-shirt, her favorite Michael Kors T-shirt. It was already too tight. She didn’t need him to stretch it. She zipped down the aisle, but he was closing in fast.

  Breathless, she ducked into a vacant lavatory, locked it behind her, and splashed some frigid tap water on her face.

  Jack knocked on the door.

  He had seen her go into the restroom. Did the man think she was Houdini? They were at a cruising altitude of 36,000 feet. Where did he think she was going?

  “Look, I need to take a leak before we land.”

  “Who’s stopping you?” Katherine called out. “Do you need my permission? Or do you want me to stand guard while you relieve yourself? Use another restroom or hold it. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Don’t wander off. I want you in your seat when I get back.”

  “Where do you think I’m going to be, idiot? In an overhead luggage bin?”

  Katherine shook her head and stared full on into the mirror, bummed when she came face-to-face with a pair of bleary eyes, a rat’s nest on top of her bed head, and a mouth full of cotton behind her faded lips.

  “Kate.” More knocking.

  “Get a grip. I’m still in here,” she shouted.

  Jack might be a police detective, but he had no rights over her here in the air or anywhere. Even if he did have a ginormous gun. She’d seen it up close and personal, even stroked—and was mesmerized by—the gleaming metal while he was asleep. Was it true what they said about men packing big guns? That got her to thinking about stroking something else... Don’t even go there, she thought, banishing those naughty thoughts.

  Katherine flushed the toilet, ran a brush through her dark ringlets, touched up her lipstick, and tried her best to smooth the wrinkles from her jeans. She looked like Dracula’s wife. What a mess. Why did she even care how she looked? Jack was the most irritating man she’d ever met. She certainly wasn’t interested in him. He did have a certain animal magnetism. Okay, he was sexy as hell, but she didn’t traditionally go in for the all-brawn-no-brains type. Her ideal mate-meter was malfunctioning. It must be the long flight and the dangerous proximity.

  Picking up her purse from the filthy floor, she pulled the knob toward her, unfolding the door, and caught Jack leaning into Shameless Shelby, his flushed face inches from hers.

  As Katherine narrowed her eyes, they sprang apart, evidently guilty of some major indiscretion.

  “The captain has turned on the Fasten Seatbelt sign,” Shelby said abruptly. “We’re in our final descent, so you two need to get back to your seats.” Then, “See you in Sydney, Jack,” Shelby purred in her irritatingly bubbly voice. She tilted her head and gave Jack a final sultry glance, brushing against him possessively on her way down the aisle.

  “Looks like I interrupted something,” Katherine said, allowing her eyes to scan Jack’s body from top to bottom, à la Shelby, and finally returning her gaze to his piercing blue eyes.

  “Shelby was...um...interested in my weapon,” explained Jack.

  “I’ll bet she was,” Katherine said, smirking. She shook her head, reached into her purse, and tossed Jack his cuffs. Jack caught them easily.

  “You and Shelby may need these later,” she said, tightlipped.

  “Damn prima donna. If you’re so clairvoyant, then guess what I’m thinking right this minute.”

  Jack was more difficult to read, since his head was as thick as a cement block, b
ut she imagined he and Shelby were planning an intimate rendezvous in Sydney. Maybe he’d already copped a feel from the flighty flight attendant, taken a taste of her lips. Who cared if he had? She wasn’t usually the jealous type. Jack apparently found Shelby attractive, in a blonde-bimbo sort of way. Most men would.

  Katherine smiled mischievously and spoke slowly, and loud enough for Shelby to overhear. “You’re wondering if we have enough time for a quickie before we land?”

  “You are so off base.”

  “Am I?” she drawled wickedly, in the sassiest tone she could muster. Katherine tried to negotiate her way around Jack, but he was as big as a brick house, and he grabbed her arm roughly.

  Somebody was mad.

  “Did anyone ever tell you you’re a major pain in the butt?” Jack said.

  “No, you’re the first.”

  “Is seeing things that aren’t there part of your psychic talent?”

  “Very funny,” Katherine said, continuing to stare at Jack.

  “You are more trouble than you’re worth, you know that?”

  Unfortunately, most men she’d dated had come to the same conclusion. She wished that just once she would meet a man who could understand her and appreciate her for who she was, psychic baggage and all. It hadn’t happened yet in thirty years.

  She had to admit that somewhere under all that shaggy underbrush the guy could be a major hottie. If he would just spring for a haircut.

  “The bathroom’s free, if you want to shave. Or you might ask Shelby if she has a pair of hedge clippers.”

  Katherine flashed a smile and waved before purposely sashaying down the aisle and settling into her seat, making sure he got a good look at her booty, which she considered one of her best features. If she had to be stuck with this bozo, then she was damn well going to enjoy herself at his expense.

  Minutes later, Beauregard—and she would be calling him that as often as possible—slid into his seat and glared into her eyes with his dangerous baby blues.

  “I foresee a tirade coming on in the very near future,” she said lightly.

  “Don’t give me any of your extrasensory shit.”

  “You’re crass.”

  “And you’re a quack.”

  Katherine pursed her lips and turned away toward the coughaholic in the seat next to her. She covered her mouth and felt her teeth tighten. She was not a quack, and she resented him saying so. His attitude was grating on her already frayed nerves.

  “You were saying something about my beard?”

  “You look like a Civil War reenactor,” she said, fastening her seatbelt and giving him a cursory glance. “No, one of the seven dwarfs. Goofy.”

  “Goofy’s a dog,” remarked Jack as he buckled up next to her, bumping her with his elbow.

  “Then Scraggly.”

  Jack lowered his voice. “As you well know, I was on an undercover assignment, which is why I grew this beard, before the department sent us to follow our serial killer—or a damn good copycat—to Sydney.”

  “It’s definitely him,” she insisted. “He’s not a copycat. The same man who killed those girls in Atlanta is the one murdering them now in Australia.”

  “Do we have to have this conversation in front of all the passengers?” Jack whispered. “This is official police business.”

  “I think the less we say to each other the better,” Katherine warned. “Just let me do my job so we can go home.”

  “To Mr. Psychic?”

  Katherine blew out a breath. “There is no Mr. Psychic.” And probably never would be.

  “Why not? How come a perfectly presentable thirty-something woman like you is not attached?”

  “Gee, you’re generous with the compliments,” Katherine said, brushing back a loose curl from her face. “And I’m not thirty yet. But I’m sure you already knew that. I’m sure you think you know everything there is to know about me.”

  “I’m an investigator. Investigators investigate.” Jack paused, dipping his eyes down to Katherine’s painted toes and then raising them to take in her breasts.

  Her heart stuttered.

  “Anyway, I’m curious to find out what kind of man does it for you.”

  Katherine sighed, lifting her shoulders. “Something about me seems to scare off the men I date. Maybe I should stop predicting they’re not going to get laid.” She glanced at Jack to gauge his reaction. “Most guys are surprised to learn that my head doesn’t spin around on its axis when I go into a trance. That I’m not possessed.”

  “It probably freaks guys out when you tell them you’re a mind reader.”

  “I’m not a mind reader, exactly,” Katherine objected and sat back in her seat, pretending to read her magazine. Why should she reveal all her secrets to this Neanderthal? Sure, she could read moods, like anyone in a serious relationship. It was hard to take a guy at his word, though, when, more often than not, she could intuit what he was really thinking, the good along with the bad. But Jack was an enigma. Was he interested in her or wasn’t he? She couldn’t tell.

  That was probably just one of the reasons she was the biggest loser in the relationship game. Add Beauregard to the growing list of people, including her parents and her former fiancé, who were mystified by Katherine Crystal. Too bad she didn’t come with an operating manual.

  The fact that she could see the future with such horrifying clarity, in such devastating detail, day after day and nightmare after nightmare, meant she could never rest easy and was rarely easy to be around. She accepted that she was different, dateless and lonely, but that didn’t mean she liked it.

  She turned to look at Jack. “I’d give anything to be able to walk on a beach and watch the waves crash, and not see a car crashing around a hazardous curve. To feel the warm sand between my toes instead of the fear on the face of a drowning swimmer.”

  She wiped the tears from her face and closed her eyes, as she recalled those horrific moments. She held her head and rubbed her eyes as she felt another headache coming on.

  Jack looked at her with sympathy in his eyes. His concern seemed genuine. How much should she reveal? Could she take a chance that he was beginning to take her seriously?

  “To see a white gull swooping down for his daily catch, instead of a metal bird falling out of the sky, which is exactly how I ended up in this predicament in the first place.”

  “Well, you’re the one who called the media,” Jack reasoned. “If you hadn’t, you’d still be anonymous, just another poor little rich girl.”

  Katherine held back the urge to slap his face.

  The Ocean Rivers case had been her debut onto the national stage. Now she was hunted by the media. Word of her “paranormal powers” had gone viral. Local police departments around the country wanted to hire her. Politicians wanted her to assess their chances with the voters. Who needed pollsters or public opinion polls when they had the “all-powerful, all-knowing” Katherine Crystal?

  Katherine felt anything but powerful. In fact, she felt like a failure. Even if she got it right and no one listened, it was a matter of life and death. The truth was, she just wanted to be left alone. No one would guess she’d trade all that notoriety for just a few moments of peace. There were no beautiful sunsets in her world, only tragedies in the making.

  ****

  How could Kate be so sure of herself? She may have the whole world fooled, but he knew, and soon the New South Wales Police Force would know, that Ocean Rivers was just a lucky guess. Crystal Ball Kate, my ass.

  “You’re nothing but a charlatan,” Jack accused. And he intended to prove it.

  “A charlatan? Really? Who talks like that?” Katherine flipped her hand as if to dismiss his accusations.

  “Would you prefer ‘fake’ or ‘fraud’? Same difference.”

  “I don’t want to be here anymore than you do,” Katherine seethed. “I didn’t ask for you, especially not you. If you had listened to me in the first place, Ocean Rivers might still be alive. I don’t need you watchin
g my every move and second-guessing me. There are lives at stake.”

  “I know that.” Jack turned to face her. He looked down into her eyes and a lock of unruly hair fell across her forehead, making her seem younger, more vulnerable. He studied her intently.

  “Honestly, just between the two of us, up here in the stratosphere, no reporters, no cameras…” Jack lowered his face and his eyes bore into hers, trying to capture the visions floating through her consciousness. “Can you really see things before they happen?”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes I get only flashes, brief visions of disasters.” She closed her eyes and looked away. “Earthquakes, floods, drownings. But the plane crash that killed Ocean Rivers plays over and over in my mind even now, and it’s trapped in my head in Technicolor. I relive it every day.” With the choking clockwork of the Groundhog Day movie. “I’ve learned to take my premonitions seriously.”

  “I wish I had,” Jack admitted, genuinely sorry. “So, how does this psychic thing of yours work? Do you read tea leaves? Tarot cards? Palms? Inquiring minds want to know.” He grew serious. “Humor me.”

  Katherine hesitated. “Everyone is psychic. We all have a second sight or sixth sense. You know, the hunches and intuitive feelings we sometimes get. I just happen to be able to channel or tap into a universal spiritual energy field.”

  Jack placed his hand on Kate’s face and tipped it toward his. “Can you really see into the future?”

  Katherine nodded, letting the warmth of his fingers seep into her soul. “I see into a possible future. If you know what lies ahead, there’s always that chance you could change the outcome.”

  Jack dropped his hand. “Like you think I could have done if I’d listened to you about the plane crash.”

  “Exactly.”

  “How can you be so sure you’re right?”

  “Some things I just know. Some things I don’t want to know. But one thing I know for sure. Absolutely everything that is wrong in my life now is your fault.”