“If you’re sure…”
“I’m sure. Maybe if we can find the girl using your-slash-our skills, they won’t be so closed-minded about psychic power.” He pushed to his feet, paused, and let out a sigh. “There’s another reason they might not believe me. I have to be honest with you.” He sank back down again. “The one time I laid myself out there and admitted I had a ‘feeling’…I was wrong.” Again, he’d let his voice become thick with emotion. “Have you ever been wrong, Olivia?” He had read profiles on a couple of well-known psychics; the cases where they were wrong haunted them.
At least one case haunted Olivia by the shadow that crossed her face. “Yes,” was all she offered.
He continued, “I was so sure the missing woman was in the suspect’s workshop. I went there instead of checking out another lead. Turns out the lead would have probably led us to the woman in time. If I’d only gone there first…” He put a hitch in his breath. “How do you know when you’ve got it right?”
She was twisting her hands in the hem of her shirt. “You have to go by instinct. There is no way to tell for sure.”
He stood again. “Thank you, Olivia. For listening. For helping.”
She stood, too. “I’m glad you came. Is there a number where I can get hold of you?”
“I’ll be in touch with you, don’t worry about that.” One more squeeze to her hand, just to seal the bond. “We can find her, Olivia, and prove we’re for real.”
She had proven to him that she was real. He hoped he’d proven the same to her. That was essential to the plan.
A child-abducting Santa Claus. It was a start. Max and Sam met at the LaForge Gallery and showed Mike Burns’s picture to Kristine Banks, the employee working that afternoon. Several people wandered around the gallery pretending to look at the art, but surreptitiously listening to them.
Kristine’s country-fresh looks with the sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks contrasted with the slick atmosphere of the gallery. She pursed her mouth as she studied the picture. “He may have been here during her showing.”
“May?” Sam asked.
She shrugged. “I’m not sure. We have a lot of people at our showings, coming and going.” Her smile turned positively glowing. “And Terry Carlton came in, and he is just so hot.”
“Look at the picture again,” Sam urged.
“He looks kind of familiar, but…” She shrugged again, handing the picture back.
“You’re not sure,” Sam finished, his disappointment obvious.
“Sorry. What’s this about, anyway?”
“Ongoing investigation. Look, here’s my card. Call me if you remember anything more definite.”
As soon as they stepped outside, Max pulled out his cell phone. “Judge Garrett asked for a little more when I tried to get a warrant for phone records this morning. He’s gun shy because of the Monterra and Gencarelli cases. Maybe that Santa suit will give us an early Christmas present.”
They stepped to the wrought iron railing away from the overhead speaker spilling festive music. Max waited until Garrett came on the line and outlined what he had.
“You said a little more, Your Honor. I admit it’s only a little. But look at that picture I left with you. Are you looking at it?” Max didn’t have to picture Phaedra’s face. She was smiling from several fliers tacked to posts and taped inside store windows.
“You’re pushing me, Callahan.”
“I want that girl home by Christmas. Help me.” That only gave him four more days.
Garrett paused, and Max held his breath.
“All right, I’ll give you phone records for both of them and credit card records for Burns. Give me an hour.”
“Cell phone, too?”
The judge paused. “And cell phone.”
Max exhaled in relief. “Thank you, Your Honor.”
“Show your gratitude by finding that girl and not making me look bad.”
Sam had been following the conversation as best he could, and he made a triumphant gesture when Max thanked the judge. “That’s the most spunk I’ve seen out of you in a couple of years.”
Max ignored that. “We’ve got phones for both and credit cards for Burns in an hour.”
“Great. That gives us enough time to eat.”
The aroma of steak made Max’s stomach growl. Poppy’s Café was in the corner of the adjacent building. Tables spilled out from beneath the awning so diners could enjoy a view of the water and the people strolling by. Poppy’s was pumping out their own Christmas music; their hip-hop version clashed with the traditional tunes coming from the overhead speakers.
Max nodded toward the café. “Let’s grab something here.”
Sam eyed the place. “This is one of those overpriced joints, probably charges twelve bucks for a burger and fifty cents for cheese besides.”
“I’m buying.”
Sam followed Max to the hostess stand. “Can’t hardly argue with that.”
They were seated at one of the outside tables. Bright rays spilled out from behind the cloudbank that covered the lowering sun, reminding Max of a religious painting. He stretched out his legs and leaned back in the small ornamental chair. More ornamental than comfortable, to be sure.
Sam was staring across the way, lost in his thoughts. Not good thoughts, if the lines etched across his forehead were any indicator. He had been Max’s mentor and friend over the last several years. Max always had older men as friends. It had something to do with the father figure thing, but he’d never given it much more thought than that. After all, he was too old to need a father. Sam was his closest friend. Their families had done things together, boating, picnics, birthday parties. All that seemed so long ago.
The surprising remark about women being great actresses echoed in his mind. “How’s Annie?”
Sam blinked. “Annie? She’s fine. Great.”
The waitress brought two sodas and took their order: two twelve-dollar cheeseburgers.
“See, the cheese is included,” Max remarked as he handed his menu to the waitress.
“Such a deal.”
To the untrained eye, the setting sun was a fitting end to a peaceful day. Max knew that somewhere in town, it wasn’t peaceful. Somewhere, a little girl was waiting to be rescued.
He saw that movie in his mind again, the boy in the cape, candlelight flickering against the walls, and the moment that haunted him still. Coward! But he hadn’t been a coward, not that time.
“Maybe this Santa thing will be our big break,” Sam said, busting into Max’s thoughts.
“I sure hope so. We could use one. It’s a hell of a case so far.” He felt guilty sitting there eating while Phaedra endured God-knew-what. He reminded himself that people all over were looking for her, either physically or by way of digging up records and backgrounds. Prayer vigils were going on all over town. He glanced at his watch.
Sam drummed his fingers on the glass tabletop. “We haven’t had a stranger abduction in a couple of years. Does that make it more or less likely that’s what this is? We know it isn’t Berney anyway, since he’s in jail.” Realizing that was a sore subject, he said, “Nick Mathers said the lieutenant called you into his office this morning. Said you looked a little shook when you walked out.”
Max shrugged. “He thinks I’m a ghost.”
“Huh?”
“He says I’ve been walking around like the undead.” He weighed how much to tell him, and then decided to dump it all and get a second opinion. “I know he’s cut me slack these past two years, not putting me on cases that involve children or anything tough. Maybe it’s softened me. Maybe I’m not cut out to be a cop anymore.”
“That’s bull. You told me you wanted to be a cop since you were a kid. And you’re one of the best cops in our station.”
Max hadn’t told him why he’d wanted to become a cop. He hadn’t told anyone about his past. His wife Diana used to tease him about being hatched, though beneath that teasing tone was hurt that he wouldn’t share
his past with her. Just one more thing wedged between them. All he would say was both his parents were dead. To say more would mean telling her everything. That was something he couldn’t do.
“Was one of the best. I’m honest enough to admit I’m not anymore. I don’t even know if I can be that guy again.” There, he’d said it. He felt a weight in his chest lift.
“I think you’re ready to come back. Oh, you’ve been fighting it, but you’re ready.”
“That’s just it. I’m not ready. I don’t have the drive anymore. Not for the job, not for anything. Maybe a change would do me good. Change of job, even a change of scenery.”
Sam narrowed his eyes. “Sounds like you’re running away.”
“Getting away. There’s a difference.”
“Yeah, right.”
A change of friend was looking good, too.
“What you need,” Sam continued after a moment of silence, “is to sell that house. Too many memories. There’s your change of scenery. You haven’t changed a thing about that house since…since then. You just sit there doing those creepy monster kits. Morbid, if you ask me.”
Hell, he wished he hadn’t opened this conversation. But Sam was right. Their memories were there. Diana’s memories lurked in the closet, the bottom drawer in the dresser, and all the other places she stashed her bottles of vodka. Sometimes, out of long-engrained habit, he still checked. The drawers were empty now, but his anger was still there. He held onto it the same way she’d held onto her addiction.
When he’d helped her off the booze the first time, she’d promised to come to him if she felt herself slipping. As far as he knew, she’d been clean for two years before she got pregnant. There was no reason to suspect she’d taken it up again. Then again, he wasn’t home much. He’d been too busy chasing the bad guys.
All she’d wanted was his forgiveness. Sometimes he wished he’d given her that, or at least pretended to, before she’d died. His anger never went away, not when he was constantly reminded of what she’d done.
Ashley had finally started growing out of the physical effects of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome: the flat bridge of her nose, the lack of a ridge on her upper lip. When the doctor had informed them that the deformities were a result of Diana drinking during her pregnancy, she had been in denial. It had taken her a year to admit she’d been drinking heavily for a good part of her pregnancy, and that the problems Ashley faced were her fault. Then she’d gone through a phase of blaming everyone else for her drinking, including Max.
There wasn’t time for a lot of blame, though. Ashley had several problems through her first years that required attention, including two surgeries to repair her damaged heart. She was smaller than average, too, which had made Max feel even more protective of her. She’d been so damned brave through all those doctor’s visits and the surgeries, he’d wanted to cry.
Then the behavioral problems had started: hyperactivity, poor judgment, trouble learning from consequences. By then, Diana had taken responsibility for her daughter’s health and started dedicating herself to doing whatever she could to make Ashley “normal.” She’d also rededicated herself to their marriage. Max had stuck it out because they owed Ashley a family. He’d do anything for her, including staying with a woman he no longer loved, b ut he couldn’t make himself love Diana again. That hadn’t made him any less shattered over her death. In some ways, it had made it worse.
The waitress brought their food, and Max pulled himself out of his grim thoughts. He realized that Sam had also been deep in thought, staring blankly at a blonde walking by. They ate, and Max paid the bill so they could collect their warrants. They would compile a list of area costume shops while they waited for the phone records to come through, and then start hitting them in the morning. If they could tie Burns to a Santa suit, they’d be on their way.
As they both pushed to their feet, Max’s pulse jumped. He saw Stasia first, and then Olivia walking behind her. She wore a dark blue shirt and a long orange skirt.
Sam followed his stare. “Why, if it isn’t the enigmatic Miss Howe.”
Max only nodded, unable to stop looking at her. Her long hair swung gracefully as she walked and her shoulders were high and straight.
Sam snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Let’s go.”
That they’d follow her was assumed. If she met up with Burns…that’s why Max’s heart was racing. Maybe this would be their break in connecting the two of them. He couldn’t pinpoint why the thought turned his stomach.
Surely the woman wasn’t derailing Max, though he couldn’t forget the image of her licking drops of tea off her fingers, the mango scent wafting from the cup. Or the way she measured out sugar.
The walkway was wide and covered with light and dark red bricks in alternating patterns. The railing was ornate black wrought iron accented by an old-fashioned streetlamp every few yards. It was a perfect backdrop for a beautiful woman walking with her dog.
Sam said, “You like causes, Max. Underprivileged kids, Fetal Alcohol Syndrome…” He paused. “Blind women with that fragile look.”
Max forced a laugh. “That woman is nowhere near fragile. She’s not even in the same country as fragile.” He tried not to think about her huddled in the closet or the way she felt in his arms.
They stayed several yards behind her. She passed the round Edgewater building and the crowds of people waiting for their movie to start. When she led Stasia to the dog section of the park, Max and Sam casually leaned against one of the large oak trees. Even if she couldn’t see them, Mike Burns could. Max scanned the area, but his gaze kept returning to Olivia.
“Max, why don’t you head on back to the station and pick up those phone records? I’ll hang around here and keep an eye on her. It looks like she’s going to be here a while and there’s no use both of us standing around.”
Max reluctantly pushed away from the tree. “All right. I’ll meet you back at the station.”
For some reason, he wanted to tell Sam that he should be the one watching her. He kept the words inside and headed to his car.
Olivia had the strongest feeling that she was being watched as she made her way back to her apartment. She had never considered herself paranoid, but now she was beginning to wonder. She remembered a girl she’d gone to school with. Lisa Morris had been rendered blind in a car accident two years earlier. Her biggest fear was not being able to see if someone intended to do her harm. “You can’t tell if someone is coming at you or following you,” she’d told Olivia. “They could be right there, and you wouldn’t see them. By the time you’d know you were in danger, it’d be too late.”
Lisa’s words echoed as Olivia opened the door to her building. She knew there were certain vulnerabilities to being blind, but she didn’t want to dwell on them. Now, though, they were hard to ignore. She breathed out in relief as she reached her door. Just as she inserted the key into her door lock, someone grabbed her arm. She spun around, her heart going into overdrive.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” a woman’s voice said. “My name is Flora, Flora Burns. I’m Phaedra’s mother.”
Olivia was even more startled by the woman’s identity than by the sudden touch. Before she could gather rational thought, Flora said, “I understand that you’re involved in my daughter’s case. That you’re a psychic. Please, I need to speak with you.”
Olivia took a deep, calming breath. “Come inside. I’ll fix some coffee.” She flicked on the light switch for Flora and hung up her coat. After releasing Stasia, she went about the task of brewing coffee. “How did you hear that I was involved in the case?”
“My husband said he didn’t know who told him. Apparently someone called and told him, but didn’t identify himself.”
“Was it the same person who made him doubt Max Callahan’s capabilities?”
“I think so. He doesn’t tell me much, to be honest. I only overheard him telling Joanna, our publicist, about you. He was concerned that if word got out about yo
ur involvement, all manner of unstable people would come forward and clutter the case. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”
“I know.” That’s just how people were, and why cops like Bill had to keep their talents hidden.
“I’m a Christian woman. I just hope He doesn’t punish me for coming here to see you. You being psychic and all,” she added.
Olivia tried to hold back her annoyance at people who thought the devil must bestow such powers. “I believe God gives people the ability to go beyond their five senses. How they use it is another matter altogether. How do you like your coffee?”
“I’m glad to hear that. Oh, here, let me.” She spooned in sugar and stirred noisily. “I understand you’re…well, they said you were blind.”
“I am.” Olivia measured in sugar and milk and stirred. “Let’s sit down in the living room.” She led the way, settling into her favorite chair while offering Flora Burns the couch. “You want to know about your daughter?”
“Wow, you are psychic. I didn’t know…well, I’m impressed.”
Olivia smiled. “It doesn’t take a psychic to understand why you’re here, Mrs. Burns.”
“Please call me Flora. You’ve seen my daughter. That’s what they said, that you can see her. That she’s alive.”
The raw hope in her voice made Olivia wish she could offer more. “She is alive. The man who took her hasn’t hurt her, and hasn’t touched her in any sexual way.” She wouldn’t tell her about the cage, or about Bill’s feelings that the girl was to be sacrificed. “That’s all I know, I’m afraid.” Olivia wondered just who had told Pat Burns all this.
“Can you go to her now? Give her a message from me?”
“It doesn’t work that way. I can’t summon her up or speak to her. I see through her eyes when she’s at a heightened state of emotion. I see flashes and get emotional impressions. I’ve been trying to see where she is. All I know is that it’s a room, and it’s fairly dark.”
Blindsight [Now You See Me] (Romantic Suspense) Page 10