He snorted cynically and reached into his pocket, pulling out a battered cigarette.
She wished he’d either smoke the damn thing or just throw it away.
With it hanging from his lips, Phillips said, “He’s been in town for two days, and I bet you’re spending the evenings with him on the case. But you still don’t want to bring me in.”
“There’s nothing to bring you in on,” Mica replied. Sweat trickled down her back. They’d left the cool comfort of her air-conditioned car for the sweltering ninety-degree temps. It wasn’t even eleven and it was already this hot out. It was going to be a miserable summer, she imagined. “Right now, he’s just going over the evidence we’ve got. If he has some earth-shattering revelation, I’ll let you know.”
“Generous of you, giving me the information I need to do my job. Shit, you won’t even tell me what kind of consultant he is. But you’ll let me know if he has an earth-shattering revelation.”
Logically, she had every reason to bring him in. But her gut warned against it. Not until they knew something. Not until they had something solid. She didn’t want to tell her commander, her partner, nobody.
“Our job,” she reminded him. “And hell, it’s not like you don’t have sources of your own. You don’t exactly share those with me. Besides, once I have something, I’ll let you in. Right now, there’s just nothing to share.” They came to a halt in front of the tinted glass of the front door. She couldn’t make out a thing behind the painted glass. “You ready to turn on the charm in here?”
She didn’t wait for an answer as she reached up and hit the doorbell.
This was the first of several stops today, and the last thing she wanted was to get into another argument with her so-called partner. Granted, this time he actually had a reason to be pissed off. That didn’t make it any easier to deal with him, though.
“THIS IS A fucking waste of time,” Phillips snarled three hours later. They were talking to the victim’s friends, people who lived in her neighborhood.
Mica agreed. Sighing, she shoved a hand through her damp hair. “Waste of time or not, it’s necessary.” Necessary, because it was part of the job. And she also never knew what was going to call to her. If something called to her, then it would likely call to Colby.
Still, she suspected she wouldn’t find anything hitting the streets. Her best bet at finding anything was when she talked to Colby…and let him get his fingers, psychic and otherwise, over the evidence she’d slipped into her bag.
He needed another connection—and she had an idea that something personal would have a stronger kick than autopsy photos. She was going to give him just that.
All she had to do was finish up what was turning out to be one very endless day.
chapter ten
“Any luck today?”
“Depends on what kind of luck you’re hoping for,” Mica said as Colby adjusted the seat to fit his longer frame. “I got to listen to my partner bitch, had to dance around questions from my commander about you, and ran into one dead end after another in the investigation. So all kinds of bad luck.”
“Why are you dancing around questions with your commander?” Colby shot her a frown. “She knows what I do.”
“Yeah.” Mica huffed out a breath as she put the car into reverse. “She just wasn’t expecting you to come out with this idea that it’s a cop. I’m not ready to break that to her without proof.”
“So you’re basically working this solo.”
“No,” she said softly. “I’m not solo. I’ve got you.” She slid him a look and a faint smile. “I’d trust you over just about everybody in my department anyway.”
Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the evidence bag. “And the luck wasn’t all bad. I brought you something.” The earrings in the bag had belonged to the third victim—a pair of silly, dangly little hearts, and when Mica had touched the bag, her fingers had buzzed.
She hoped that was because this was the right thing to do.
But she wasn’t going to know until she turned it over.
Taking a deep breath, she held it up, letting it hang between two fingers. She’d tried to keep from handling it any more than necessary, even though she doubted it would matter much. Colby was too good at what he did to let some minor interference get in the way.
His eyes lingered on the bag, a humorless smile on his lips. “Thanks, but they aren’t exactly my style.”
Watching the skin tighten around his eyes, she waited.
He didn’t make her wait long. After taking a slow, deep breath, he held out a hand. “Just the earrings. Hold on to the bag.”
She nodded and pulled it open. She didn’t let herself think about the procedures she was breaking here. If the captain hadn’t wanted her doing this sort of thing, she wouldn’t have given her carte blanche. As it was now, it would be a lot like closing the barn door after the horse had gotten away.
Colby cupped the small pieces of jewelry loosely in his palm, keeping his fingertips away from the metal.
She swallowed and held out a hand. “Do you need…”
“No.” His lids drooped. “I’ve got it already…”
Then he went silent.
And something started to happen.
The air in the small car sparked, snapped. It seemed to wrap around her and dance along her skin, a light, electric touch.
Seconds ticked away, turned into minutes. She suspected nearly twenty minutes passed before he opened his eyes and stared at her. In a low, raspy voice, he murmured, “Drive.”
The intensity of his voice sent a shiver down her spine, but she ignored it. This was what she’d been hoping for. Swallowing, she said softly, “What direction?”
He slanted a look out the front window. “East. It’s somewhere east.”
* * *
THE PLACE WASN’T in town this time.
Outside of the city limits, a good forty-five minutes away. The traffic on the highway was scarce and the silence in the car was almost oppressive, heavy and tight as Mica drew it in. She could smell Colby and the sun-scorched earth.
It didn’t seem like there was anything else around for miles, but that was deceptive. It was easy to feel lost out there, under the big, blue bowl of the sky, with nothing around by the wide-open land and the road.
And Colby.
The intensity emanating from him was still enough to leave her skin buzzing. She probably would have felt it even without any psychic ability, but as it was, it was almost too much. “We’re getting close,” he murmured.
Scowling, Mica cast another look around. Close to what? she wondered. But as they veered around a bend in the road and up a slight incline, she saw the wire fence and, in the distance, an old, abandoned ranch.
Because of the bends in the road, the house kept disappearing from sight. It was the outer buildings she was able to make out the easiest—especially the dilapidated barn that had fallen into disrepair.
And she knew it, even before he said it. She didn’t bother waiting for him to speak before she eased up on the gas.
“It’s here,” he said softly.
“Somehow I knew you were going to say that.” Sighing, Mica hit her blinker and shot another look at the spread of land.
What was here, though? And just where was it?
chapter eleven
They didn’t stop at the broken, busted-up barn.
She waited for some sign from him that he knew what he was looking for, but he remained silent. Once she reached the house, she pulled the car to a stop and shut it off. “Is whatever we’re looking for here?”
“We’ll see.” A faint, humorless smile curled his lips.
“Any idea what we’re looking for?”
Without answering, he climbed out of the car. She did the same, grimacing as the heat hit her square in the chest. She stared at him through the lenses of her sunglasses, watched as he just stood there, staring at the house.
“Colby?”
He glanced at her final
ly, one shoulder rising in a restless shrug. “I don’t know what I’m looking for. I’ll know it when I see it.”
THE SIGHT OF the greenhouse in the back of the house shouldn’t have looked so ominous, Colby knew. It was just a building, constructed of glass and metal, the windows reflecting the light all around.
Unlike the rest of the house, it looked like somebody had been taking care of it. There weren’t any busted windows and he was pretty sure he saw plants and shit inside. Somehow he doubted there would be that much green in there if this place was completely abandoned.
“The greenhouse,” Mica murmured, echoing his thoughts. She swiped the back of her hand across her forehead and slid him a look. “Why do I get the feeling we have to go into the greenhouse?”
“I don’t know.” Colby smirked. “Maybe you’re psychic.”
She scowled at him as she started forward, muttering under her breath.
It was an improvement, he thought. She wasn’t swearing at him.
A few minutes later, they were surrounded by the moist heat of the greenhouse and he couldn’t breathe without smelling wet earth and growing things.
It didn’t seem right that he also felt death.
But he did. Moving to the center of one narrow aisle, he closed his eyes. As he did, the vision came over him—he saw hands. A man’s hands. Doing whatever in the hell one did with flowers—pruning, snipping, clipping. Fading blooms fell around those hands like rain, the petals falling to the ground around a pair of beat-up work boots.
And some of those petals were almost midnight black.
The flowers…over and over again, he saw those flowers.
Dozens of them, and then just one. Being meticulously chosen from the growing blooms, cut from its stem, wrapped carefully. In the background, the entire time, he heard singing. Loud, getting louder. And he saw a woman…swaying to the music.
Endless moments passed. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. The vision shifted, shuddered, and fell apart and Colby opened his eyes.
Turning his head, he found himself staring at a neat little patch of flowers.
Tulips, he thought.
They were tulips. With blooms the color of midnight.
* * *
COLBY’S DAMN SPELLS hadn’t gotten any less creepy over the years, Mica thought. He’d been out of it, his eyes closed, breathing almost nonexistent, for a good twenty minutes.
When she heard the car engine, she swore, easing away from him with as much silence as possible. Not that it would matter how much noise she made just then—the world could end, with earthquakes rumbling and volcanoes erupting, and Colby Mathis could be completely unaware if one of his visions came on him. Slapping him might jerk him out of it. Rocks hitting him in that hard head of his. But noise wasn’t going to do it.
Moving to the doorway, she peered outside. Damn it, don’t let it be an owner, don’t let it be an owner…
The sight of her partner’s car pulling around the corner of the house almost had her gnashing her teeth together. If that bastard was following her, she was going to beat him bloody.
A shiver danced along her spine and she shot a quick look over her shoulder, saw that Colby had finally opened his eyes.
And he was staring at something.
The sound of a car door slamming had her swinging her attention back to her partner, though. Ex-partner, she told herself. She was having it out with the captain very shortly. She was off the clock, on personal time…
Working the case with somebody not your partner, a dry, cynical voice pointed out mentally.
Shit.
“We have company,” she said in a flat voice as Colby glanced in her direction. Those blue eyes were all but glowing. What had he seen?
But it would have to wait. He wouldn’t discuss it in front of somebody else, and somehow, she didn’t think she could get Phillips to go merrily on his way.
She slipped outside just as Colby opened his mouth to say her name. Her mind was spinning as she tried to come up with a plausible scenario.
Phillips stood by her car, staring at it with disgust all over his lean face. It was a damn shame the guy was such a jerk, she thought absently. Then his dark, liquid eyes cut in her direction and she saw the typical aggression reflected there. Planting her feet, she cocked her head and studied him.
“I’d ask what you’re doing here, but I bet I already know,” Phillips said.
“Oh?”
He sneered at her. “Don’t try and act like you didn’t get the same anonymous tip I did.” With his lip curled and animosity flashing in those dark eyes, he continued, “When in the hell did you get it? How long have you known about this place?”
Anonymous tip?
“I just found out about this place.”
“Just found out—as in earlier today? Before or after we called it quits? Before or after we spent a wasted afternoon doing interviews?” He started toward her, shaking his head. “The message on my voice mail came earlier this afternoon. I answered after we finished our shift, because you were so fucking set on doing those interviews.”
She opened her mouth to tell him she hadn’t gotten any fucking anonymous tip, but what was she supposed to do? Tell him her psychic pal had led her out here?
Dancing around the subject, she said, “I didn’t find out about it until after we’d finished up for the day, Phillips. You need to throttle back.”
As the door behind her squeaked open, she saw Phillips’s gaze shoot to the man at her back. Colby rested a hand on her shoulder. She gave him a tight smile. “Colby, this is my partner, Barry Phillips.”
* * *
COLBY’S BRAIN WAS a rush of blood and pain. Screams all but sounded in his ears, and as he stared at the man approaching them, he had a hard time separating himself from the visions in his head. Blood-splattered flowers. Lifeless women. And that single woman…who danced to the music.
Shifting his gaze toward the house, he stared at it, searching for answers. But they weren’t there.
Or maybe they were—he just couldn’t hear the whispers over the roars.
Resting a hand on Mica’s shoulder, he reached for that steady peace—it was insane how they fit. Without each other, they were both chaos. But when they linked…harmony. When she let it happen.
And this time, she let it. As the voices in his head faded to a dull rush, he opened his mouth to tell Mica he needed to talk to her. But the asshat masquerading as her partner turned on his heel, heading toward the house. “I’ll fucking find out what’s here myself,” the man snapped over his shoulder. “You two keep on playing whatever game you’re playing.”
Under Colby’s hand, Mica tensed. He felt her anger whisper along that connection. Then she pulled away, stalking after her partner. Phillips. The guy’s name was Phillips—Barry Phillips. Colby lingered a moment, watching as they mounted the steps.
Phillips banged on the back door. Walked around, peering inside windows, with Mica trailing after him.
Uneasy, Colby let his shields lower.
Death. Death. Death.
It was all around him. But it was so fucking heavy, and everywhere. He couldn’t focus on any one line just yet. Especially without Mica standing there. She’d cut herself off when she stepped away, and although he could reach out to her, reestablish that connection, he didn’t want to do it. Not yet. He needed her focused on what she was doing. Not on him.
As the two of them disappeared around the corner of the building, Colby slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out his iPhone.
The wonders of technology, he mused as he pulled up the map.
MICA SWORE WHEN Phillips paused by the doors of the storm cellar. She knew that look. Damn it, she knew that look. He crouched down, peering at the lock and then looking at her.
“Somebody busted inside here.”
Lifting a brow, she said, “Could easily be the owner.” Yeah, she could see the signs that somebody had broken inside. Saw the shiny new lock. She was
n’t blind. “We have no reason to enter a private residence.”
“Oh, yeah. I know that. I just…” He cocked his head. Frowned. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
She glared at him. She hadn’t heard anything.
“It sounded like a voice—muffled.” His eyes narrowed and he stood up, swearing. He started to kick around in the grass.
“Damn it, Phillips, I didn’t hear—” Mica stiffened as something drifted across her shields. Incomplete. Fragmented. A plea…
But she didn’t know if it was real. Shifting her gaze from Phillips to the cellar doors, she swallowed as her heart started to race away. She couldn’t focus it, couldn’t make it connect. But what if Phillips was right?
The killer is a cop, Mica. Colby had told her that. In the dead of night, only hours earlier as they sat side by side in the hotel room.
A cop.
She wanted to scream. Wanted to reach out to Colby.
She couldn’t not go in there. But she couldn’t walk in blind, either.
He wants you dead—
Was it Phillips?
THE PHONE BUZZED in his hand and Colby read the text from Jones. Too long for text—sending e-mail.
Swearing, he hit the icon for e-mail.
The e-mail was still loading when he glanced up.
It was too quiet.
His gut in a tangle, he started toward the house.
The e-mail finally loaded and all he needed to see was the first few lines.
By then, he’d heard the heavy clang of metal on metal.
And he felt the whisper of Mica, her mind reaching out to his, unsteady and erratic, but determined.
SHE’D ALREADY DESCENDED into the darkness, but her gut was screaming it was a mistake.
There was the smell of death in the air. Fresh death. Old death.
Phillips’s voice came back to her, soft, quiet. “Smell that?”
“Yeah.” How could she not smell it? “We need to call this in.”
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