“Were you already interested in forensic psychology?”
“Very. I knew I was going to head into that field. It was just a matter of where. I admit, at the time, Colleen made a very persuasive argument. I told her I wasn’t sure I’d make a great field agent because of what my ultimate interests were. She was fine with that. She suggested I would make a better courier than agent anyway.”
“Courier?” He shook his head, puzzled.
“Courier.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. Why?”
“Because until she came face to face with me, she couldn’t find me on the campus.”
Jack frowned. “I don’t get it.”
“She couldn’t locate me on the campus, because to most psychics, I’m a null. They see Earth where they would normally see me.”
“You have psychic camouflage?” His oddly accurate description brought a smile to my lips. Jack was one in a million. He was more than trying to understand. He practiced understanding.
“More or less. I was surprised when she explained that. She said other agencies employed psychic services and, because psychic powers were becoming more widely accepted, showing up in the Washington Post instead of the Enquirer, the idea of having a psychically invisible courier really appealed to them.”
“I can see that.” His thumb moved back and forth over my knee in an absently soothing motion that was both comforting and erotic. “So, now I guess the question is why didn’t you take the offer, if it was so hot?”
“Gran,” I answered simply. “Colleen wouldn’t leave until I promised to give the matter serious consideration and call her the next day. I know she wanted me to sign on, striking while the iron was hot and all that. But I was adamant. I needed time to think about it. She was just going to have to wait. After she left, I called Gran. I told her what happened and she asked me to come home immediately. I was a little startled, but I went ahead and drove home. I missed two days of classes while she explained a great deal more about our gifts than I’d known before.”
“Such as?” Jack’s hand stilled, but he kept his expression light. “Though I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“We can’t use them for harm is what it all boiled down to. People like Colleen, well, they might not be restricted, but we are.”
“But you took an internship with the Bureau not long after this meeting?”
“With the FBI, yes. Not with the Squad. Let me tell you, Colleen was pretty pissed when I told her I appreciated the offer but had to refuse.” I shook my head ruefully. I wasn’t telling him the entire story here, but then the entire story was less pretty than what I’d already shared. And what good would it do to tell Jack of Colleen’s implied and stalking behavior? “Actually, I think she was more furious when I wouldn’t explain why I turned her down. But my mind was set, and after a month or so of Colleen trying everything outside of totally threatening me, I think she realized I was serious.”
“What about the hospital visit you mentioned?”
“Oh, well as it turns out, the Squad was interested in Oakes because he might be a psychic hunter, someone who chose his victims because of their abilities and talents.”
Jack’s gaze narrowed and he frowned. “That was never a part of the active investigation.”
“No and why they conducted their own. Mr. Devoid—you know, Agent Callanport?—came to pick my brain when I was recovering from the surgery. I think you’d gone home to shower and check with the office to see if you could get assigned to the case.”
“And your Gran showed up when they weren’t expecting it.”
I pointed my thumb and forefinger at him in the gesture of shooting a gun. “Bingo. And she was far more than either of them could handle. Where they couldn’t sense me, they couldn’t sense her either. She completely startled them. My pain med-fogged brain had been simply relieved. Gran was a force to be reckoned with. She wrapped my terrified chaos up in safety and banished the demons." God, I miss her so much.
“And those demons were gone until today.”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“Chance.” He paused, running a hand down my arm in a comfortingly familiar gesture. “Not to sound ominous or anything, but I really don’t like the sound of all of this.”
I rubbed my cheek against his shoulder. “Neither do I. Masters knows something. So does Callanport. I imagine they are working against whatever Billy’s team is doing.”
“I’ll call Billy when we get home.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
“He needs to know, Chance.” Surprise and concern warred on his features. I asked him to choose between two loyalties—the Bureau and me.
“Yes, and you’ll have to tell him how you found out, and then…and then you’re going to have to tell him about me.” Feeble argument much Chance? Billy already knows. He likes me. He empathizes with me. Maybe he can help—or maybe it would land him in deeper trouble. But I was too used to protecting myself from the prying eyes of strangers.
Jack frowned and shifted so we were face to face. “Billy is probably your biggest fan right now. He’s not going to find this hard to believe, and it’s not fair to expect him to be effective in his job if we cut off his information flow.”
I sighed. Jack made his point and he made it well. Billy worked blind in the middle of this case. Truth told, I think we were all working blind. The two homicides seemed to match Oakes’ M.O. right down to fingerprints found at the first scene, but the second was questionable. Then there were the obvious questions, like why now? Why after all this time? And if it wasn’t Oakes, then what the hell was going on? Bile burned the back of my throat. As bad as Oakes was, I didn’t want to try to think about that what if scenario.
“Okay. You need to tell Billy.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. Across the park, a mother led two small children toward the playground. “But I need a break from all this tonight.”
“Fair enough.” Jack smiled. “Let me buy you dinner?”
“Red Lobster?”
“Sounds good to me.” Jack stood and launched his empty latte cup toward the trashcan before offering me his hand. “Wanna get cleaned up first or be daring?”
“Only you would think grass stains are daring,” I snarked.
“Oh, I forgot, they’re a hedge witch fashion statement.” There was a downbeat and an upbeat where I realized he’d just made a joke. He grinned at me, the same teasing Jack with a little more worry wrinkling the corners of his eyes.”
It was good to hear him laugh. Damn good. I couldn’t help but grin back at him. “Hedge witch fashion statements are going to be all the rage this year…”
“Oh? About time you found the edge of fashion somewhere.” Jack taunted genially, pulling me to my feet and pulling me close to his left side for the walk back to the car.
Fourteen
I knew I’d made some important decisions the day before but just refused to acknowledge them at the time. I wanted my friendship with Jack back on an even keel. Too many unknowns existed in this situation—from the work I did for my normal clients, to these daily visits to the FBI satellite office. Jack planned a meet with Billy to fill him in on everything about Masters and the Squad. He asked me if I wanted to join them, but I refused.
I had other plans in mind, ones I’m pretty sure Jack wasn’t going to appreciate. He left me in the waiting room as I flipped idly through a glamour magazine. As soon as he was out of sight, I abandoned my seat and approached the receptionist.
“I don’t suppose you have an extension for an Agent Callanport, do you?” I kept my tone friendly and mildly curious while my expression was earnest and pleasant.
“One moment, Ms. Monroe.” She glanced down at her directory and punched in some numbers. “Agent Callanport, I have a Ms. Monroe here. Yes sir, one moment.” There was just the briefest of hesitations between her description and the “Yes sir.” She punched a button then nodded to the phone in the reception area. “Line four, Ms. Monroe.”
“Thank yo
u.”
“My pleasure.” The secretary smiled in perfunctory fashion.
I raked fingers through my hair, combing it away from my face and tucked the sides behind my ears before lifting the receiver and hitting the correct line number. “Agent Callanport?”
“Ms. Monroe, it’s an unexpected pleasure. What may I do for you?”
“Are you in this building?”
“Which building?” His tone seemed genuinely curious. Where his voice had been a flat monotone the day before, his inflections sounded almost open and friendly. “Perkins and Main.”
“I’m on the eighth floor.”
“Mind if I come up?”
“I’ll have you buzzed through. I’m in room eight-twelve.”
“Thank you.” I replaced the handset and glanced at the receptionist. She nodded at something said over her headset then gestured toward the secure door. The bolts clicked and released, and I let myself through.
“Thank you,” I called over a shoulder to her, but the closing door muffled her response. The elevators I needed were just around the corner. This probably isn’t my brightest move. Jack is going to be irritated if he gets back before I do. That calculated risk, however, was the price I needed to pay in order to get the job done.
What job? My finger froze, poised over the number eight button. I didn’t work for the Bureau, and I wasn’t even there as an active consultant. I was a nature witch. My job was out there in the countryside serving the same people my grandmother served for more than fifty years.
But I know things the FBI doesn’t. I know Oakes. I was one of his victims. I deserve some closure. Oh, shut up and just push the damn button or I’ll still be standing here debating this when Jack gets back.
I jammed my finger against the button. There was a real problem when I was starting to have moral debates with myself. The only question that remained unanswered was which part of me was right.
When the elevator doors parted on floor eight, it might as well have been the reception level. Everything was identical to the floor I just left. Only the number on the wall indicated the difference. I sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. I wiped my damp palms against my jeans. Flicking a look at the small board affixed to the opposite wall, I saw eight-twelve was to my left. I headed down the long saffron hallway with its boring, beige carpet and paused outside Callanport’s office.
Oh, to hell with common sense. I lifted a hand to knock firmly. I heard a muffled “come in” and pushed the door open.
Callanport’s office seemed very friendly on initial glance and lacked the institutional barrenness from the hall. The desk was large, old oak, reflecting remarkable artistry. Handmade items retained their natural spirit far more readily than machine crafted. A computer hummed to his right and a series of files spread across the center of the desk.
“Come in, Ms. Monroe.” He stood and gestured to the pair of comfortable chairs occupying the space in front of his desk. An oversized rhododendron sat next to his window. A familiar piece of Nene’ Thomas artwork decorated the wall. Surprise rippled through me. This office did not match my internal picture of the man at all.
“It’s called Wisdom,” Callanport offered quietly.
“I know.” I glanced back at him. I may have to reassess my opinion. “I own a print as well. I see you had her husband do the matting.”
“Absolutely. He does great work. What appeals to you in the piece?” He shifted his hands into the pockets of his slacks. His posture relaxed and his tone conversational—he sounded genuinely interested.
“I don’t know.” I sighed. It decorated a wall in my apartment. Sharing my affection for the piece seemed uncomfortably intimate. The lone woman, long-limbed and full-hipped stood poised waiting. A long white dress hugged her curves. A snowy white owl stooped to perch on her bare right shoulder, wings outstretched to crown her long, autumn brown hair, tousled by the wind. Behind them, curled protectively and watchfully, the red dragon’s wings framed her, as though to still the breeze ruffling the woman.
Perfection.
“She’s exquisite and so is the owl. I think it’s the serenity in her expression, though, despite all she knows—and you would expect she knows everything. She’s at peace with that.”
“I think that’s part of the appeal for me, too,” Callanport agreed. “Though I imagine she has more faith in the knowledge she possesses than the rest of us. Knowledge tends to jade some people.”
I turned my head slowly and met his gaze, nodding my head. “I can’t argue with that. The more I learn about some things and some people, the more jaded I become about them.”
His expression softened with a faint glimmer of a smile. “Would you like to have a seat?” He gestured toward the pair of chairs once more, and I nodded again, closing the door behind me. I resisted the urge to jump as the small click of the door sounded decisive in the quiet atmosphere of the office.
He waited until I sat before resuming his own seat. We both settled in, seeking perhaps a sense of comfort before engaging in whatever conversation was in the offing. Truth told, I didn’t rehearse this. I ran on gut-level instinct, and while my mind listed off a catalogue of reasons why this was a bad idea, my gut encouraged me forward down this uncharted course.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Monroe?”
“I suppose you can start by calling me Chance, and hopefully you will follow that up by accepting my apology for how angry I was yesterday.” The words shocked me, though if they surprised Callanport, he didn’t show it.
“All right, Chance.” He smiled again. This time the smile touched his eyes and changed his appearance almost entirely. Maybe he was a genuinely likeable man under the right circumstances. “Apology accepted, though I fear I owe you an apology for the method of ambush. I don’t always agree with Agent Masters’ assessments, but I think she was correct in assuming you would avoid an encounter with us given the opportunity.”
My mouth twisted into a wry smile. “No, you're not wrong. But—it doesn’t change the fact I took my objections out on you.”
“Well, all forgotten. If we could start over, I would enjoy that.” He rose partially from his chair. “Victor Callanport.” When he offered his hand, I hesitated but then chose to stand and accept it in a brief handshake.
“Chance Monroe.” At least that didn't feel like shaking the devil's hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Chance.” He smiled which did wonders for his face. I returned the favor, albeit reluctantly, with a small smile of my own.
“That still remains to be seen, Victor.” We resumed our seats, and I crossed one leg over the other. The motion bought me a few seconds to consider my next tactic in this meeting.
“Absolutely.” He nodded his head in a short, sharp gesture. An acknowledgement, but the gleam in his eyes suggested a deeper sentiment. “But I do hope it’s a pleasure. I really do not want to upset or offend you any further.”
“I appreciate that. I suppose you are wondering why I’m here.”
“Randall Oakes.”
“Okay, I guess you’re not wondering why I’m here. I suppose my motivations are transparent enough.” My mouth pursed, I disliked the taste of my own pride, sour on my tongue.
“They don’t need to be transparent, Chance. You are his only surviving victim. You have a genuine need to know in these circumstances.”
“You mean with his resurfacing?”
“Yes.” Victor hesitated before and opening a drawer. He extracted a large manila folder and laid it on the desk between us. “You also need to know what Randall Oakes is and why you were specifically targeted.”
I frowned. More than the psychic connection they explored before? Time to play dumb. “I didn’t think he specifically targeted me, well, not any more than he targeted the other women he attacked. We were all college age and all of us were on campuses…but there’s more to it than that?”
“A great deal more, I’m afraid.” He rested a hand on the manila folder. �
��Agent Masters would probably have my head for showing this to you, but I also think she’s wrong for keeping it from you. Because I can’t show this to you by reason of my nondisclosure obligations, I’m going to put it back into the drawer and then I’m going to take a brief break to use the men’s room.” He stood after replacing the folder. “I’m glad you came to see me, Chance. I really hope we can get to know each other.”
Suspicion warred with curiosity as I watched him circle the desk and exit the office. I waited a full minute after he left before rising and moving behind his desk. I could probably get into a lot of trouble for this. So could Callanport. Why show it to me now? Why not earlier? Who was playing who here?
I stood there, caught in the balance between morals, ethics and suspicions. The ethical part of me recognized that this was a bad idea. The moral part of me said go get Jack. The suspicious part of me was disgusted by the rest. I yanked open the drawer and removed the thick folder. I retreated, arms wrapped tightly around my prize and headed back toward the bank of elevators. He didn’t tell me to take it.
But he didn’t tell me not to take it, either.
The metaphorical angel and demon on my shoulders continued their argument until Jack returned to the waiting room. The secretary who dialed Callanport was thankfully not present and the manila folder stowed away in my duffel bag.
Tell him.
Not yet.
Yes, I have finally gone cuckoo. So caught up in the mental debate my conscience foisted on me, I didn’t notice Colleen Masters in the parking garage until Jack drove us toward the exit for the structure. Her expression was unreadable from the distance, but her gaze pierced through the metal of the car and straight at me.
I couldn’t have been more aware of the folder if it had been a gun pressed to my head.
Fifteen
The folder remained tucked away in the duffel bag for the rest of the day. We made two stops after leaving the satellite office. The first was at a local Giant grocery store where we picked up a selection of products Betty had requested. The second was a quick run out to Purcellville. I wanted to check on Mrs. Humphreys.
Earth Witches Aren't Easy Page 12